viscerawrites

[viscerawrites]

kinktober planning is going great why do you ask

text version below the cut

17. messy sex | service kink

oc

Agnet Rel Inkoia/Callum Sorane

food play

Agnet spends another day in service to Callum as part of his atonement

he bakes Callum a cake or some shit

then he's a brat and Callum fucks him about it (AKA shoves his face into the cake and rails him while taunting him about how bad it was)

they're so weird

[viscerawrites]

find the word

tagged by @charlesjosephwrites, thank you! my words are dream, funny, wrong, and feel. These are all from various Obedience stories

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dream

From Scream For Me

“You may stay tonight,” Rizeth said, and relief rolled through him, warm and welcome. Rizeth’s free hand rested loosely on his knee, and Ashenivir reached up to take it. He wasn’t thinking of anything more than needing an anchor, but when their fingers slid together, he was overfull of moth wings again, the sound of them in his pulse almost deafening. I don’t want it to be over. Which of them had thought that? So many thoughts, feelings, memories…all tangled together and fading, like the remnants of a dream. He hadn’t known such closeness in all his life, and now it was gone.

From An Offer of Ownership

“Nothing you don’t deserve. Anyway, hysterical as this all is, I only came to tell you Master Tasen’tek’s class is cancelled. Someone sealed the door to the alchemy lab with sovereign glue and no-one can find the universal solvent.” “Is he stuck in there?” “Apparently. He didn’t have any teleportations prepared, and Master Xiltael is stopping anyone going in to get him because she thinks it’s funny.” Ashenivir sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how this college functions at all.”

wrong

From A Piece of Iron and a Flame

Lyzira was wrong. He did not need a lover—he had a Ra’soltha.

feel

From draft 4 of The Perils of Wanting

The game of contrition was proving much harder to play when all of it brought him so much more delight than ever before. He bit his lip as Rizeth fastened him into the manacles at the headboard, sighing at the feel of Rizeth’s touch in his mark. No more hiding. No more worrying what might be felt there; only hoping that everything would be.

[ID - a purple decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @viscerawrites @writingrosesonneptune @cwritesfiction and @ink-flavored with the words empty, silent, wicked, and dark

Obedience taglist: @foxboyclit @belovedviolence @thegreatobsesso

@notwritinganyflufftoday @exeiguess @firesidefantasy

(ask to be +/-)

[viscerawrites]

writing share tag

thank you for the tag @space-writes !! life has been Lifing but i've been able to write an itty bit of some things SO. teehee

thiom is still on the backburner for a while but i've been playing around w/ AUs of the characters so that's great. also returning to Other Stuff and snippets i've shared but who knows how long those will take !!

anyway - this is set in a modernized version of Erapiae. bc i love modern AUs but get really caught up on ethnicities & countries and i just don't have the will to translate fantasy to our world. so </3

anyway! snippet is not technically nsfw but like. it's leading there

Noamke doesn't know what it is that gets to him. Maybe it's the secondhand smoke. Maybe it's just the way Bronwyn looks; a cigarette between her lips, leather jacket slid down just enough to expose broad shoulders and defined biceps. Leaning back in a red leather seat with that ever-unimpressed look on her face, dark brows furrowed as she glares out the window of the studio.

A studio that's near empty by now, thanks to the snowstorm that nobody had informed them of. Leaving them alone together in the community room, with Rom and Ilahen still lingering somewhere upstairs. At least the heater's on, though Noamke doesn't think it's anywhere near the warmth of Bronwyn's cigarette. The cherry smoldering and smoke curling out from between her lips.

Rom will probably be pissed about the smell whenever he comes back down. Noamke is finding it hard to worry about that. There's not much room for worry at all, really. Not when Bronwyn's ill-advised tank top is straining around her chest and her jean-clad legs are lazily spread open. Not when she looks even hotter than she always does, and every drag she takes seems to stoke the growing fire in his belly.

The words come easier than anything else. Too easy, judging by the way he thoughtlessly blurts them out, with no consideration for how long it's been since he's spoken.

“You could burn me with that."

tagging (w/ no obligation) @chauceryfairytales @dyrewrites @vacantgodling @foxboyclit @firesidefantasy @monstrify and anyone else who would like to join in!

[viscerawrites]

siblings questions tag

tagged by @charlesjosephwrites, thank you! I don’t actually have a lot of siblings (aside from the absolute mess that is Vizaeth and his dead brother/Vivien and his dead brother - and both of them hate all their sisters), so I think I’m going to do Sorrow and Aspiration for this, who are found family sort of siblings, and fit the questions much better than the V-boys whomst I torture

(tags, taglist, and blank questions are under the cut)

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Who looks the most like their parents? (tweaking this question to fit lol)

Aspiration looks the most like both of her parents, with traits of both coming out in her; Sorrow shares a lot of his appearance with his mother. (who’s his mother? well, it’s [spoiler redacted holy shit so redacted])

Who eats the most?

Aspiration for certain. Sorrow likes indulging in food, but along with avoiding sleep, he also does forget to eat unless prompted a lot of the time. Aspiration does the same if she’s deep in work, but she’ll pile her plate a lot higher. Girl’s gotta eat!

Who has been in the weirdest situations?

Sorrow, because he just. Gets himself into Situations like it’s a hobby, and then Aspiration has to help extricate him.

Who sleeps the most?

Aspiration, because Sorrow avoids sleep (and the associated nightmares) like the plague, even going so far as to have a literal magical item that lets him go without sleep for weeks or months at a time.

Most stable romantic life?

Technically Aspiration, because she’s not involved with anyone at the moment; Sorrow has a lot of partners, but nothing particularly deep with anyone. And then he starts hooking up with Vren which is uh. Not, shall we say, a steady and regular romantic connection.

Worst habit of each one?

Sorrow does not pick up after himself, he is a messy asshole, and Aspiration can’t stand it.

Aspiration talks with her mouth full, which Sorrow thinks is uncouth and disgusting, and he refuses to look at her when she does it.

Who's the most dramatic?

Is this even a question. It’s Sorrow.

Who had a weird phase?

Now I have to think what counts as a weird phase for a couple of infernii…Aspiration definitely had a bit of an awkward pre-transition exploring-her-gender thing going on, but Sorrow had a very rough patch learning to fit in with a clan of Zashi he didn’t know whilst dealing with sixteen buckets of trauma. It took him a good few years to get to the put-together state he’s in now re: being a hot, dramatic, bisexual menace.

Best cook of the family?

Oh, Aspiration by far. Sorrow’s attempts at learning when he joined her clan are best left in the distant past.

Best memory together?

I want to say one of their best is Aspiration’s transition day (i’ll invent a cool infernii term for it at some point asdaklj). But that magic/ceremony, and the celebration afterwards was a very joyful time for them: she was happier than she’d been in a while, and he was happy for her.

Worst memory together?

Probably their first meeting, when Aspiration found him half-dead in a ditch. A lot of the memories from that time are full of pain and worry on both sides, but a lot of good came out of it in the end.

Dream trip together?

I genuinely don’t think they’d have one. They’ve been a lot of places together, and the only difference if it was a ‘dream trip’ would be going to those same places all over without having to be doing work at the same time.

Would they rather not being able to shower for a month or have the same clothes for a month?

With great reluctance, Sorrow would forgo the showers—he likes to look elaborate, and not being able to change his appearance regularly would grate.

Aspiration, on the other hand, would rather be clean. She can wash her clothes and wash herself. It’s fine.

Who's the older one?

Sorrow, by almost a decade.

How would they describe each other in three words?

Aspiration about Sorrow: “Melodramatic, driven, protective.”

Sorrow about Aspiration: “Steadfast, self-assured, organised.”

Role model?

Honestly? Can I be honest? I think Aspiration is a role model for Sorrow. Not in a ‘copy her life’ kind of way, but he really does look up to her, and not just because she saved his life.

Aspiration doesn’t really have a role model, other than that she admires and respects various members of her clan for their skillsets.

Who usually has the worst ideas?

…who do you think. It’s Sorrow. I mean a lot of his ideas do work in the end, and he’s not a complete idiot, but he has a tendency towards the reckless and showy. But also; Aspiration is sensible mostly in comparison to him; she can be reckless and ridiculous in her own way.

A GIANT insect is on the wall, who's taking care of it?

Sorrow is making Aspiration take care of it, because he likes to playact at being more of an idiot than he really is. If he’s on his own, he’ll deal with it, but if she’s there, he’s bothering her until she picks it up and takes it outside.

If Aspiration is on her own, though, she’ll pick it up anyway because bugs are cool. Depending on the kind, she’ll either let it go or add it to the dinner menu.

[ID - a green and black decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @thegreatobsesso @talesofsorrowandofruin @zmwrites @vacantgodling

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph @sam-glade

@viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso @flower-reads @the-inkwell-variable @firesidefantasy (ask to be +/-)

The Questions:

Who looks the most like Dad?

Who looks the most like mom?

Who eats the most?

Who has been in the weirdest situations?

Who sleeps the most?

Most stable romantic life?

Worst habit of each one?

Who's the most dramatic?

Who had a weird phase?

Best cook of the family?

Best memory together?

Worst memory together?

Dream trip together?

Would they rather not being able to shower for a month or have the same clothes for a month?

Who's the older one?

How would they describe each other in three words?

Role model?

Who usually has the worst ideas?

A GIANT insect is on the wall, who's taking care of it?

[viscerawrites]

writing share tag

tagged by @vsnotresponding, thank you! since i finally finished a full draft of the threesome fic, here’s a (suggestive, but mostly SFW) bit from there~

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“What makes you think I’d sleep with one man, let alone two?” Krebbyg asked. Zeth’rinn arched an eyebrow. “My friend, you joined Bregan D’aerthe.” “Fair point,” Krebbyg conceded. “But out of all my options there, what makes you think I’d go with you?” “I’m hot, I’m good in bed, my mouth has excellent peer reviews, I’m extremely flexible…” Zeth’rinn counted his virtues on his fingers. “…the list goes on. And Fel is also all of those things, plus he’s better at topping than I am.” “That mean he can make you shut up?” “On occasion.”

[ID - a purple and black decorative divider]

no-pressure tagging @vacantgodling @viscerawrites @monstrify and @ceph-the-ghost-writer to share some of whatever you’re working on lately

[viscerawrites]

1 & 5 for the character asks - for whoever you'd like! @viscerawrites

thanks for asking! gonna do a curveball and talk about hwsts because i haven't in a bit!

1. What was the original thought that led to the creation of this character?

khizzy honestly came about when i was thinking about how much beef i have with the attempts and modernizing the myth of hades and persephone. that train of thought then led to me thinking "what if persephone (who becomes hades's wife) and kore (the girl who was kidnapped) were two different people." so then the placeholder characters for khizzy and his sister pinyiko were created--but then i realized i wanted to talk about the struggles of older siblinghood and transgenderisms (and i wanted a masc mc) so then khizzy became trans and an older sibling to who would eventually become pinyiko and then things started snowballing from there.

5. How did you choose their name and why? Was it simply based on vibes or is there any specific meaning behind the name? Are the reasons behind their name different in- and out of universe?

huehuheuehue the entire naming system is completely created by me using the conlang i made for this wip dzonime'si. which is a combination of mongolian and japanese, idk if i ever said that before lol.

but khizzy's full name is kori-tsokhizhemasonen (which is pronounced, roughly without me recording myself saying it: CORE (rolled r)+EE+TSOH (ts is pronounced like in japanese TSunami)+KEY+ZEH+MAH+SOH+NEN) -- which literally translates to "she who smites the sun"; in wip all names are decided by parents either correlating their children's name with a hope or trait they want their child to be, or by a defining event in their lifetime. in khizzy's case its the latter: he was born during an eclipse in the middle of the dying season (winter) and that's considered a bad omen. so even though the name sounds cool its basically the equivalent of naming your kid "devil" OSJCL. that's the tsokhizhemasonen part. to break down each part individually:

TSOKHIZHE = smite

MA = particule word that basically means to enact your will upon something

SONEN = sun

kori is the interesting part because it is apart of one of the 4 genders in their society. higher feminine, higher masculine (kori and dori respectively that will appear at the beginning of names to denote Higher status) then lower feminine and lower masculine (these are denoted by the suffix -ko and -do respectively at the end of names. these can also be used to make nicknames: (ie) when i talked about khizzy's sister, pinyiko earlier, the reason -ko is at the end of her name is to denote that she's considered feminine. it should be noted that only higher genders should nickname one another in this manner unless given explicit permission to a lower gender to call them in that familiar manner. a good example, is khizzy's only friend at the beginning of the story, yanyado, calls khizzy 'sonenko' as an affectionate nickname.

the reason for this entire gender and naming system however was so that i could insert my hashtag transgender agenda into the wip. how? well simple: gender in hwsts doesn't work off of biology. it's based on what time of year you were born + what class you were born into.

march through august = masculine (the growing season)

september through febraury = feminine (the dying season)

and it literally doesn't matter ur genital situation. to extrapolate: khizzy and pinyiko's father, the chief of the clan, in our world would be considered a trans man. he has he parts to give birth to a baby and gave birth to both of them. However, because he was born during the growing season and in the chief class, he's considered dori or higher masculine. subsequently, when he had pinyiko and khizzy, both of them were born during the dying season and are considered higher feminine.

and i basically did all this to subvert expectations about gender. when describing khizzy and my goal as i further flesh out this wip, is to give no physical indication of what biological "gender" khizzy is. and honestly, i have no clue what's in his pants either. because his biology isn't important and this has everything to do with how he doesn't feel feminine. it also kind of mimics my own journey with transgenderisms but whatever lol.

the other thing as well, is gender is extremely rigid in khizzy's neck of the woods and to deny or change your gender is to make you a heretic worthy of banishment. because we need suspense and drama. gender fuckery overall is associated with being able to use magic as well and that's a whole thing :)

so i'll cap my rambling there before i get even further into the implications of this and everything but the very tldr of this is ren isn't normal about names and so i made a whole wip where i could be abnormal about names :)))

[viscerawrites]

In Soft Moonlight -- short story draft

//WARNING: this is an erotic horror story, there be sex in it//

It was a new apartment, new city even. Illinois doesn't have a lot of opportunities for an aspiring filmmaker, after all. But Hollywood is where it's at, right? That's where you go to make it. So that's where I went.

Six months in and nothing. Turns out it's just as difficult to get people to give a shit about your stupid little movies in a big city as it is in a rural town.

I had to get jobs. Yes, jobs. Plural.

Housing was expensive enough back home but in a place people write songs about? Insane. Worse on the outskirts though, so I stuck to the city. Found a cheap place, a furnished place, and counted myself lucky for it.

Wasn't quite downtown but close enough to keep me up at night. If waking at the crack of dawn to buss tables and scrub toilets and haul freight all day long didn't do it. You clock out, rush through sweaty people and smoke-choked cars to get halfway across a sprawling forest of metal and glass just to clock in somewhere else three times a day and see how you sleep.

I was dead by the eleven or so at night I tended to get home. Too tired to sleep but no energy to deal with lighting and framing or even editing what I'd done over my precious few free days. Barely enough to shower and collapse into bed and nightlife was loud and bright every night, making it all the worse to relax.

Until it wasn't. 

Until it was perfectly silent and soft moonlight shined directly into my room. Which it shouldn't have. The moon was impossible to see from my window, one sitting halfway down a sixth story building tucked between two taller ones.

Still it shined, silvery blue and bright enough to frame a shadow that hadn't been on my wall any night before.

It was a man at first, if larger than any could feasibly be, but as the light sharpened it the shadow became more, much more. Slips of paint were all that remained when it finished stretching and sliding around every corner, a void enveloping all but my bed, all but me.

Tendrils of deepest dark rippled and peeled, with a gentle crackle, from the walls to my right and left and I should have fled. Should have screamed. Instead I stared at the ceiling for what overtook the lamp, for the eyes looming over me. 

Six, three on each side of an impossible face, slits of bare wall save a dot of shadow each and they watched me. As those tendrils reached for my blankets they watched.

While I remained silent. Frozen.

Tendrils became hands with too many fingers wrapping about and tugging to uncover me. Though some didn't bother, choosing to slip under instead, to get at the nothing I wore beneath.

I don't know how I expected a shadow to feel but cool mist thick enough to have weight wasn't it. Soft too. Gentle even, and their owner tilted its flat darkness and swooned as they touched my skin.

A whispered song it was, echoing along every surface, prickling my skin more than the fingers teasing up my legs and along my stomach. More and more crackled and split from the wall to touch and test. Caressing my arms, shoulders, chest. All the while the face grew closer, sharper, devouring the room as silvery blue light bloomed in its empty eyes and a horrid cracking overtook its soft whisper.

When some of those shadowy fingers made it into my mouth the walls cracked louder, rougher.

Cool as the others those fingers bore no taste beyond the oddity of a vapor too thick and I found voice in the lack. Found confusion and fear enough to scream.

Wordless but loud I wailed and all those shadows receded, the face blinking and tilting before it retreated and spread to the corners. Vanishing into less mobile shadows--all its pretty blues gone.

While I scrambled for the light switch and watched each dark edge of my small room.

Nothing.

Rushing, I checked the window. My neighboring building stared back at me, the lights and sounds of the city refusing sleep below.

As I would... on the couch. After I gathered my video equipment, set up a few cameras, and grew a bit too excited about catching something on film no studio could refuse.

#

The next night I rushed home, exhausted but ready to test. To know if it was a fluke or if I'd see impossible eyes and feel cool, soft hands on me again.

Certain to cover every recording light, and hide each camera, I was confident the creature wouldn't notice it was being watched.

I... underestimated it. In more than its perception.

When the false moon shone through my window and those shadows sharpened they moved quicker. Too quick. Hands zipping along walls and floor and ceiling to clatter every camera from their hideaway. While the face waited until no extra eyes remained to show its.

Beside me that time, smaller than before but no less larger than sense insisted it should have been. On the wall it tilted and watched with narrow slits.

"I—I'm sorry," I tried. "I wanted... proof that you're, you're real. Are you real?"

It didn't speak but those cool hands crackled from the deeper shadows it made of my room. They found my face, my hair, petting so gently. Holding too sweetly.

I couldn't know if it were an answer but it felt real enough. As did the face growing closer, cracking from the brick and paint. Its eyes were again as bright and silvery as the moon in my window. They lit the mattress, my skin, sharpening the blacks of every hand on me.

The words fell before I could stop them, "please be real..."

More hands made for mine, guiding my fingers to that shadowed, glowing face and I expected to slide through it. I met something like skin instead. Cool and vaporous as the hands yet thick, solid enough to touch, to caress. So I did, enjoying too much how it cooed for it. How it shoved closer, shrinking to near the size of mine, to press its shadows into me.

A tongue waited behind hidden lips, too soft to be real. It teased and I accepted it on my own, the hands exploring more of me.

How I ached for it, knowing somewhere I shouldn't, but what is sense to a touch so sweet?

It sought more than to test, to caress, and I moaned as it found it. With a firm grip it begged me break while I reached, searched with tentative touch to know what else of it hid in the wall. If it had more than face and hands. Something for me to tend to as eagerly as it did me... 

Its shadowed face stretched further, gifting me a neck and shoulders to tease and hold while it set a tongue too long, wet and articulated, to finishing what its hands started.

Sunrise came with me.

If quieter, driving sweet shadows and false moon away to leave me alone in my bed.

A moist, gasping, giddy mess.

#

Too many questions plagued my shower, my breakfast, so I stared at shadowless walls and wondered where it went in the daylight. Then I called in to every job I had with a stomach bug excuse and went hunting for the local library.

It wasn't a dream. Of all the questions that one kept slamming into a wall, refusing purchase in my thoughts. Refusing consideration. Something in me was absolutely certain what I experience was real, the creature, whatever it had been, was real... and I should have spoken to it more. Asked it things, but what could I have asked that wouldn't have ruined the mood.

The mood, right, what was that. Besides deli—no, weird. It was weird. Why didn't I run. It would have made sense to run. Did it force me? No, I could have slid free. Could have fled.

Maybe.

I'd been lonely, sure. New city, no friends and family around, and all my jobs to afford it meant no time to socialize. No time to try to meet anyone.

But was I that lonely?

And why me, was it connected to the apartment, or just the room.

Why did it wait so long to show itself?

Too many questions.

First to answer, of course, was what was it.

I couldn't afford internet yet, and my phone was an old flip model. No use there. But the library would have something, right? They always had something. I'd just... leave out some details if I had to ask anyone. Definitely not tell some sweet librarian a shadow sucked me off and I'd like it to do m—no. No, I need to communicate with it, so it can explain why it did that.

Maybe make sure it's not trying to eat me.

While it didn't take long to find the library, it would take most of the morning and well into the afternoon to fine anything relevant. Most of which proved... unhelpful.

Spirits made no sense as, well, no deaths were disclosed. Though I suppose the landlady could have kept it from me, I didn't ask too many questions after all. But it didn't feel like a spirit... not that I'd know. Still, it seemed wrong. A tulpa didn't track either, lonely I'd been sure but not enough to create a thing to help with that and why would I create something so beautifully terrifying. Sleep paralysis, with all of its shadow people, skirted the edge of possibility but I wasn't immobile and had no history of sleep issues.

So I was at a table too long, books on chairs and in my lap, poking about on the library computer for more when an overly cheery librarian tapped my shoulder.

"Need any help?"

I had been there a while, and it wasn't terribly busy. Maybe she was bored.

"Maybe," I offered, considering options for believable lies.

She eyed the books, and the search topic I typed into the computer and smiled, "having nightmares?"

"No, no," not a lie, but I followed it with one, "I'm researching shadowy creatures that seduce people... for a film."

Nodding, eyes yet scanning the open books around me, she made a terrible suggestion, "have you looked into succubi?"

I had, in fact, just closed a tab about incubi and ruled them out for method and reason and chosen targets. They wouldn't bother me, I can't give them a demon baby and their feminine counterparts wouldn't have been such a lure.

Didn't tell her that, however.

"Bit cliche given the subject matter, don't you think?" I tried to keep my face soft, tone friendly but her step back told me it didn't work. "I'm just... looking for something obscure."​

Which was when she sighed and said something insane, "well, there's always Erebus, if you're looking for a masculine shadowy figure. Who's to say he wouldn't choose a lover by surprise, slinking into their bed at night. Greek Gods are well known for their disregard of consent."

"Oh, no, it definitely had consent," that slip earned me a raised brow.

One she was quick to smooth, "you've run out of most everything else. Why not try a God?"

"It makes no sense," I muttered, gathering up my mess.

For this she smiled, helping me to the counter and slipping behind it, "sense isn't exactly required... for fiction."

"I'd like some anyway," I shot as she handed me a card to fill out and bagged my books, "but I'll keep it in mind."

She stopped short of handing them to me, waiting for me to look up, to meet her eyes, "Lovecraft has one too, not exactly something of shadows but he's been described close enough."

I'd missed the extra book she slipped into the bag, so she nodded to it. A collection not of the author's tales but the Gods in them.

Sighing, but nodding, I took the bag, "I will. Thank you."

And I did, if I didn't believe the thing were a God, it didn't hurt to humor possibilities.

With a bag of books to look through, and more questions than answers, I began to consider the previous tenant. I hadn't asked, too excited to find the place let alone get it as quickly as I did, but the landlady lived in the building herself. Had offered me an open invitation to knock on her door anytime even.

So I took her up on it, after depositing my books in my own apartment, avoiding so much as a peek into my bedroom and walking too many stairs back down to the ground floor.

She answered in a slip and robe, gray hair in tight curlers and a face mask in bright green doing its best. The sight of me made her gasp, slam the door and shout, "gimme a minute!"

While I chuckled I could hear slippers scrabbling on hardwood.

I waited... and waited.

When the door opened again her curls were free, face moist but clear, and the robe was replaced with a sundress that probably fit about as well as it did when she bought it. Sometime in the 50s, I imagined.

Dainty thing she was, but you wouldn't know it to hear her speak, for both volume and baritone, "what did you need, hon?"

"Information, if you have it," I was shuffling foot to foot, trying to avoid how she looked at me, how she tended to stare. It wasn't working. So I filled the discomfort with more words, "about the last person who had my place, I mean."

Nodding, she proved a boon of information. Enough to worry of any who might ask of me, "last here was a girl little younger than you, worried me every night she went out. It ain't safe here for girls," looking me over, she added quieter, "doubt it's much safer for boys pretty as you..."

I smiled, tight and controlled but said nothing.

So she went on, "she never brought anyone over either. Not even girlfriends to gab with. Always alone that one."

"Maybe she liked her space."

"Oh sure, sure. Plenty about who do." Leaning in, and looking up to meet my eyes even as hers darted around me, she spoke in a hush, "but I heard things, ya know, suggesting she had someone there... but never saw no one come or go." Leaning on the door jam, she huffed and nodded to the front doors then pointed up the stairs, "didn't even see her go. You have all her stuff up there. We don't furnish here, just didn't see a point in trashing it."

"She left without notice?"

"Snuck out some night and never came back. I waited six months. Well passed what I'm expected. I'm not a monster. Even called the police in case there was reason. They found nothing suspicious. So I put the place up again. You like it, don't ya?"

"Yeah, yeah. I, I like it. Nice views."

"Can see half the city from most windows."

"Uh-huh. Well, thank you for... for letting me know all of that."

"Repay me by staying for tea? Rare I get such pretty faces in my halls."

"Sorry, afraid I'm expecting company soon."

It wasn't a lie, and nothing said I had to tell her what that company was—not that I could.

She groaned, muttered something about men and their excuses and slammed her door.

I'd be a fool not to think the thing dangerous, and news of the previous tenant vanishing certainly added to it, but I found myself with a different question on my way back up the stairs.

Would I care if it meant me harm? If it came to me again, with all its cool mist and melodic swooning... would I worry at all, try to stop it, or simply let it have me in any way it pleased?

I didn't know. But I set up in the living room for the evening just the same. After brewing a pot of coffee, intent to remain awake, to find out more about it. To learn, if possible, how to speak to it. To ask its intentions. Would it even tell me if I did?

It didn't feel malicious but, but there were tales of plenty things luring with affection. Terrifying things once they were seen in full. I could imagine it being terrifying under the right circumstances... should have been in the ones we shared.

Too many questions, too many books and stories and fables and I ended up passed out on the couch with half those books as blanket.

It woke me.

Or rather a harrowing crackle and crunch that made me fear for earthquakes woke me.

Not in the wall any longer, it stood over one end of the couch as real as any man. Which was its shape, or so I imagined for how its shadows blended with all others.

Moonlight eyes watched from a face larger than my own, but not so terrifying as to devour the ceiling. Though they did worry as it leaned, grabbing cushions with two hands while too many more stretched and weaved to move the books.

"I," so close the lean and I realized in it that I wanted whatever it offered. Whatever it was. But I wanted to know too. Slapping at an open book, at an image of Erebus, I asked, "is this you?"

It didn't look, eyes stuck on me, but they shook as it shook its head. 

More hands teased for the thin pants I wore, sliding as well up my stomach to take my shirt. I aided each. Allowed more to take boxers and moved ever so as legs I'd never seen, two or four or six I couldn't tell, crawled over me.

"What, what about this," another slap for Lovecraft's shadowed deity.

Again it shook its head, closing in, begging a kiss.

I wouldn't give it, not yet, "then what... are you?"

Misty hands held my face, more rubbed down to my thighs to grab and lift. Another gripped as sweet as it had before, turning my breath sharp and short. Near gasping for tendrils teasing even lower, cool and moist as the tongue licking my lips.

The tongue it spoke with, "yours."

A swooning song...

If not the answer I expected, or any answer at all, but I couldn't find room to care for all those shadows on me. Holding, groping, pinching, teasing all they could reach.

Or the tongue wriggling between my lips as all those moist tendrils gathered where they teased. A spiral they became, by the feel of them, a wet twist too supple to be anything but skin as they pressed so sweet and carefully into me.

It devoured my moan for it, and the next when those tendrils swirled inside me, pulling free enough to thrust harder. To shove me into the arm of the couch, screaming along a tongue too long.

I held it through another and another, gripping where I could, nails digging into the cool mist of its shoulders. While my legs scrambled to hold its wide waist, to beg the thick shadows of its chest tighter against my own—its tongue deeper down my throat.

Mine, it said and mine I'd make it. As long as I could for tender it was, how sweetly cool and soft, I would keep it.

When it allowed me breath it flipped me over, directing my hands to the arms of the couch, and still it kept deliciously close... intimate in all it did. Pressing firm against my back, lacing fingers with mine and nibbling my ear and neck, panting in its swooning song.

All those hands kept me moaning. "Mine," I managed through it, trying to catch lips.

Earning the melody of its laughter, "as you are mine."

When its breaths became echoed moans along my tongue I wanted nothing else.

Its thrusts chilled me inside and out, my breaths a gasp I couldn't find in all its dark, but I didn't care. It could have me, all of me if it wished it... and it would. With more sweet affection, kissing and nibbling at my neck, my ears, swooning too sweetly through every stuttered moan I offered it would have everything I was.

While I gazed into moonlight, limbs stiff and strange, slammed harder into cushions for how much rougher it took me. Bliss, every thrust, every tease. Even as I caught glimpses of my hands, or what might have been once, misting as all else when I tried to hold its face.

All my fingers swirled as ink in water before it sucked them up.

More and more I wisped and drained into brightening eyes, serenaded by the song of its bliss and the choke of my own. Yet I felt it still, so sweet, so cool on all of me. In me. Even as the milky whites of my eyes swirled into it and all became but moaning dark it was ecstasy.

Mine, it did not speak, but feel.

As I felt.

We felt, myself and all it had before me, swooning then as one... in soft moonlight.

[viscerawrites]

Fluffy July 2025 Prompts!

Happy May 1st everyone, as promised, the prompt list is here! The prompts were chosen through first a prompt jar that got a total of 23 responses that gave us 220 prompts, 118 of which were text prompts and 102 were dialogue prompts. From there 70 of each type were chosen and put in for the prompt voting form. The top 31 of each type made it onto the list, one of each for each day.

Rules:

Works can be in any medium. Fanfictions, original works, podfics, recs, whatever you please, go for it!

Prompts should be responded to in a form of fluff

You don't have to create for all the days to participate in the event

Works only need to include one of the daily prompts or an alternate

Prompts can be used after the event has ended. The AO3 collection will stay open indefinitely and as long as you tag us we will reblog. (although it might take longer than it would during the event)

No AI generated content of any kind.

(regarding completionists)

To be a completionest you must fill all 31 days before August 3rd

The completionest form should open on August 4th and be open until August 11th

(regarding reblogging)

When posting to tumblr please use the tags:

#Fluffy-July 2025 or #Fluffy July 2025

The relevant day's tag (e.g. #Fluffyjulyday1, Fluffyjulyday2...)

Nsfw (if relevant) or any possible triggers

You can also tag the blog: @fluffyjuly

Below the cut are a text version of the prompts!

MAIN PROMPTS:

Day 1 - Anniversary | “May I have this dance?”

Day 2 - Nursing Back to Health | “I thought you were asleep”

Day 3 - Scars | “I really mean it”

Day 4 - Fireworks | “Hop in! Let’s go for a ride!”

Day 5 - Stargazing | “Mind if I join you?”

Day 6 - Love Letters | “Come here and kiss me”

Day 7 - Cotton Candy | “Did you just steal my food?”

Day 8 - Flowers | “You may be an idiot, but you’re MY idiot”

Day 9 - Found Family | “I need the company”

Day 10 - Ruffling Hair | “You’re blushing” “No I’m not!”

Day 11 - Cuddling for Warmth | “You look cold”

Day 12 - Sunrises/Sunsets | “I’m proud of you”

Day 13 - Surprise Hug | “Close your eyes”

Day 14 - Falling Asleep on Shoulder | “I had a nightmare”

Day 15 - Library | “I can teach you”

Day 16 - Only One Bed | “I dare you”

Day 17 - Baking | “Can I kiss you?”

Day 18 - Nostalgia | “Are you sure you’re not a dream?”

Day 19 - Sleepy Smiles | “I’ll do your makeup”

Day 20 - Coffee | “Come back to bed”

Day 21 - Confession | “Can’t you just hold me?”

Day 22 - First Kiss | “This is going to sound weird…”

Day 23 - Carrying to Bed | “That is definitely your color”

Day 24 - Midnight Snack | “Can we get something to eat?”

Day 25 - Lazy Mornings | “Five more minutes” “You said that five minutes ago!”

Day 26 - Kisses | “Don’t say anything, just come here”

Day 27 - Interrupted Nightmare | “Do you want to come with me?”

Day 28 - Borrowed Clothing | “Look, I just woke up”

Day 29 - Falling Into Water | “Please don’t laugh”

Day 30 - Hugs | “Listen to my heartbeat”

Day 31 - Recovery | “I need a favor”

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

Alt 1 - Firsts

Alt 2 - Fake Dating

Alt 3 - Sharing Headphones

Alt 4 - Tender

Alt 5 - Sunburn

Alt 6 - “You’re not alone”

Alt 7 - “Bet”

Alt 8 - “I would die for you” “Live for me instead”

Alt 9 - “Open your mouth”

Alt 10 - “You’re lucky I love you”

[viscerawrites]

👩‍💻 share a snippet that you worked on for a long time or struggled with

From this ask game

Ooh, a tough one. I have the one that drove me crazy and is still doing so as I try to revise this thing for the umpteenth time.

Snippet is from Pale Blood and quite long. It leads into very uncomfortable places but we'll not share those.

--

He’d seen his ex-turned-celebrity on merchandise, in interviews—in the massive holo salaciously dancing in the lower disc—and even in live streams of the mer’s concerts. But somehow none of those appearances, no matter how detailed, how vibrant and shining and larger than life, fully captured how different Savor had become from Secil. Even sitting there, in front of a lit mirror, in nothing but towels—something he refused to allow his eyes to acknowledge, keeping them higher than necessary—the man before him was no one he knew.

And he couldn’t help but say so, “Setch, what have you done to yourself.”

“Aw, what’s the matter big boy,” Savor drawled, voice impossible to ignore, laced as it was by his siren song, as he eyed him through the mirror, “Do you miss your chew-toy?”

“See, right there,” Delmas snapped back, waggling his finger as he stepped further into the room, “The Secil I knew weren’t so smarmy. And what was the shit on the screen about, you that big a dick to all your fans?”

“It’s Savor,” He said and, applying a bright cyan lipstick, he popped his lips and ignored what else was asked as his cold hazel eyes—that did not match the lipstick’s cyan as they should have—fixed on Delmas’ reflection, “Secil died when we did.”

“It ain’t just the attitude,” Delmas stepped closer then, throwing his arms forward to gesture at the stranger, “Look at you, you’re–”

Savor stood and approached with such speed and ease he appeared to glide, choking what words remained in thick cologne as he stopped a step before touching. Dropping his towel with dramatic flourish, an empty, wicked grin spread across his lips and he did touch.

Tapping a painted nail on Delmas’ shirt he made little circles in the black fabric as he cooed, “all of your fantasies come to life, everything you ache to touch…to taste?” he stood taller with the last word, bare feet forcing him to tip-toes to reach, to hold Delmas’ neck as he leaned closer.

The scent of him, hidden as it was beneath the chemical sting of his cologne, yet teased with salt and citrus and Delmas fought the swoon that begged.

He stretched away from that scent, those lips, and grabbed Savor’s wrists, staring into alien eyes as he said, “tacky.”

Hurt flashed and drowned in another sharp, empty grin before Savor nodded toward a strip of wall not filled with water, “that’s not what they say.”

Behind that wall, a muffled roar sang of a waiting audience, a live audience, though Delmas knew it a lie, the audience waited a disc above, in the Shimmerdome, where all such performances took place.

Where you once beat a wolf to death in front of a live audience for the loss of the man this one used to be, the thought came sudden, stinging, and he gasped with it as the memory flared—hotter than it should, sharper, brighter—and Delmas scoffed at it, releasing it with the wrists he held, “they dunno what they lost.”

His hands free, Savor set them back on Delmas’ chest as his response sang softer, “do you?”

Though sweetly spoken those words carried predatory intent. They bit, and bit hard, keeping him still as Savor pressed closer.

And closer still, until every naked inch of him rubbed, and Savor forced his desire thicker, “I saw him, on the screen out there, your latest distraction. Does he fill the hole I left in you?”

One thin, hot hand slid up, gripping Delmas’ prickling neck while the other tickled down and slipped under his shirt.

Fighting against stiffening muscles, Delmas grasped for that hand, then the other so tight against his skin and clipped, “he does.”

“Does he now,” Savor removed his hand too easily from Delmas’ thick fingers and slapped them away before feeding more song, more intent, into his words, “or have you forgotten what we were, what I do to you?”

Again he slid his hand under Delmas’ shirt, forcing his fingers to grasp at the air, and toyed with the coarse hair along his chest.

“My memory is just fine,” the words were stilted, unsure, but still spoken—Delmas’ control weakening, but present.

Savor’s voice sang with greater echo, sharper intent, “then tell me, pet,” He stood taller, rubbing his teasing hand down Delmas’ stomach, “does he make you scream like I can?”

Eyes firm on the confused color of Savor’s, Delmas gnawed his lip under the power of the voice he spilled, the voice too clear, too known, “whatever it is you think you’re buildin’ to, you need to stop.”

But he didn’t, wouldn’t, not until he had what he wanted, what the emptiness in his moaned words promised, “what’s the matter, pet, isn't this the nostalgia you came for?” Pulling Delmas’ shirt up, he pressed the heat of his own skin harder against him, caressing paler skin and thicker curves, “to urge you back to fighting shape.”

The familiarity of the touch—tainted as it was, squirming within as much as without—drew a gasp despite the teeth in his lip and Delmas closed his eyes to it, “back up or I will back you up.”

Savor did, if an inch—a blessed inch—before he cooed, “look at the big, strong mountain, with all his jagged edges, begging to shatter.” His emphasis came with sharp nails as he gripped the skin he’d teased and the gasp it earned spread his grin.

[viscerawrites]

i love being so obsessed with my ocs that i dream abt them. i had a dream last night abt me telling ppl that Asher Kain has a found family little sister named Sugar whose character was inspired by Jinx from Arcane and like. well that was not a thing at all but it certainly is now!

[viscerawrites]

dont u love when ur making good progress on ur writing and then u get. tendonitis <3

[viscerawrites]

sometimes i wonder why i gave Asher such an excessive backstory yknow? but then i remember that his whole character concept is literally that he's based on The Plot In You's discography. which is all it takes for me to be like ah yeah makes sense. and then i carry on

[viscerawrites]

sometimes a theme recurs in your work without your permission. and sometimes it reaches a threshold where you're like. well now i think this is saying something about me against my will. don't know what though

[viscerawrites]

spontaneous lil snippet

YES i still need to answer asks and also respond to shit i was tagged in but UNTIL THEN...

this is a short lil snippet from the beginning of a oneshot im writing for my friend. it's very unserious in concept (my character is a modern day american metal musician and my friend's is None Of Those Things) but being myself... i'm making it So Serious.

also gives me the chance to finally introduce yall to my boy ever, who i created somewhere around July of last year and still don't have an official story for, but whom i love so very dearly.

everyone say hi to Asher Kain RIGHT NOW !!!

---

cw: addiction & emeto mention (also some Implications)

---

He was tired. The warmth of Joey's body, pressed to his side with her arm draped across his chest and her leg hooked around his own, did nothing for him now. Did nothing to make any of it seem worth it. Maybe he should've known that things wouldn't change just because she wanted to get out of the country for a while.

Still, he promised her that he would be in it for the long haul. Even if she drank herself half to death as often as she physically could. Even if it was getting harder and harder for him by the day. At least it put things into perspective.

He remembered. All of it. All the nights he spent high off his ass, vomiting from another too-big dose of whatever pills he'd managed to get his hands on, fucking or fighting anyone in his vicinity — and now he was here, on the other end, and he didn't think he'd ever hated himself more.

(that was a lie, though, and he knew it)

As he stewed in his thoughts, lost to the growing exhaustion and the constant burn of anger that simmered beneath his skin, Joey shifted in her sleep. Breathed out a quiet sigh and pressed somehow even closer, till her lips — dry and cracked, nothing like they used to be — were practically sealed to his neck. A ripple of disgust shuddered through him, and he hurriedly forced down the memories that threatened to shove their way forward. To take him into their grasp and shake him till his belly split open and he disappeared back into his mind. Somewhere far away.

Swallowing around the solid lump in his throat, Asher turned his thoughts instead to the melody he'd been working on since the start of their trip. Only a few lyrics, chords, and half-formed thoughts had been scribbled down so far, and his fingers itched to retrieve his backpack from beneath the bed. To flip his notebook open, press pen to paper, and lose himself in the flow of words and emotion. To make something meaningful.

(PS. Joey is NOT my friend's character)

[viscerawrites]

i've also decided to start counting all brainstorming and note taking sessions in my word count tracker, which seems like an obvious way to feel more accomplished but like. i don't think

the woe of being a writer is that u make status update posts like "i need a break" but then u change up the rhythm one last time and suddenly ur writing more than u have in months. can my brain GET FUCKED

[viscerawrites]

the woe of being a writer is that u make status update posts like "i need a break" but then u change up the rhythm one last time and suddenly ur writing more than u have in months. can my brain GET FUCKED

[viscerawrites]

status update 05/23/25 + 150 song self-challenge

so. today is may 23rd 2025, and i’ve been struggling.

i was able to regain my writing spark even after my aunt’s death, but unfortunately i find myself once again bored and having trouble connecting to my projects. truthfully, i realize i’ve been putting a lot of pressure on myself to stick with every good idea i have as soon as i have it. i need to give myself time and space to let these projects grow organically, and to truly think about them before i try to force them into a certain shape.

i admit that i need a break. im a bit lost right now, and im trying to be okay with that.

but taking a break from these commitments doesn’t mean im going to stop creating. if i know anything, it’s that life can never be beautiful for me if i am not able to make things.

so, in an attempt to find the meaning again, and to have fun thinking of concepts without clinging to them immediately, i am giving myself a challenge.

i have a playlist of 150 songs that ive been putting together over the past few months. i never listen to it, or really look at the songs on it, so ive forgotten exactly what’s in there.

im giving myself a soft deadline of 75 days to brainstorm concepts and play around with ideas for what stories based on each song might be like. im giving myself plenty of room to find out what this process will be like for each one, instead of going in with rigid expectations of what it will be like. i am not intending nor expecting to keep any of these ideas. for all i know, i might not end up liking any of them!

im really excited! its also been a while since ive sat down and really Felt the music, too, so im quite excited to think and basically journal about the songs lol.

anyway. i guess that’s what’s up with me right now! i hope yall are doing alright <3