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#same sex baptism
daydreamrot · 5 months
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God's Menu
chef! leon x fem! reader // Kinktober Installment 4
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"cooking a sauce, get all you want / savor it, lick it, say it, bon / taste so good, everyone loves it / but it all tastes strong / i want it till i serve them all / i do my research, cross boundaries"
summary: you're struggling to keep up with the basics of your culinary program, enough that it threatens your graduation date. your professors decided a summer internship at the prestigious chef kennedy’s restaurant will help you catch up quickly. still slipping up on small tasks, chef kennedy decides to mentor you after hours. what will you create together?
warnings: power dynamics (mentor/mentee relationship), corruption kink, dom! leon, food mention, alcohol mention, food play, temperature play, cunniligus, unprotected p in v sex, creampie
word count/genre: 3.3k+ (oops) // smut // link to ao3
author's note: here it is! the long-anticipated chef! leon fic which just so happens to be one of my longest fics to date. i had a lot of fun finally “cooking” this and then letting it “bake” in the oven at 400 degrees fahrenheit. i don’t think this is the last of chef! leon and i’ll probably write a little drabble about leon receiving some food play, so let me know if you’d like to see that. i want to thank my darling em (@emilzke) for always encouraging me and allowing me to drop my thirst rambles in her DM’s because sometimes they turn out into full-fledged fics. also shoutout to tea (@scar-crossedlvrs) for helping me sort through some organizational things. as always, feedback/reblogs/replies are greatly appreciated. enjoy your eating (;
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even as a young child, you always loved cooking and playing chef. you spent hours in your play-kitchen, repeatedly serving your poor parent's plastic food. It only worsened when you were gifted easy-bake ovens, crafting concoctions to rival Frankenstein’s monster with only a lightbulb, water, and a mixing packet. But it was always an ordeal when your parents would peel you from the comfort of the kitchen. you would throw the largest tantrum when removed from the kitchen because, “those are sharp, don’t touch that!” and “that flame is hot, you’ll burn your hand!” and “no! that’s raw, and if you eat it, you’ll get sick.” your passion persisted. what was originally thought to be a phase that continued as you refined your skills throughout your upbringing. your unique recipes won several local cook-off titles, and you enjoyed preparing dinner for the family after a long day of schoolwork. it was your creative space. edible art. it relaxed you while invigorating you at the same time. the combinations and creations were endless. and when graduation rolled around, it didn’t much surprise your parents that you were looking towards culinary school.
getting into culinary school seemed to be the easiest part, though. succeeding in culinary school? that was another story. everything felt so scientific, and you struggled with the most basic skills. your knife cuts were far too sloppy, and you could only play the “rustic” card so many times. your nerves betrayed you on your practicals, causing you to shake and forget the most basic cake ingredients. I mean, really, who bakes a cake without some sort of milk or milk substitute? On the other hand, though, every non-cooking or baking course went over easily. You were an ace at menu planning and design. You were a sanitation queen, always knowing how to get the toughest stains out of the counters. Inventory management? A walk in the park. And sure, those courses may be easy A’s, but they didn’t ignite your passion. Too many conversations with your chef instructors assured you that you had a promising career in restaurant management but were still a long way off from being a renowned chef. You needed an intervention and fast. What better way to make progress than baptism by fire?
your parents and their infinite connections managed to get you a job as a sous chef at the esteemed Chef Kennedy’s luxury restaurant in the expensive part of downtown. Even your instructors were impressed that you were able to pull this off. they agreed that if you could last the summer under Chef Kennedy’s tutelage, you would graduate culinary school on time. However, as you showed up for your first day of work, you were in WAY over your head.
Chef Kennedy ran his kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Not a grain of rice was ever misplaced, and this intimidated the hell out of you. People were rushing everywhere, tending to the gourmet dishes that always came out looking perfect. You hadn’t eaten here before, but your mouth was already watering in anticipation at the smells wafting behind the kitchen doors. And this was considered a lull in dining time between the lunch and dinner rush. Little time was wasted when you entered the bustling kitchen; one of the other sous chefs immediately put you to work on garnishes. Not too difficult of a task, or so you thought. A sprig of mint here, a swirly chocolate ganache here, and a perfectly shaped dollop of butter were nerve-wracking. your clumsiness caused even the most delectable food to look ugly and completely disheveled. it was the first time your food had been sent back on presentation alone.
that’s when you laid eyes on him – Chef Leon Kennedy. The first thing you notice about him probably shouldn’t be his attractiveness. With eyes the color of ripe blueberries and blond hair so beautiful it would make the wheat envious, Leon had captivated your attention before he spoke. He was fit, too, with muscles to rival Robert Irvine; this man was clearly passionate about fitness and nutrition. His broad shoulders strained against his white chef jacket, almost as if the seams were clinging to dear life as they faced inevitable demise when Leon decided to move his arms next. You might’ve flirted with him in another setting and tried to go on a few dates. But the power that radiated off him made you feel small and embarrassed when he placed your pathetic platter on the prep table.
he wasn’t one to yell like Gordon Ramsey, but the deep sigh of disappointment reverberated against the chaotic kitchen walls. “I always notice sloppy technique,” he speaks, an aura of authority in his tone. you’re visibly shaking, worrying about being fired from your dream job on your first day. “s-sorry chef. i’m a culinary school intern. i didn’t know any better, but i’d like to learn,” you announce with your voice sounding meek. all eyes are on you, and frustrated tears well into your eyes. leon turns his head to face you and looks you once over. he nods singularly in understanding. he decides to be benevolent today and takes pity on your demure stature. “Just stick to cleaning for today then,” he commands, not wanting to create an even bigger scene, and waves his hand to dismiss every other kitchen employee back to their workstations. 
you take a small bathroom break between menial cleaning tasks. you wail and cry over your own incompetence in private. you’re ready to throw the towel in at this point and maybe attend a real university. leave the restaurant life behind and just continue to be a cooking hobbyist. however, you’re broken out of your pity party by a soft rap at the wooden door to the bathroom. “a-are you alright in there?” a voice asks through the thick oak door. It’s Chef Leon. You scramble to pull yourself together, blowing your nose and trying to steady the shakiness in your voice. you’re trembling yet again, but open the door to see leon. his face is laced with worry. “s-sorry, chef,” you apologize. you brace yourself to be fired, trying to be brave. this was surely the end. but somehow, the hammer never dropped. leon stepped closer to you, resisting a nurturing urge to reach out and touch you. “oh sweetheart,” he said in a low whisper. “talk to me.” his paternal tone should feel patronizing, but for some reason, you were comforted by it.
his sweet words caused a cascade of tears to flow from your cheeks, and leon tried to make sense of your barely coherent sobs. “dream job” .. “failing school” .. “haven’t even eaten here.” He listens attentively, a small frown pulling on the corner of his mouth. “tell you what, why don’t you take off for the rest of the day. just recover. for the next two weeks, you meet me here at 8am sharp and I will help you refine your skills.” he offers. you sniffle, dragging your eyes up to meet his, and nod, not trusting your voice. 
you looked so pretty like this. down on your knees, begging and pleading not to lose your job. sobbing while you shared your sorrows with him. such a young, vulnerable thing. leon was grateful his chef’s coat covered his trousers so you couldn’t see the half-hard on he was sporting. he couldn’t help it. he wanted to help you improve as a chef and build your confidence, but he also couldn’t tame the desire to break you down. a malleable dough ripe for shaping beneath his skilled hands. he never felt this way about one of his employees before, so why you? he hoped to shake this feeling, as such a desire was extremely unprofessional. 
leon coughs to clear his perverted thoughts and then helps you to stand. “See you tomorrow then. 8 a.m. on the dot. Don’t be late. I don’t give second chances,” he commands before a hasty exit. After all, he had a kitchen to manage.
training with Leon had started off pretty miserable. Your knife skills were shoddy at best, and you barely knew the difference between a julienne and a batonnet. You oversalted and underseasoned. Sweet desserts came out too bitter, and tart desserts came out sour. But time and time again, Chef Kennedy put up with your mistakes. His teaching hand was firm, never allowing your work to be finished unless it was perfect. Now, you were less of a liability during the lunch and dinner rushes and were trusted with some line cook tasks. Slowly, you had made progress.
you were rewarded with small tips and tricks Leon had picked up over the years and a bit more of his backstory. Leon developed his love of cooking out of necessity. He was alone for the majority of his life and wanted to learn how to make cheap, healthy meals. Despite insane work weeks, Leon’s love of cooking never faded, and he finally saved enough money to attend the prestigious Auguste Escoffier School of Culinary Arts in the United States. Finding success a few years after graduation, Leon was recommended to travel to the acclaimed Le Cordon Bleu culinary school in Paris, France to take a desserts and pastry course. Not to mention a few years ago, he thought it might be fun to learn the basics of mixology. Truly, a jack of all trades in the food realm and a lifelong learner. But his journey to culinary stardom wasn’t always easy, he struggled a lot to keep up with a high-tempo kitchen. He empathized with your struggles but saw your potential – probably what made you such a good training pair. when you finally presented a nearly perfect recreation of his signature four-course meal, he knew you no longer needed his specific observation. 
on your last day of one-on-one training, you off-handedly remark, “Wow, I’ve made all these signature dishes, but I’ve never even eaten at this restaurant.” Leon’s head whipped to face you, and a grin spreads across his face. “Well, we can’t have that, my little protege, can we? Would you join me tomorrow for a four-course meal?” he asks, under the guise of being polite and celebratory. But internally, he hopes he has the chance to show you more than just his talents in the kitchen. you eagerly accept, blissfully ignoring you’ll now be spending your one day off back in your place of work.
you shouldn’t be this nervous. You and Chef Kennedy had been working together for weeks now, in close proximity, hands brushing and bodies touching, but something about a shared meal felt more intimate. Dare you say it felt romantic? You adhered to the restaurant’s dress code, business formal, and dressed up for the first time in weeks. you wore a mid-length dress with an open back that showed a bit of your body but kept it comfortable and classy enough to eat four courses of gourmet food. your shoes and jewelry were elegant but not enough to detract from the dress. your makeup and hair were subdued but stunning nonetheless. When you walked through the door, Leon felt as though he would fall to his knees.
leon had prepared a private table in the center of the restaurant. it was laid with a beautiful white tablecloth with the napkins folded in an ornate style. the silverware was plated perfectly, and nothing was missing or out of place. A single rose decorated the center, and tea lights for ambiance, and you could hear the faint sound of Chopin playing over the speakers. You gasped, “C-chef, was this all for me?” A gentle smile runs across Leon’s features as he pulls your chair out for you. “Every future food connoisseur deserves their chance at a gourmet meal. Bon appetit,” he says in a low, sultry tone that suits the atmosphere.
what started as an innocent cocktail with your meal quickly devolved into a few drinks and a split bottle of wine. You and leon were both properly tipsy now, and there was nothing to filter the two of you’s flirtatious nature – especially not in an environment filled with aphrodiasiacs. The sexual tension between the two of you was palpable, and in an empty restaurant, it was due to bubble over like a shaken bottle of champagne. you try to stifle your giggles enough to enjoy the desserts he had prepared for the evening, however, chocolate fondue has never been known to be a very “clean” dessert, and when a bit of chocolate dribbles out of the corner of your mouth.. leon can’t help himself. he brings himself closer to you, lips hovering just over yours as his hand cups beneath your chin, before he whispers, “may i?” and in a breathy whisper, you reply, “yes, chef.” 
his lips capture your own in a searing kiss, which you ardently return. he spends a few short moments studying the movement of your lips against his own. he doesn’t forget to lick the chocolate from the corner of your mouth and uses his tongue to trace your bottom lip. your body decides before your mind as your lips part to allow him access and his tongue explores your mouth as if savoring a fine meal. But Chef Kennedy has decided that the table is separating you just simply wouldn’t do as he crossed over to you, and he picks you up effortlessly to sit you on the edge of the long, neighboring mahogany table. After that brief intermission, he positions himself inbetween your legs to kiss you once more. this time with less restraint and greedy hands squeezing your breasts, earning him a soft moan and your hands reaching to tug at his hair. 
kissing isn’t enough, despite how enjoyable it may be when you’re both buzzed off of wine and chocolate, and soon your hands seek to rid one another of your clothes. your trembling hands fumble with the buttons of his chef coat but your diligence is rewarded by the exclusive viewing of a shirtless Chef Kennedy. whatever you dreamed in your fantasies couldn’t compare to the scrumptious, chiseled man in front of you. 
your dress is easily pushed up and discarded onto the carpet. the chill of the cold mahogany table you laid upon touching your heated skin. he raises his eyebrows a bit as he notices the damp patch formed on the gusset of your lacy panties. “you know,” leon begins, his voice raspy with lust, “a good chef is only as good as his preparation… wouldn’t you agree?” you’re a bit confused but as he drips a bit of warm chocolate from the fondue pot on your breast, you begin to get the idea. “y-yes” you manage to moan out as leon’s tongue slowly licks the chocolate off. his mouth wrapping around your nipple and making sure no melted chocolate was left behind, but he pulls away. you whine at the loss of contact, “yes, what?” he asks, tauntingly. “yes, c-chef!” you cry out as he drips more warm chocolate across your breasts and torso. he smirks, pleased with himself as he continues to lick thick stripes across your body, kitten licking the most sensitive spots only to work you up more.
shivers roll down your spine at the sensation and arousal is now leaking down your thighs. the combination of warm chocolate and Leon’s tongue would be enough to send anyone over the edge, but a true genius can alter his recipe to make it even better and chef kennedy was nothing if not creative. pulling an ice cube from one of your finished drinks, he gently teases it across your inner thighs — just testing the waters — and by the way you squirm beneath him, he can tell it’s working. now the warm chocolate across your breasts was juxtaposed against the cold ice cube leon was dragging up and down your soaked panties, and the dual sensations each fighting for dominance of your body’s pleasure. but leon could win against any element. he was the only thought in your clouded mind and he was starting to feel left out.
leon took it upon himself to dribble a little chocolate across his collarbone and chest. “be a good girl for me and clean up this mess?” he coos, grabbing you by the hair and bringing your face towards his chest. you mimicked his earlier patterns on his own body — small, teasing licks followed by long, lucious strokes for bigger areas. after all, you couldn’t miss a drop of it. you took the opportunity to suck a few small love bites into his chest — a smart move given the pants he lets slip. he rewards the good behavior by finally slipping off your underwear. “share a four-star gourmet meal with you when you were keeping the best dish hidden from me?” he tsks as he lowers mouth towards your leaking cunt, the ice now almost fully melted. 
he starts with gentle kisses across your inner thighs and slowly moves to press a few taunting ones to your swollen clit. then he tastes you and the guttural groan released from his chest reverberates on your body's innermost parts, causing you to cry out and reach for his hair. he’s like a man starved, determined to engorge himself in your juices. your eyes screw shut in pleasure and small whimpers leave your mouth at his vast tongue strokes. if painters could paint a canvas the way leon’s tongue could brush against your cunt so thoughtfully, then artists would be the richest people in the world. your first orgasm rolls through your body quickly, a heat as hot as molten lava lopes through your veins as you cry out for him. 
he drinks in your first orgasm, licking his lips a bit with pride. “you know, a good chef always tastes their food” he teases, before pulling you in for another kiss. you could taste the remnants of your orgasm on his lips and when you disconnect, a string of spit still connects you. “you ready for more, my sweet?” he asks, his hands going to the waistband of his pants. your mind is hazy, and your hand rubs his toned arms reassuringly. “kiss me a little more, then i’ll be ready” you smirk, and he obliges. peppering sweet kisses across your forehead, cheeks, neck, nose and even on your lips for good measure. when you tell him you’re ready, he quickly shoved his pants down to his ankles.
chef leon was well endowed and his cock bowed upward to smack against his stomach. it was clear he had enjoyed the foreplay just as much as you did — evident by the precum leaking from the tip of his erection. to be fair, you didn’t have much time to admire him. he was needy and as soon as he pumped himself a few times, he was already teasing himself on the slick folds of your entrance. you gasped as the tip rolled against your abused and puffy clit, bucking into him and ready for more. he slowly sheaths himself into your gummy walls and is pleased when you’re already squeezing around him. 
with your permission, he begins to fuck into you at a comfortable pace. the lewd sounds of skin slapping on skin and symphony of your moans now drown out the pleasant classical piano music — not that you were complaining. things are made even better when he takes one of your legs upon his shoulders, his cock now perfectly scraping your g-spot and coaxing your second orgasm from you with ease. leon knows he won’t last long, your tight pussy was milking his cock with each of his thrusts and the way your breasts bounced to the rhythm of his pace — you were so pretty. as you feel his movements get sloppier. his hips are stuttering and his muscles are wound so tightly, you fear they may snap. then he releases with a loud moan, coating your walls in white, sticky cum. and after a few minutes of post-orgasmic bliss, he pulls out and says, “you know my favorite dessert is a creampie.” 
you blush, covering your face in your hands and shaking side to side while leon admires the mixture of his cum and your juices leak from your cunt. while leon takes care to wipe you both off with a warm, clean towel, you make eye contact with those pretty blues of his and say, “so… i’ll see you at work tomorrow then?”
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bettyfrommars · 9 months
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Death Becomes Us
Part 5: The Baptism vampire!Eddie x supernatural!fem!Reader
Summary: You venture into the Upside Down for the first time ever to go to a vampire bar called Sacrament, owned by an older vampire named Jareth (inspired by Jamie Campbell Bower & Eric Northman of True Blood), and end up being recognized by one of the employees. Hints to your past are revealed, and you end up with a new protector. wc: 6.8k
18+Only, mature content, vampire sex, vampire orgy,mention of being covered in blood, mention of someone dying in a car accident, mention of a dead body in a morgue, demobats, wielding a knife, visions of sex, vampire!Eddie.
Masterlist
A/N: A few things to keep in mind while you (hopefully) enjoy this chapter: the Upside Down is a place, but does not exist in the same way as in the show. Eddie's vampire origin story is different than the kas!Eddie origin story. All of the ST characters in this story are not acquainted in the same way they were in the show.
pls no minors beyond this point
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Part 5: The Baptism
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“Seatbelt?”
Windows open, music blaring, Eddie shifted gear on the GTO and motioned for you to strap in. You noticed that he wasn’t wearing his, but then again he had the immortality thing on his side.
“Mind telling me exactly where we are going?” You asked, clipping your lap belt and adjusting the strap.
“I told you,” Eddie cleared his throat. “A vampire bar.”
“But, I work at a vampire bar,” you added. “It’s not exactly new to me.”
Eddie barked a laugh, clamping his hand way up high on he steering wheel. “Those geeks who go to Main Vein are babies, they are all fairly new to the life. No self-respecting vampire with any real years under their belt would go in there.”
“So, you don’t have any self-respect, I assume?” You chided, being that Eddie had been a frequent flier at Main Vein.
Eddie shrugged. “I’m a baby vampire compared to most. I’m talking about vampires who were turned hundreds of years ago. Maybe even thousands in some cases,” he corrected.
A thought crossed your mind as you looked around at the polished and detailed interior of the vehicle you were in, eyeballing the guitar pick necklace dangling from the rear view mirror. “You’re not taking me somewhere in a stolen car, are you?”
Eddie licked his teeth. “Nah, Princess. This baby is all mine.”
The downtown area of Hawkins turned into suburban houses, and then opened up to a long highway flanked by thick forest as the muscle car zoomed along and you watched it all fly by from your window.
A corner of your brain flashed to a daydream just then. One where Eddie’s hand came over to grab your leg, squeezing it, and when you looked over, he’s licking his lips, eyes roaming your body. “Pull over,” you whisper to him, and he immediately obliges, peeling onto the side of the road, tires spitting up gravel, and whips it into park. Eager mouths meet in the middle, over the console, and his hand darts up to cup your breast and thumb your nipple over your shirt. You reach over to palm his erection, your pussy already throbbing and trickling between your legs. It isn’t long before you’re straddling his lap in the driver’s seat dry humping, bare breasts bouncing, begging him to bite you as his eyes go black.
“Did you hear what I said?” Eddie asked.
“No, I--” you swallowed to wet your dry mouth. “What was it?”
He rested the side of his hand on the dash to point in the direction of a green and white street arrow pointing down at a paved street that curved to the right. “It’s a little jarring at first if you’ve never been, but you’ll get used to it.”
Indeed, you’d never been to the Upside Down, but you had heard the stories, and forgot to exhale a breath stuck in your chest as Eddie fishtailed around the corner and a dust cloud enveloped the car. There loomed a big, white church with round windows and a large bell at the very top; it was enormous but also quaint, with flower baskets hanging from the porch and a well kept lawn. Up ahead, you could see a bridge; an old, covered wooden bridge at the end of a narrow, paved road, with a path leading directly to it, a crescent moon stamp in the dark blue sky.
“You ready?” Eddie asked, slowing down to hit the lip of the road with a bounce.
“Sure,” you replied, eyes ahead, getting closer to the bridge and further from the church.
You tried to fix your eyes when you realized the other end of the tunnel appeared to offer nothing but a pitch black void, and not a glimpse of the other side of the woods, as you would assume.
“What the---” you whispered the partial question to yourself just as the tires met the wobbly wood planks and you were under the shelter of the bridge, heading into a big, gaping nothing.
Eddie turned to get a glimpse of your face as you took in what it was like to go to the other side for the first time, and he tried not to smile, but lost the battle.
“Here we go, Princess,” Eddie mumbled, continuing to keep his foot on the gas without any aid of the break as the GTO met with the inky blackness.
Your our eyes closed reflexively at the way the car seemed to meet air and fall, gravity pulling it down, but only for a second or two before the wheels met with the ground again.
You opened your eyes to find that you were somehow on the same road, but it was also, very different. The grass on either side was dead and the dirt was dry; all of the surrounding trees were just bare limbs and jagged trunks jutting out of the earth. The sky was the color of a purple bruise, and you spotted a few large, odd-shaped birds soaring above.
“Demobats,” Eddie said on an exhale, following your line of sight, answering a question you hadn’t asked.
“Demobats.” You repeated the name as you watched a few loop lazily in the sky while Eddie followed the road and headed back toward the old church. “Do vampires turn into Demobats?”
“Damn, I wish,” Eddie snorted a laugh. “Now, that would be fun. But no, we don’t get to do any of the cool shapeshifting stuff of legends, and let me tell you, I felt robbed when I found that one out.”
Now, your focus was on the old church that you’d passed earlier, mouth slightly agape at the transformation. Matte black exterior instead of white, it loomed like bad news with bars over the round windows and a human skeleton hanging from the top rafters where the old bell used to be. Golden light filtered out from the double story building, and there was a large parking lot to the left filled with cars and motorcycles. A few enormous demobats perched along the roof; waiting and watching.
“The Demobats are a part of a hive mind, but they have free will,” Eddie continued filling you in on the set of Dracula that you had just landed in. “If a vampire bonds with one, the creature becomes a companion or protector.”
“Do you have one?” You asked right away, realizing you surely would’ve spotted a demobat hanging around the trailer park.
“Nah,” Eddie shrugged. “I’m not really a fan of them myself. Plus, it only works if you reside in the Upside Down, I think. Demobats don’t care much for humans.”
You were staring at the ones on the roof as they turned their heads to maintain eye contact with you. “That’s good to know,” you said under your breath.
The front door to the church opened as you passed it and you got a glimpse of the red light spilling out, and the crowd of bodies inside, loud music thumping in your chest.
Eddie waited for two tall, pale vampires with platinum hair in black trench coats to cross the parking lot in front of him before he continued in to park.
“Stay there,” he told you. You watched an abnormally tall and muscular, bald man with tattooed lines down his face get off the motorcycle a row ahead of you while Eddie came around to your door.
He opened it and extended his arm as if showcasing the parking lot. “Shall we?”
Although fascinated by this new peak into the odd world of vampires, the fact that this was not at all “on the way” to the trailer park made you a tad suspicious. What did vampire Eddie have planned for you?
The air was thick—humid without being warm or wet—and it smelled like burning firewood with a tang of metal. “Do you want to take my arm or hold my hand?” Eddie asked, running the tip of his tongue over his top lip, letting his eyes flick down your body. “It’s up to you, but we need to send a message that you are with me. It’s for your safety.”
“Arm is fine,” you swallowed, hooking your elbow with his, bare skin on the leather of his jacket. Behind the church was a dense thicket of forest, and the air looked like someone had just blown the fluffy bits off of a big dandelion. You palmed his bicep, feeling the bulge of muscle there, and he tucked your arm close, pinning it to his side.
From the few vampires you’d already seen in the parking lot and on the steps of the church, they were, indeed, physically much different than the vamps who occasionally popped into Main Vein. A group of guys rolled up on their motorcycles; long hair, earrings, bone jewelry, dressed in all black.
“I think that’s a human,” you noted, whispering to Eddie as you spotted the guy who worked in the produce section of the grocery story you frequented.
“Humans are welcome here, “ Eddie shrugged. “But it’s a huge risk because most of the vampires around these parts don’t follow Mainstreaming rules, they don’t like the peace pact that was made with Hawkins. They’d like it to go back the way it was: all of just hiding down here and coming out to feed in the shadows of night like feral animals.”
He squared his shoulders and stretched his neck as you both made it up the stairs. You passed a huddled group of three vampire women in latex outfits sprawled on the steps who seemed to hiss at you as you walked by.
There was a short line to get in the door, and a tall, dominatrix looking woman in a leather bustier with red hair and knee high stiletto boots was checking ID’s and apparently getting a read on people. You noticed her eyeball you a few times as you waited, zipped close to Eddie’s side.
She framed her hips with her hands and took an intimidating step toward Eddie; the two sized each other up with a serious lock of their eyes, but you noticed Eddie had a small smirk lifting up one side of his mouth.
“Edward,” she arched an eyebrow, the extremity of her heels making her just as tall as him.
“Maxine,” Eddie returned. You were so transfixed by the vampire woman in front of you, you barely noticed when Eddie slipped your arm down and took your hand in his. He squeezed it once, quietly reassuring you.
“Only Jareth calls me Maxine, you know this,” and then all of her attention went to you. “You can call me Max,” she said, looking you over from head to foot.
“She’s with me,” Eddie told her.
“I can see that,” Max inclined her head. “Welcome to Sacrament. What brings the two of you to our little corner of hell this evening?”
“She’s never been to a real vampire bar,” Eddie pumped his hand on yours again; it was smooth and cool, dotted in rough callouses. “Or to the Upside Down, for that matter.��
“A virgin, how sweet,” Max cooed sarcastically. “So, what is this? A date?”
“No!” You said it so fast, it made Max chuckle.
“Wait, what is that smell?” Max sniffed the air, got closer to you, and sniffed some more. She got so close, your noses were almost touching. “I can smell your blood, sweetheart, and damn does it make my mouth water.”
“Max—” Eddie warned.
“I know, I know,” she took a step back. “Okay fine, she’s yours. But I won’t be the only one who wants a taste, I hope you know.”
Eddie knew from the moment he met you that you were special. Not just because of the cotton candy electricity in your blood, but also the way you’d looked at him with those white eyes that first night out between the two trailers. You were human, but you were also something else, and he intended to find out what.
Max stepped back, allowing the two of you to continue on through the main door. Inside, the lighting was dim; all deep red and tangerine hues. From large speakers in the back, the song ‘In darkness you will feel alright’ by Horror Vacui filled the air. A long bar to the right, a few chairs and tables scattered around the middle of the room, and then a large dance floor where vampires writhed, some dancing at lightning speed, as if you were watching a video being fast-forwarded. There were two platforms on either side of the floor where dancers worked their bodies on a pole, slithering and spreading their legs wide. At the far back was a stage of some sort, and you could see a drum kit and a microphone.
You slipped your hand free of Eddie grasp, and he let you, but he stayed close; close enough that his arm was always brushing yours. “Drink?” He asked, shouting a bit over the music.
At the bar, you surprised Eddie by ordering straight whiskey, and then he ordered one of the synthetic blood substitutes called NuBlood. The vampire bartender stared at you with blank eyes for a long time as Eddie made the introductions; his name was Craven and he had long, black hair and a wash of dark tattoos over his chest and arms, exposed under the leather vest he wore.
“I see you brought a snack,” Craven flicked his eyes to you as he handed over the drinks. Vampires had the ability to retract their fangs, but Craven’s were out and long, cutting down into his bottom lip
“If that’s what you’d like to call it,” Eddie gave Craven a final nod and palmed both of the tumblers, determined to carry yours as well, and you followed him to a table.
Taking a sip of your whiskey, you chanced a longer look at Eddie. He had one elbow hooked behind the back of the chair, neck muscles tight as he grazed his full bottom lip with his teeth thoughtfully, his stare fixed somewhere in the distance. But then he looked at you and you lost your nerve, dropping your chin, lowering your glass.
You noticed a middle-aged man dress like an accountant in the middle of the dance floor grinding with one of the male vampires. The accountant had two sets of fang marks on his neck and the two seemed like they knew each other intimately.
“That’s a Fang Banger,” Eddie apparently knew exactly where your attention had gone, and now you were both trying to watch without making it obvious.
You’d heard the term before, but always had your questions to what exactly it meant.
Eddie continued. “Most of the humans who come here like to have sex with vampires and let them drink their blood,” he worked his jaw as he turned the glass in his hand. “And then of course there are humans who like to ingest vampire blood for it’s euphoric highs and healing benefits.”
You turned to face him. “Am I a Fang...Banger now that I drank your blood?”
“Not technically,” Eddie smirked, but shyly, gaze landing on his glass. “But if you’re interested I think I know a guy.”
For some reason, that little flirtatious moment gave you butterflies and you bit your lip, turning your attention back to the dancers on the floor.
“Didn’t you say you had to come here for work?” You were flustered to change the subject.
“I need to pick something up from a guy here,” he answered, ever so vaguely. “Finish these drinks first and then I’ll deal with it.”
That was when you saw him. Or, he saw you---you weren’t sure which happened first.
On the back stage, there suddenly stood a tall, blonde vampire with hair to his shoulders, slicked back from his face. His features were beautiful; perfect almost to the point of being surreal. Black shirt unbuttoned down to his navel, leather pants, fingers and wrists adorned in jewelry, and lips that were almost ruby red against his pale skin.
Max was on stage too, right next to him, talking as she continued to glance in your direction.
The tall blonde vampire’s gaze never strayed from you as he took in whatever information Max was giving him with a tilt of his head.
“Who is that guy on stage that keeps staring over here?” You tried not to look too obvious, leaning closer to Eddie.
Eddie grumbled. “That’s Jareth. This is his club.”
The vampire named Jareth had a very ancient, even otherworldly look about him. Confidence literally oozed from his perfect posture.
It wasn’t long before Jareth and Max were exiting the stage, and parting the crowd, headed in your direction. More like, the crowd parted for them; they were all in awe of his presence.
‘Aw shit, here we go,” Eddie said under his breath, fingering the rim of his glass.
“Well, well, well,” Jareth said with a velvet voice. He kept his arms to his side, and Max had hers folded across her chest. “What do we have here?” He had the lilt of an accent; British, perhaps?
With an air of reluctance, Eddie introduced you, and you followed his lead, getting to your feet, so that the two men would be eye to eye.
Jareth made his way around to your side of the table, sinking in as close as he could without breaching your personal bubble, and took your hand. “The pleasure is all mine,” he told you, bringing the back of your hand up to brush his lips against your knuckles, maintaining eye contact with you. His eyes were so blue, they were almost purple. You didn’t have to glance over to notice the way Eddie stiffened.
“You’re right, Max,” Jareth cooed. “She does smell good enough to eat.”
Eddie moved up closer to you, body flush against your arm. When Jareth finally released your hand, you turned to check in on Eddie, not realizing his mouth would be mere inches from your face, his hand snaking around the back of your hip.
“This is her first time,” Max reported with an air of amusement on her face.
“I’m glad we could be your first,” a smile warmed across Jareth’s face to show that his teeth were perfectly beautiful and white. “You’re just in time for The Baptism.”
You couldn’t have been more confused.
“That is,” Jareth continued, inclining his head at Eddie. “If it’s alright with your babysitter.”
“Only vampires can receive the Baptism,” Max added, smugly. “But you’re welcome to watch, sweetheart.”
In a flash, Jareth was face to face with you, right in your bubble this time, and you flinched a bit as his hand came up to cup your jaw, smoothing his thumb along the scar on your cheek. In a dreamy voice he said: “I do so love a girl who looks like she has stories to tell.”
Eddie seemed to be playing along for the sake of appearances, but you could hear him growl in reaction to the unwanted touch; you could feel it vibrating in his chest. You got the idea that Jareth knew exactly what he was doing by the way he winked at Eddie.
“You go with Max,” Jareth told you. “While Eddie and I finish up some business in my office.”
You gave Eddie a tentative look over your shoulder, wondering if this was a bad idea.
“I promise no harm will come to your little pet,” Max’s voice dripped with boredom and sarcasm. “And I won’t even take a nibble.”
You stayed close to Max, making your way through the sweaty crowd on the dance floor, checking over your shoulder only once to find that Eddie and Jareth were already nowhere to be found. Max’s shiny latex corset laced up with ribbon in the back, and on the exposed skin above was the top of some sort of large tattoo; it almost looked religious in nature like a Mother Mary motif. She led you down a wide stairway lit with red bulbs from above and the walls were painted black. You heard more music thudding below; you could even feel it in your feet.
“Watch your step,” Max warned as you took the final stair in to a hallway that was so dark you had to squint. Then there was another windowless door made of heavy metal, and it was guarded by that scary vampire with the bald head that you’d noticed in the parking lot.
He immediately stood up, flustered at Max’s presence.
Max patted his arm. “We’re just here to watch, Ronnie,” she told him, and he only glanced at you briefly before opening the airtight door with a loud clack and stepping out of the way.
Once you crossed the threshold, you’d be permanently separated from Eddie, and locked behind a bulletproof door. You only had a second to consider this before it clicked shut behind you.
In front of you now was a large room with a DJ spinning music inside a plexiglass box at the far end. The group of vampires who were already there were all too lost in their own world to notice or even care that someone had just come in. You continued to follow Max as you took in the fact that there were yoga mats and shower drains lined up along the floor.
“In here, sweet cheeks,” Max guided, opening another door and flicking a light on. The light was another deep red crimson color, so not much light at all, but you could see that there were three tiers that went up in elevation, and a row of chairs along each level, all facing a large picture window; the window faced the spacious room with the drains on the floor and the yoga mats.
She told you to take a seat, and you found one in the first row, lowering yourself into it with a noted level of hesitancy. In the seat next to you, Max patted your thigh. “It’s a guilty pleasure of mine to expose virgin eyes to the Baptism. I know you’ll love it.”
Again, you couldn’t tell if Max was being serious, or if she was still being flippantly sarcastic.
Over the speakers, an electronic female voice announced “2 minutes until The Baptism” and it was then you heard the rush of footsteps upstairs; vampires coming down to be a part of...whatever this was. The DJ behind the protected enclosure had green and black hair as the dark, pulsing music played, and a bit of fear hitched in your chest, mouth dropping open at the way the bodies flooded in through the doors. They were making out with each other and swarming in one large mass.
The energy down there was different than above. There was something more primal and… hungry. Perhaps a side of these monsters that they didn’t want to or couldn't let other humans see. You were too focused on the scene in front of you to notice the way Max kept glancing over, deeply amused by you.
The feminine, electronic voice began to countdown the seconds from 10, as the vampires danced and undressed each other, eyes black and fangs out. One of the women you recognized from the from steps earlier seemed to be looking directly at you, sneering, licking her pointed teeth, her short black hair spiky around her face.
“We can see them, but they can’t see us,” Max offered.
3...2...1
Your eyes followed the sound of the click: shower heads popped out from the ceiling. The mass of vampires tilted their heads back and opened their mouths, and then a red liquid you assumed was blood shot out of the sprinkler heads like water, raining down on everyone there, soaking them.
That was when the debauchery really started, and you realized what the yoga mats were for.
The blood shower worked them into a frenzy and they began to lick it off of each other, undressing each other as cocks and breasts were exposed, everyone reaching out to fondle their neighbor with unbridled enthusiasm. Some fell to their knees to orally please, and others were flat on the ground, a puzzle of fucked holes and faces, drinking the blood as they also used it for lubrication. Vampires had no fear of contracting STD’s or getting pregnant, so reasoned that it was all fair game. One of the vampires with long hair, wearing an enormous, lifelike, strap-on dildo, flicked her head back and a splash of blood flecked the window in front of you. A few continued to dance around, lost in the music and you had to look away from the fornication, bashful suddenly, but Max found your eyes.
“Have you ever done this?” You asked her. She was poised in her seat, legs crossed and fingers laced over her knee.
“No, never,” she admitted, to your surprise. “But I do so love to watch.”
While two naked vampires fucked doggy style on the floor right in front of your eyes, and the one on their hands and knees sucked another vampire off, you wondered if Eddie had ever done this. You wondered what it would feel like to see him standing out there, watching you, beckoning to you, while naked and covered in blood. The part of you that had ingested his crimson gift whispered that you would let him split you open right there in front of everyone, begging for his fangs sink into your throat.
It took all of your strength not to run into Eddie’s arms when you finally made it back up the stairs with Max. There were only 10 or 15 people on the main floor at that point, most of them human familiars, as the rest of the clientele were still downstairs breeding. The sprinklers were only on for five minutes or so, but it was enough to drench all of them as they fucked each other with insatiable hunger.
Eddie pushed off the bar when he saw you, eyes lighting up with wholesome relief.
“How was it?” He asked, taking note that Max was close behind you.
“Traumatizing,” you answered, even though a part of you had enjoyed it, but that was a part of you he didn’t need to know about.
“It was a pleasure to take your girlfriend’s Baptism virginity,” Max batted her eyes a few times.
Simultaneously, you and Eddie both:
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend.”
“Whatever you say,” Max goaded, hands on her hips, waiting to see you both out. Craven was not too far behind her, both hands braced on the bar, staring you down with an intensity that seemed unnecessary at the time.
Eddie extended the crook of his elbow to you. “Let’s get you home.”
----------
“I know that girl,” Craven told Max once you and Eddie were long gone.
Max tilted her chin up, regarding him down the end of her nose. “I’m listening.”
“I read about her in an Unsolved Mysteries forum I belong to, it was a really odd story,” he wiped his hands on a towel as he talked. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s her. That scar on her cheek, it’s unmistakable.”
Max gave a roll of her eyes. “Spit. It. Out. Craven. For fucks sake, I’m rotting internally over here.”
Jareth walked up beside Max, standing close, working his jaw.
Craven leaned forward, resting on his elbows. “There’s more than one story about her, both equally strange. First, supposedly, she was in a car accident, dead by the time the paramedics got there,” he paused for a beat.
Jareth looked out the bars of the front window just in time to see the taillights of Eddie’s GTO glow bright in the distance, on his way back to the crossing.
Craven spread his fingers on the bar as he explained, his face dire. “But, her body was stolen from the morgue, and it was never found.”
Max and Jareth exchanged a look. “So, she’s a ghoul? A zombie? What? I didn’t see any rotting flesh,” Max pushed. “She smells too good to be dead.”
Craven held his hand up. “Okay, but get this---apparently her grandfather ran a funeral home, and she lived there with her dad in the same house with all of the coffins and the embalming and whatnot. The rumors were that her dad, Dr. Wesley, was a complete nut job. He was some kind of genius, flew through medical school, became a surgeon.”
Max took a few steps closer, balancing her hip on one of the stools.
“But then his wife found out she had cancer and passed away 6 months later, when Eddie’s girl was just a teenager. After her mom died, her dad went off the rails. Became a real reclusive mad scientist, had some kind of laboratory in the basement where he brought road kill back to life and returned them to the woods.”
“That brings us back to her being in that car accident and disappearing from the morgue,” he paused for dramatic effect. “In the forum I belong to, a bunch of people suspected that he brought her back to life somehow, because---now listen to this---when he died a year after that, several witnesses said they saw her standing on the porch, clear as day.”
Max rolled her eyes. “If you’re fucking with us, I’m going to be very upset.”
Craven put his palms out as a sign of surrender. “Not fucking with you at all. But, I haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”
Jareth smoothed back his hair, waiting.
“In his will, Dr. Wesley left the house and all of his belongings to a woman by the name of “Dove”, and everything monetarily was handled through a third party. That was just a few months ago.” He took a sip of NuBlood and rolled his neck. “Jump ahead to a few weeks ago and, did you hear about that bus that got t-boned and then flipped over onto the train tracks, pinning all those kids inside?”
Max shook her head, but Jareth nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with his full attention, nostrils flaring slightly.
“And how somehow, miraculously, the bus was pushed off the tracks and out of danger just before the train came? And then the bus was flipped back onto it’s tires so that the kids could get out? Well, about ten of the kids described our new friend to a T, right down to that cheek scar.”
“Of course, no one believed the kids,” Craven shrugged. “And it wasn’t a vampire because it was still daylight out. But those of us who’ve been following this story think she’s reanimated, like Frankenstein’s monster, and somehow it gave her superhuman strength.”
“This is a stupid story,” Jareth intoned. “Of course this is all rubbish. Myth, legend, a ghost story for children.”
Max looked over at the door, as if you might be standing there.
“You mean, like vampires?” Craven offered with a lift of his eyebrow.
Max squinted, remembering how uneasy you had been earlier. “She doesn’t seem very strong to me.”
Craven brought a beer to a human at the end of the bar, and then continued when he came back. “We don’t think she understands her strength. I personally believe it has something to do with lightning. There was a lightning storm the night she died, and there was also lightning the day of the bus crash.”
“What would lightning have to do with it?” Max asked. Her curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t want to seem too eager. “That makes it sound so dramatic.”
“I have no clue,” Craven shrugged. “Maybe the electricity in the air makes her powers stronger, maybe she becomes some kind of lightning rod? I’m not sure, but I would like to find out.”
“She does smell different,” Max mused.
“There are people looking for her. Bad people,” Craven added.
“What kind of bad people?” Jareth smirked. “Certainly not worse than this lot.”
Craven wiped the bar with his rag. “People who think they know what she is, and want to study her. To harness a way to give humans insane strength without turning them into vampires? She’s not in Hawkins because it’s such a great town,” he snorted. “I think she’s trying to hide in plain sight. No one would think to look for her in a place like that.”
Max flicked her attention from Jareth to Craven. “Do you think Eddie knows? About her?”
Craven licked one of his fangs. “He has been known to do freelance bounty hunter work. I wouldn’t put it passed him. Maybe someone is paying him to be her watchdog until they can know for sure.”
“Interesting,” Max smoothed her lips. “I wonder if there’s some kind of reward out for her?”
“I can find out,” Craven wiggled his eyebrows mischievously.
“You two fiends will stay away from her,” Jareth spoke up, eyeballing both of them. “Until I figure out exactly what it is we’re dealing with.”
“Oh shit,” Max flashed an uncertain grin. “You’ve got a thing for little miss monster mash.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jareth frowned.
--------
On the way out of Sacrament in the GTO, rounding the corner along the sparse forest that would head you back toward the bridge, you and Eddie were painfully quiet. There was the soft hum of At Night by The Cure coming from the orange and green lights of the stereo, and you absently noticed a few demobats swooping down close.
The images from the Baptism were still flashing every time you blinked, and so you rested your head on your fist and kept your eyes open until they dried out.
“Thank you,” Eddie cleared his throat. “For, being cool about all of that tonight.”
He really hadn’t given you a choice. “Um, you’re welcome.”
Internally, Eddie was kicking himself for ever taking you to Sacrament, or the Upside Down in general. He should’ve known Jareth and Max would notice there was something different about you and take an invested interest. Jareth was a much older, stronger vampire, but Eddie wouldn’t let him get close to you without putting up a fight.
“Did you take care of whatever business you came to do?” You wondered allowed, assuming that he made some clandestine exchange with Jareth.
Eddie sighed. “Yep. It’s all good.”
You were about to be nosey and ask exactly what it was he went there to do, when something banged into the grille of the car, making Eddie curse and swerve, slamming the breaks on before the GTO careened into the dead forest.
“Fucking bats,” Eddie hissed, throwing the car into park with a grunt.
The erratic swerve made your adrenaline surge and sent a wave of heat over your flesh. Dust pooled up around the windows and you struggled to see what was out there in the misty, purple gloom. Out in the middle of the street, in the glow of one of the GTO headlights, face down and wings wide, tendrils spread out, was one of those big, spooky demobats you’d seen perched on the eaves of the church.
You noticed it’s wing twitch, and one of the octopus tendrils curled up slowly as if it was trying to move but couldn’t. It didn’t matter what kind of horrifying, killer beast this was---you hated to see any animal suffer and, before you knew it, your hand was on the door handle, cranking it open.
“Wait!” Eddie gripped your arm. With the door open a crack, you snapped a look at him over your shoulder. Eddie checked up through the front window to see if there were any more demobats close by. “What are you doing? Those things are dangerous.”
“It’s hurt, Eddie,” there was an unmistakable determination in your eyes. “I just want to move it out of the street. Maybe its just stunned.”
Eddie’s stare got hard. “That thing out there will eat your face off and not think twice about it.”
Eyes locked on each other, the both of you realized at the same time that your lips were close, noses only mere inches from touching. Eddie’s eyes flicked to your lips, and then back up again, taking in a sharp sip of air.
Be it the bleeding heart you’d inherited from your mother who was always taking in stray pets to nurture and raise as her own, or from watching your father try to save and resurrect every bit of road kill he stumbled across in that last decade of his life, but you couldn’t let it lay out there vulnerable and in pain. Eddie recognized this determination in your countenance, and released your arm.
On a frustrated exhale, he reached across your legs to open the glove box. “Just wait for me, okay?”
He pulled out a butterfly knife, flipping it open with a few deft flicks of his wrist.
“What’s that for?”
He made a stabbing gesture. “If it’s mortally wounded, I’ll have to put it out of it’s misery.”
You stepped out of the vehicle, waiting for Eddie to come around the front of the car and meet you there.
The demobat lifted another tentacle, making a shrill, squealing noise, and then went still again.
“We can’t take it home with us,” Eddie warned. “That is out of the question.”
You had no idea what you were doing. It was face down, but you knew the thing had a mouth of teeth and they seemed incredibly strong and fast.
“Just help me...move it off the road so it doesn’t get squished by another car.”
Eddie did not like this. This thing wasn’t a kitten or a turtle; it was more of the crocodile/shark variety with no real motivations outside of killing.
You knelt down next to it, Eddie positioned above you with the knife, ready to execute if it reared up and tried to bite you. The thing made a little, sad mew noise, and it compelled you to make the nurturing choice to run your fingers along the spine of its wing to comfort it.
“Shhhh,” you coaxed. “You’re going to be okay. We’re not going to hurt you.”
The demobat jerked at your touch, but was still too stunned to do any more than that.
“Okay, you grab one wing and I’ll grab the other---” but just as you said it, one of the slimy, jellyfish tentacles wrapped softly around your wrist.
Eddie bolted forward, thinking maybe he’d need to cut the fucker off, but you stopped him with your other hand. The tentacle gave you a little squeeze before slipping loose again, falling to the pavement with a smack.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Eddie huffed. You both pinched a fleshy wing at both ends and were just about to lift up when the demobat screeched louder than ever, flapping free of your grasp and up into the air.
It spun around mid-flight and shrieked like a siren, exposing the jagged teeth in its gapping maw, dripping with tendrils of saliva. The demobat did not look happy.
Eddie dove in front of you, his eyes black and his fangs out, ready for battle, but the bat only screeched again, this time with less heat, and turned to hobble away; one wing not working as well as the other.
Your shoulders sank and your forehead fell to Eddie’s arm, sighing with relief.
“Yeah,” Eddie watched the thing go as it flew low to the ground for a while before scooting higher up in the sky. “Please don’t ever do that again,” he mumbled to you around the fullness of his ejected fangs. He didn’t move though, because now your cheek was resting on his arm and your hand was on his lower back, and he wanted to turn and kiss you so bad. But then you moved and the moment was over.
Back in the car, as Eddie stuffed in behind the wheel, you clicked your seat belt on and said, “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
“That makes two of us,” he returned, checking the sky for more low-flying creatures before he got back on the road.
Exiting the Upside Down through the old, covered bridge gave you a deep sense of relief. For the first time, you couldn’t wait to get back to your shitty trailer and your wholly ordinary life. Maybe you weren’t ordinary, but you really wanted to be, and the people and places of Hawkins were helping you to embrace that title more and more every second.
The two of you did not return to Hawkins alone.
Your secret companon flew low behind the GTO in the bridge, and then coasted high above in the sky once it was free from the Upside Down, reveling in the cool night air that did not burn her throat. The demobat you’d helped in the road kept pace with the roof of car as a shadow, following out of sight, and darting in through the trees when necessary.
She was your demobat now, and she wanted to keep you safe.
-----
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dragon-communion · 11 months
Text
While on the one hand, Fia’s sessions of “taking lifely vigor” from the Tarnished are definitely implied to be sex, and I find it hilarious that this is a situation where the devs probably bapped GRRM on the nose and told him to calm down, what if I roll with the implication?
It’s implied in a previous version of the Turtle Neck Meat item that people in the Lands Between just don’t have sex anymore. It’s too feral. Bestial. Might even have something to do with the birth of Omen children, actually, considering how such an animal act might bring one closer to the Crucible.
So what if extended hugging sessions are that scandalous and vulgar? Spending a minute in the arms of another person being worse than a glimpse of Victorian ankle has some fascinating implications for society in the Lands Between. If physical contact itself is base and hedonistic, can you imagine how touch starved everyone is?
One of the major problems in modern day America is how distant everyone is. While the Lands Between might not have the same issues with a lack of third places or the consequences of car-focused city planning, our level of general societal paranoia compounded with the advent of COVID means we just don’t touch eachother at all ever. This is grossly simplified because I’m too lazy to go get sources, so feel free to fact check me, but part of the focus on getting yourself a romantic partner is so folks can finally have someone it’s acceptable to get positive physical touch from. Failing that, getting into a sport at least earns you a more violent facsimile of that.
In the Lands Between, where society is focused on being a civilized as possible, it would make sense (a la Brave New World by Huxley) for society to try to eliminate sex and its trappings. Given Elden Ring’s heavy Catholic themes, celibacy also takes on a religious twist- Augustine of Hippo “taught that original sin was transmitted by concupiscence”, or physical desire and longing. To quote briefly from Wikipedia, “The view of the Church is that celibacy is a reflection of life in Heaven, a source of detachment from the material world which aids in one's relationship with God.”
Looking at Queen Marika the Eternal makes it painfully obvious to the player that she’s not even a creature of flesh anymore, twisted into something like a glorified clay pot or even a reliquary for the Elden Ring. We don’t know much about what she was like beyond a few queenly speeches, but whether she was always literally a vessel like that or not, the no doubt popular image of her as a vessel of life could have easily changed over the years from something very physical to the more chaste implications of the female water-bearer statues or iconography of her pouring out a chalice. People do still swear by Marika’s tits, so obviously physical desire might still exist, but my recent theorizing on crystal tears and amber babies really puts me in mind of the sterilized process in Brave New World where disembodied ovaries are fertilized in a lab via cloning. There’s something there in the imagery of the baptismal fonts around the Erdtree collecting tears that become new births.
The whole arrangement might also put a new spin on the gladiatoral games in the Coliseums, and to some extent Marika’s warlike drive. People crave contact, and the high of violence can be close enough to sex to mimic it, though poorly. I think everyone has probably made jokes about how American football has some undertones, and pro wrestling is the same. The most obvious example is dog collar matches, which look so close to BDSM as to be nearly indistinguishable to me.
With all of that in mind, the unmistakable intimacy of Fia’s actions might actually be as degenerate and twisted to modern Lands Between sensibilities as pup masks and handcuffs to the modern day American. What she offers is a gentle hug, perhaps even extended cuddling, and pillow talk. It’s stated that Rogier says “all sorts of things” abed, and while it’s easy to take that to a more physical interpretation, it could actually literally be Fia playing with the man’s hair for an hour until every single thought falls out of his head. When she makes the offer to you, she has to couch it carefully, framed in the ideas of a foreign interpretation of the sacred as if the only way it can be legitimate is if it is a sacred act, as if that’s the only way you’ll be able to understand it. Like when we argue for gay marriage and couch it in the language of romantic equality, because surely everyone can empathize with romantic equality, when the real physical benefits involve insurance and hospital visitation rights.
Anyway, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.
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nerdygaymormon · 5 months
Text
A transgender person - including those who have undergone hormonal treatment and gender reassignment surgery - can receive baptism under the same conditions as other believers "if there are no situations in which there is a risk of generating public scandal or disorientation among the faithful".
An adult who has undergone hormone treatment and gender reassignment surgery may be a godfather or godmother.
On the question of whether same-sex parents who adopt or use a surrogate mother could have a child baptized in the Catholic Church, the Vatican said a priest's decision would have to be based on the "well-founded hope that he or she would be educated in the Catholic religion".
There was a similarly nuanced response to a question whether a person in a same-sex relationship could be a godparent at a Catholic Church baptism. It said the person had to "lead a life that conforms to the faith".
American Jesuit priest Fr James Martin, who is a supporter of LGBT rights: "This is an important step forward in the Church seeing transgender people not only as people (in a Church where some say they don't really exist) but as Catholics."
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Random-Ass Benny Miller Relationship HCs
And yes, they all involve him being a hot dumb himbo bc I have brainrot and @sofietargaryen is an enabler.
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- Benny tries to high-five after sex. He want’s another one after you sigh and actually give one to him. This could go on for minutes, he’ll just keep pointing out “cool things” you did that made his highlight reel
- One day he’d randomly put a gold star sticker on your shirt and when you’d ask what it was for he’d say "for sucking my soul out through my cock last night bc damn, that was— HEY DON'T HIT ME WHERE ARE YOU GOING?! PUT YOUR STICKER BACK ON, BABE C’MON!"
- Benny would proudly announce that the reason you were both late was because y'all were boning and Frankie would be like "THIS IS YOUR GOD-DAUGHTER'S BAPTISM WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU"
- "THIS IS THE LORD'S HOUSE WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS"
- (Santi would just be like "no that's a valid excuse boning takes the time it takes")
- Benny would ask for sex coupons (redeem for 10 minutes of letting my hit it from the back, etc) for his birthday and try to redeem them at the most inappropriate times
- "I'm not letting you motorboat me right now" 
"but BABE" 
"WE ARE AT WILL’S REHEARSAL DINNER. YOUR PARENTS ARE RIGHT THERE"
- He’d want to hang out with you while you pee. Good luck trying to close/lock the door to keep him out bc boy will see this as a lock picking challenge and end up ruining your bobby-pins
-Weirdo would try to lace his toes with yours and get so confused/offended when you kick his foot away.
-He’ll try to sext you while you’re in the same room as him.
-He’ll also sext you when you’re mad but he’ll try and appeal to your kinks to make you forgive him.
- “Can we leave, I’m bored.”
“We are on a commercial air flight.”
“So ‘no’, then?”
- You’ll have to become an award winning actor when you both are at a party and he texts you ‘u up?’ or ‘what r u wearing?’ or ‘damn without me?’ like BOY I SWEAR TO GOD I’M TRYING TO TALK TO MY BOSS
-”Are you mad at me?”
“No, what are you talking about?”
“You’re being quiet—”
“WE ARE AT THE MOVIES BENJAMIN TF”
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conjuremanj · 5 months
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Spiritual Waters.
On this post I wanted to speak on spiritual waters and colognes these products that I've listed are and have use in different spiritual circles. I think some of this products were added later because of the low cost and having a alcohol base, because alcohol in the south has a lot of uses and could cure most is what my grandparents said🤔😄 But enjoy this post.
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Holy Water. Can't get must more powerful thin this as a reverend my self I can tell you it works. This water that has been blessed by an Ordained Priest or a member of the clergy or spirituality ordained person. Used for baptism, spiritual cleansing, to bless individuals, places and objects. To bless or dispell it has many uses.
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Florida Water. Actually made in New York it was and still is a male cologne. It was used for a scalp cleaner, a foot cleanser. It has multiple uses it was dubbed paranormal. Now used mostly for spiritual properties, like cleansing, or adding to a wash. It's used to feed your gris gris bag (mojo bag) to keep it going, used to feed the spirit because of the alcohol and is oftentimes used in fire rituals (to stat not to burn), in ceremonies and offerings, venerating our ancestors and the dead. It's a good ingredient used in a African spirituality religion like Vodou or Hoodoo.
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Peruvian Florida Water. This cologne is widely used by healers for purification, cleansing, healing, and protection. The Peruvian Florida Water has a sweet, and spicy scent. Different from traditional Florida Water. Because of its sweet scent if a good offering to Erzulie Freda.
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Rose Cologne is used for peace and love It can be good to use when working or doing any love and attraction work or used as a offering to a spirit or deity of love. It can be sprinkle around the home or add to your mop with water for attraction.
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Kolonia 1800 Natural Water. This is a nice alternative to Florida Water. It has a more manly scent to it and a different vibration. Used the same way to get rid of any spell and curses on your love life, sex life, or your luck etc. This Kolonia colone also come in different scents like 1800 Tobacco if one likes to work with native american spirits or ancestral spirits because probably 60 to 70% of people or spiritual practices deal with tobacco in some way. It's good for one self.
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Kananga Water Cologne. A African word that it comes from Jamaica. Kananga water is mainly used for purification and for departed ancestors. Also dispel dark energy from a room, purification of one's spirit, energy, and ancestral communication.
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Orange Blossom Cologne is good to use when you have a business to help draw customers. Sprinkle outside the front door, before opening.
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The Siete Macho. Is used for spiritual and emotional guidance. It is also used to block or to send back and reverse negative energy, evil eye, hexes and curses. It has multiple uses.
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Reve d'Or Lotion. Used to put an end to adverse conditions and open the way for luck, love, money, and happiness. This perfume scent is good for Erzulie Dantor.
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Pompeia. Used in many spiritual baths and rituals, sometimes used in Vodou for love A good scent for Erzulie Freda.
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Hoyt's Cologne. This is another good cologne. Is said that it's traditionally used in conjure and hoodoo. I can't really say of that true traditionally what ever was available alcohol wise was used.
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LOTION FEUILLES D'HAITI (SIMBI COLOGNE) if you been reading my blog you know Water is part of the life source, and energies. Water is one of the four elements that Vodou initiates are taught to respect as natural spiritual forces; it covered the earth at the beginning of time, and separates the living from the world of the ancestors.
So I wasted to add this spiritual cologne to the list an original formula, created in Haiti by Monsieur Trouillot. It’s made with Saut d'Eau Water is French for "Waterfall" it stand approximately 100 feet high and is the tallest in Haiti.
It also has natural, select Haitian herbs. "Lotion Feuilles" cologne gets its name from "feuilles" which is French for leaves. These potent leaves are used by Vodouisants for their medicinal & therapeutic benefits.
It can also be added to Good Luck, Prosperity & Blessing Baths - there are so many ways to use this and it smells good.
Now there are a lot of simbi products but to get the waters from that fall make it that much more special.
Sandalwood Water. Is one of these items that was give to Christ. It's good if you do a lot of prayer work. Prayer circles, seances, spiritual baths even for ones self. I like the spiritual washes that has sandalwood, or frankincense and myrrh.
7 African Powers Cologne is a popular one.
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rosquez mpreg delulu nonsense under the cut please ignore if you hate this kind of thing dont cancel me.
welcome, fellow freaks.
anyway thinking about marc and vale's family and i think marc would really struggle being pregnant? he has such a difficult relationship with his body in terms of, like, seeing it as a part of himself that needs care and attention and kindness. i think that being w vale (and having lots and lots of insane and richly healing psychosexually complex sex) will have changed some of this by the time they have kids, but i do think that living in a constant awareness of his body and needing to care for himself would be challenging for him. mostly because it would drag him back into the racing grind of like, do this exercise so you can race better. eat this bland and awful food you don't want so you can race better. have your body sliced open and twisted and live in agony for months so you can race better. i think he would treat pregnancy the same way, at least at first, like it's training or something. he would want to put his head down and grind through 40 wks of self-imposed misery because that's what you do when your body needs to achieve something.
vale would be great for him though. vale would come home and find him doing, like, his third prenatal yoga routine of the day and would be like, you need to rest. and marc would be like, no i need to finish this and then i need to gag down some horrible green concoction and then i need to call my mom and talk about plans for the baptism and then i need to go re-measure the nursery dimensions because i think that the crib is going to be too close to the window blinds and i need to make sure-
and then vale takes marc's little face in his long gentle hand and makes marc meet his eyes, all warm and lovely, and says marc. stop. kind & authoritative. and the tension that marc didn't know was there bleeds out and he wants to cry a little bit (a lot) and vale makes him go lie down and * him until he does cry and then goes to sleep on vale's chest.
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atinylittlepain · 3 months
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Part Two | The Father
gator tillman x f!oc
series masterlist | series playlist
I am the shape you made me. Filth teaches filth. - Anne Carson, An Oresteia
wordcount | 5.4K
content warnings | 18+ this is a work of fiction exploring dark themes related to domestic abuse, corrupt government, physical/religious/psychological trauma, murder, canon-typical violence | dark smut, violent smut, verbal degradation, brief mention of sex work, depictions of dissociation-like behavior | gator is gross and toxic and what goes on in this fic is a depiction of a toxic, unhealthy dynamic | THESE ARE BAD PEOPLE DOING WRETCHED THINGS
..........................................
Her family never went to church. Her mother has pictures somewhere of a requisite baptism, but nothing more. And she can’t imagine receiving a particularly warm welcome anyways, not with Roy Tillman’s flock. Since she’s been staying in this town, Sundays are normally the only day of the week she can move around with little resistance, everyone else at church, or after church doing the brunch and the small talk and the eyes starting to melt the longer the day drags on and the wives and husbands and children, faces drooping, waiting to bend and break once they get home. 
But there’s a different kind of worship occurring this afternoon. And while she’d like to continue her silent sulk, her surrender to failing, staying holed up in that condo until her boss pulls the plug on her, that snarl inside of her isn’t ready to give up. This Sunday, she’s joining the congregants to watch Roy Tillman preach. 
It isn’t much of a debate when there’s only one man on stage, but she seems to be the only person minding that. Something close to hysteria, he certainly knows how to work a crowd. To get men up on their feet, nodding and grunting, burst capillaries in their jowls shaking with their devotion, and the women clutching their children close and nodding their own quiet assent, not that theirs matters, not that theirs counts. But still, but still. When he says stand, they stand, and when he says kneel, they get down and tilt up their chins to look at their deliverance, in blue jeans and a pressed flannel shirt no less. 
It’s all the things that men like Roy Tillman tend to say. Something about the constitution, and a country under attack. Something about guns that isn’t about guns, but really, it is. Something about freedom that sounds more like oppression. And really, she’s not sure why he’s putting on such a show. It’s not like there’s any competition. But looking around to the other faces shivering in the stands of the highschool football field, she can understand why he might enjoy seeing their implicit prostration for himself, a little kick in his boots, little puff, pride, in his chest. 
And his family, of course, front row, all in a perfect line, new wife and two daughters and she can almost see the pinch of fear in the wife’s face that it’s two daughters sitting next to her. Gator on the end of the row, there and not there at the same time, she thinks. She hasn’t seen him since that night. Some part of her, young part, small part, thinks he looks a little worn thin around the edges, a little darker, more drawn in. But she waves that off as her own projection, blinking focus away from the happy family and back onto the stage where their beloved patriarch is wrapping up.
She knows that the real reason she came to see this was more gross curiosity than anything else, though she’ll continue to pretend to be taking note of those closest to Roy,  not that it’s anyone or anything new, nothing she didn’t already know. 
Soon, she thinks, watching the crowd move and disperse around her, she will leave this place exactly as she found it. These people will continue to be the way they are. And the king will continue to rule. And she will go back to DC and forget all about the thin thread of hate and vitriol that strings this town together, held in the precarious hands of a righteous man. Less agent and more anthropologist at this point, she watches the families buzzing and swarming with a vacant interest, small hands being led around by larger hands. And someone, in turn, is watching her.
She feels her face pinch and pull when she catches his eyes, now standing with his father in a posture that can only be called a smalling, shoulders curled, his eyes darting and daring up to hers from their deference to the ground. She’d expect nothing less, watching the prince at the feet of the king. For her part, she doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away, a tired resignation to see what might happen, to dig her thumb into a festering wound, though Roy doesn’t abide by his son’s divided attention for long. 
It’s quick, casual violence in the arc of a backhand. It hardly even makes him flinch, just turns his face to the side for a beat, a breath, and then he’s no longer looking at her, only looking at his father and she thinks she can see what words he’s offering to his son. What’re you looking at? Huh? What’s so interesting? And then the king’s eyes settle on her, still sitting in the bleachers, and he curls his lips in a grin, tip of his hat, grin, before turning his attention back to Gator. You don’t look at her, look at me, look at me when I’m speaking to you. You don’t look at her. Do you understand?  She continues to stare though, and now it’s Roy who’s sliding quick glances her way, something indiscernible in the pull of his brows as he continues to speak to his son. 
Maybe a week ago she would’ve pulled her gaze away, gotten up and left so as to not draw any more attention to herself. But something has calcified inside her and broken into pieces. Something failing, something losing, something tired. She doesn’t care any more about the attention, the promise of getting out of here in a few short weeks dropping a filmy haze over everything. There, but not really there, she watches as Roy dismisses his son and starts walking her way. A few of the stragglers greet him when he steps up onto the bleachers, and he’s all smiles, all straight, white teeth and pleasantries, waiting to drop his lips in a curl once the good folks, nice folks leave. Just him and her on the bleachers now, and she’s starting to shiver in her coat, chin tilted up in an indifferent acknowledgement of the looming man.
“Agent Harris.” 
“Roy.”
“Are we on a first name basis now? I didn’t know.”
“It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?” Her voice doesn’t sound like her own. It hasn’t, not for a few days now. A little dull, a little drone. She speaks, and she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. Just sound, just murmur. 
“How’d you like the show?” He does that man thing, hooks his thumbs into his belt and heaves his mass forward with his question. She fights a roll of her eyes, settling for a placid smile that aches in her jaw instead. His grin falters.
“All those people certainly seemed to enjoy it.”
“Well now, that’s not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you enjoyed it.”
“I’d say I got what I came for.” 
“I’m glad you did.” His mouth barely moves around the words, set in a thin line. And she makes a mistake. Even in her thick haze, she knows it’s wrong, the quick glance of her eyes over Roy’s  shoulder to catch his son’s stare, made small with the distance, his jaw working around itself as he watches their conversation.
Of course, Roy notices it, turn of his head over his shoulder, and Gator looks away a breath too slowly. Like a  game, whose eyes on whom, and who gets caught. And they both do, she thinks, with the slow, steeled set of Roy’s shoulders when he turns back around to look at her, sliding his thumbs back and forth, back and forth along the edge of his belt, trying to square up a new truth. They’re both caught.  She wonders if he can see it on her, sense it, a thin film of grit, grime slipping and sliming up her skin. She wonders if filth recognizes filth. 
“Heard you’ll be leaving town soon.” It takes a breath to remember he’s speaking to her, snapped back into the reality of Roy Tillman lording over her, a dare of some sort in his statement, jump of his eyebrows that makes her grimace. 
“I suppose I am.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not. You have a nice day now.” Tip of his hat and the whites of his teeth and he’s gone, and when he moves out of the way she sees that Gator is gone too. Probably, definitely for the better. 
There’s a voicemail from her boss on her phone that she listens to as she trudges through the gravel lot to her car. He’s been calling a lot more lately, a few last hail Marys to see if she’s managed to dig up anything worth sniffing at before he’s making an entirely different call in two weeks. No, nothing, she’ll call him back tomorrow morning when the haze isn’t so thick. 
Swift sickening, he’s waiting at her car, and it’s too familiar, and there’s too much hope in his eyes, rounded and real, and she wonders briefly if screaming would get him to scurry off. No, not here, not with families still getting into their cars around them. She approaches him with a numb resignation. 
“Mel.”
“You don’t call me that.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Fierce and sharp and don’t, her words snap with don’t. A little too loud, a few husbands and wives and children turning their heads at the sound of don’t. He huffs, palm to the back of his neck, that smalling, that downing thing. And that dull curiosity kicks up inside of her, just to see what might come next. She waits, silent, her hand on the handle of her car door. 
“Can we go somewhere else?” 
“What? You can’t talk to me right here?” That snap is settling back in, a fine flicker of frustration that he’s needling like he is. It feels better, at least, than the haze. A little pulse, a little flame of anger. 
“Please?”
“I don’t think Roy would appreciate the sight of you talking to me.”
“This ain’t about him.” Nervous, she realizes, his one hand shaking at his side while he takes a quick pull off his vape, still not quite looking her in the eye. And she could leave right now. Could stay holed up in that bleak condo for another two weeks and never see Gator Tillman and his broken face again. But there’s that aching wound and she wants it to ache a little more. 
“Fine, get in the car.” 
One thing she has come to like about North Dakota are the vast stretches of highways between towns. In between places, places where no one is paying too much attention to anything other than getting through it. They drive for twenty minutes in pure silence, save for the jilting tap of his fingers on his knee, minded enough to not smoke in her car. And when it seems like enough distance has been put between them and anything or anyone else, she pulls over onto the shoulder of the highway, faced with the withering remains of crops, dying out and crumbling into death in the oncoming cold. 
“Well?” She lobs the word at him, more cough than question with the way her throat is starting to close and constrict. And she shouldn’t be surprised, but still, but still. A broken yelp skittering up her throat when he lurches toward her. No, she shouldn’t be surprised that this is all he can think to do, a desperate dare to close the space and try to press his lips to hers. But that makes it sound so nice, doesn’t it? And this, this isn’t nice. This is something bordering on violence, his hand curling so hard around her arm that it makes her gasp with the sting of it. And he tries for her mouth but she dips and jerks away so suddenly that the back of her skull rings and thrums against the window, a hot, wet smear against her chin all that he succeeds in. No, not surprising that he thought that would work, a child’s logic to the whole thing, just like his father taught him. But he is forgetting her own fang.
Snap, snarl, she lashes out in a quick heat of motion, satisfaction when the sharp of her nails make contact with his cheek, enough of a recoil that she can strike again, heel of her hand to the hilt of his throat, shoving him back with a choke. And it all melts down from there, both of them grabbing at clothes, at skin, teeth bared, white flash and breathing curses at the other. It feels like something, and that’s better than the alternative, better than failing, than losing, so she bears down harder and lets the heat rise. 
When she kisses him, she bites down hard enough that a cry threatens up his throat, metallic bleed in her mouth that she chases after. And he’s jerking away while also pulling her toward him until the console is digging into the soft of her hip, slumped toward him, open mouths, open breaths, open violence. Her stomach churns, toxic taste in her mouth, tinged and tainted with him and him and him. Him and his wretched hands in her hair and under her jacket and coaxing and coaxing. Him and the shattered sounds he’s  gasping out everytime she pulls away to find some other swath of skin to lay her teeth into, something desperate and caught in his chest. And if she thinks too hard about the fact of him she’ll crumble. Easier to proceed, to dig down deeper into the wound.  
“Is this what you wanted?” And this voice is hers, no matter how much she wishes it wasn’t, coming from somewhere deep and darkening inside her. She holds him by the hair at the nape of his neck, tilts his face back so she can look him in the eye, his mouth slack and panting, dark want in his eyes. Yes, he says, and the word breaks in his mouth, a shattered, small confession of want. This is what he wanted, a little more pain, the pinch of pleasure. She drags her hand down to his pants and he’s hard and he’s making more of those broken sounds as she digs the heel of her palm in, livewire spine shooting straight up with a jolt and Jesus Christ, short and shouted and amen. 
None of it makes sense. Somewhere in the fray and fizzle he’s managed to dig his hand down into the neck of her shirt and under her bra, grasping hard at the swell of her breast while she fumbles through his zipper, a little frantic, the both of them trying to make this real. Real enough when she wraps her fingers around him, a little damp because it’s that much of an ache, a want for him, his head tipping back with a sigh when she squeezes, soft and warm and he’s pretty like this. A slow realization that slips in around the edges of her foggy mind, watching the crumple of pleasure in his face as her wrist starts to flicker, his cheeks starting to mottle pink and red and she lays her open mouth over that heat, that pulse under his skin. 
“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?” His head jerks in a nod, eyes scrunched shut as an uh-huh mm-hmm rattles up from his throat. And that thing that she likes, that buoys and blooms behind her ribs into something rotten, rotting, fizzing and snapping, a small please that he repeats twice, please, please. He spills over her hand with a punched-out groan, and for a moment, the haze lifts. She blinks hard in the gray wash of sun spilling in through the car windows and a shiver settles in. Something is splintering, the choice to stop now, or to let this rot a little more. 
Filth begets filth, she’s back in the snap and snarl of it just as quickly, some kind of deciding that yes, she is doing this, digging into this. Her hand is smeared sticky, starting to cool, and she watches from somewhere over her shoulder, a blank and morbid what if of a wondering as she swipes two of her fingers through the thickening drip of him and holds it up to his mouth. There’s a resistance that fades in his eyes when she runs the pads of her fingers over his bottom lip, opening up, letting her in until she’s hooking her fingers behind his teeth and giving an experimental tug to his jaw. He breathes hard through his nose, lips closing and tongue curling around her fingers. He likes it, and her stomach churns with the hum he mouths around her knuckles. 
Unblinking, his eyes are swallowing darkness, steady and settled on her. And she is looking at him. She is looking at him.
She takes him back to the condo, out of place in the clean, cold, white. Leads him into the bathroom and tells him to take a shower before stepping back into the bedroom and shutting the door behind her, slumping when she hears the sound of water running. He does as he’s told. And a headache is starting to press throbbing fingers into her skull, fraying logic, reason, turning it into misshapen meaninglessness. She takes off her shoes and she can’t feel her feet. She unbuttons her blouse and she can’t feel her hands, can’t feel the curl of her own spine as she unclasps her bra either. Can’t feel anything, how nice. How nice, this numbness, it almost feels like floating when she lays back on the bed that is but isn’t hers, bare and eyes tilted up and back to look at the place where the wall meets the ceiling. 
What is this? This is nothing. How nice, that this can be nothing. A meaningless experiment, what if, and then gone, and then gone, and never again. But for now, she will rot with him, with the failing prince, failing just like her. She has decided on this. 
Some of his cum has dried over her knuckles, peeling off in flakes that she studies, making a fist and then unmaking a fist, tilting it this way and that in the dim light of the bedroom. 
“Oh wow.” The water has shut off, and the door has opened. And it’s such a strange thing to say at the sight of a naked woman. Young thing, absent-minded thing, starving eyes and the flex of his knuckles where his hand is holding a towel around his waist. She sits up on her elbows, wills tissue and ligament into a posture of want, knees bent and falling open and arch in her back and this body isn’t hers, but he’s looking at it, so it will have to do. 
He looks different. Hair out of the usual slicked and shelled back, but dark and skewed around his face, longer than she would’ve thought. And there’s a tattoo on the swell of muscle over his left shoulder that she is choosing not to notice, ridiculous, though it looks more scar than ink, raised skin that she can see even from here. There’s a softness to him that surprises her, a fullness, a pinkness, heat blooming red up his neck and into his cheeks. 
“Come here.” And he does, lets the towel drop and dark thatch of curls creeping up his pelvis and her hand rests there when he kneels between her legs, petting at the coarseness and the softness of his skin. He’s uncertain, that usual feather and flair of confidence dissolved. He’s a boy, biting his lip and unsure where to put his hands as his eyes drag over the body that is but isn’t hers. 
“Come here.” Again, and again, he does, sinks his hands down into the mattress and curls over her and that hovering heat and weight is something of reassurance, something to hold onto. But she stiffens and stills when she runs her hand around his side and up his spine because not like the rest of him, not soft but strange, snarled and puckered and she thinks she knows what it is, what it might look like, but before she can think much further on it his hand is around her throat and he’s angry, fierce, fearsome. Her hand falls away from his back and his fingers curl into a closer crush and she gasps. He tries to look frightening but mostly he looks frightened, something nervous flashing behind his eyes when he tells her to never do that again. Don’t, do not. Sipping air, she brings both her hands to close around his neck, her thumbs digging up into the soft space beneath his jaw. He whimpers, wheezes a little, the blunt sharp of his fingernails digging into her throat. And they hold, they hold, both of them losing until they relent, release and pant. Hands slacken and ribs expand and her head spins, pushing him off and back and down and settling over him, making herself into a trembling god in the drape of her thighs and the fold of her hips. 
His hands wander, and they could be anyone’s hands when she closes her eyes. A stranger, an animal, a suit back in DC who won’t look her in the eye but will squeeze right past you, sweetheart whenever he pleases and squeezes, and hands, and hands, and different, and different, because no one looks her in the eye the way that he is now. A little unnerving, a little too real so she closes her eyes instead and takes him inside her, a bruise inside her, an ache, their hips fitting together with a whine of pain. 
She moves and he curses, damp hair bleeding against the sheets when he presses his skull back, a dark confession in the slack of his jaw. And she makes it hurt, digs her nails down into his chest and makes herself hiccup with the gritted pass of her hips against his. 
He asks for her eyes, for her to look, look, look and when she refuses, his thumb and forefinger pinch at her jaw, hard, little shake of her skull, of her bones in his hands and she stills with him so deep it’s like a disease. Snit, swipe and spat and spit, her nails scratch at his face with the pass of her palm, hard smack don’t, do not, and he looks at her like this is something holy. And she sneers, curls her spine like a cage over him and you want me to look? You want my eyes? Now you have them. Unblinking and sweat and the stick of skin and his fingers are going to leave pain where he’s gripping at her flesh and she wants it, she wants it. Two bodies moving like one wretched beast, wretched sound of want resounding in the swim of it, and when she comes it’s a sharp knife in her stomach, quick cry, and he isn’t far behind, open mouth against open mouth. 
And everything starts to melt in the after. Slump, sag, sigh, she feels used up when she slides off of him, feeling the tack and salt dripping between her legs. Awful, he’s smiling, little laugh of wonder and running his hands back through his hair because that was good for him, good, good, so good for him, half moon of his smile lit up white in her periphery, the line of his nose and he’s looking up at the ceiling, little puffs of breath in his chest. Awful, it was good for her too, good settling and sickening in the hollow drip of her gut. Awful, she will do that again. 
She tells him to go home and he says no, simple as that, and she doesn’t ask again. She is very tired, after all, and he is very warm, very solid, very real. There’s a brief tensing, steeling and shivering up still when he tries to tug her into his chest. She kicks at his shins and he grumbles, but he keeps tugging, hands on whatever skin he can grasp. A wax doll starting to melt, the throb of his heart between her shoulder blades is enough to make her settle. 
It’s only the afternoon at the latest, but they call it night, curtains drawn and lights turned off and sleep comes on like death, dreamless and sudden. She hasn’t been sleeping, so when she wakes up a few hours later with his arm still draped over her, palm splayed on her sternum and his fingers threatening nothing against the stitching of her throat, it feels like mercy. He doesn’t wake, doesn’t even stir when she peels herself out from under him. His face is crumpled to the side, on his stomach with his cheek turned toward her on a pillow, peaceful and young and unmoving. 
“I’d like to kill your father.” Whispered, more breath than anything else, though she leans in close when she says it so her nose nearly brushes his. He doesn’t flinch, nothing. 
Night has seeped in amidst the bleed of hours. She walks into the kitchen, still bare, still smeared, dips her head into the sink and drinks a few gulps of water from the tap, back of hand to mouth to catch what drips. And because she’ll be leaving soon, there isn’t much in the fridge, but her stomach aches, so she makes do with what there is. A couple of olives, a handful of shredded cheese, acrid salt in the back of her throat and threatening to gurgle back up. She swallows, stares blankly out on the half-finished development eating up the land, house bones and tarps wavering in the night. Her reflection stares back in the window and it is and it isn’t her.
When she does return to bed, stomach swollen and sweating with salt and sour, he only stirs enough to pull her back into him, skin squirming against skin and she lets him. The mutt prince has found something he likes, and he is going to hold onto it, breathing his damp heat all over it. She thinks idly to herself somewhere between sleep and not that she will break each of his fingers if she has to. Vacant violence that floats away with another wave of sleep. 
It isn’t night but it isn’t morning yet either, thin fingers of pale blue light threatening through the curtains. She’s woken up by something hot and wet running up the side of her hip and it’s him, hard and rutting his want all over her skin. He isn’t even awake, whimpering and grasping at her so tightly that she feels deflated, feels like she can’t breathe because she doesn’t even need to, her ribs crumpling and collapsing in under the overwhelm of him, sugar paper body and he’s breaking it with his wretched hands. 
As easy as a few machinations of their bodies, inside of her again, throbbing pulse of him again. He’s awake now, whispering her name, her full name, every time his hips hike up against her ass, pointless prayer that sounds stupid coming from his mouth. He makes her come with the frantic need of a boy, everywhere hands and hot breath and he won’t stop saying her name so she arches and contorts her spine in such a way that she can reach behind her and hold her palm over his mouth, fingers hooking around the round of his cheek, everything clammy and too close. He laughs, murmurs something wet against the lines of her hand that sounds a little like you sure are flexible and even then, even then, she lets him continue to fuck her. 
She shouldn’t. Not once, let alone twice. But he comes inside of her again and it feels like nothing, a little warmth, a little spread, a little raw meat starting to gristle and glisten as his arms finally slacken and she rolls over onto her back. Heartbeat in her hips and the handprints he left all over her, she watches light start to spread over the ceiling and wonders if today will be the day her boss calls her and stops asking for evidence and starts talking about plane tickets. 
He whistles, low sound, short sound, dog sound, and her eyes roll over and onto him where he’s laying beside her on his back. Hair soft and in his eyes and he’s smiling at her because to him, this is nothing but good. Heat rises in the front of her skull, up around her eyes, sharp inhale to stop the sudden flood. 
“Is Gator really your name?” 
“It’s what everyone calls me.”
“That’s not what I asked.” 
“Isaac.”
“That’s your real name?” 
“Nobody calls me that.”
“Who named you Isaac?” 
“Nobody.” And she knows nobody means mom, means mom that got out, that isn’t even a memory for him. She knows who his mother is, but judging by the blank way he answers her question, she doesn’t think he knows. It’s her job to know. To have threads of files of all the lives that have ever intersected with Roy Tillman’s. She knows Gator’s, or Isaac’s, mother’s name, knows she was never married to Roy. She never could track down a birth certificate for a Gator Tillman, the son that Roy was not supposed to have, and the true comedy that he’s the only son Roy does have. All she could find, a police report from a woman who had to leave her son behind with one Roy Tillman. The bastard, the mutt, the illegitimate prince. 
“Who started calling you Gator?”
“My dad.”
“Do you like your dad?”
“I love him.” 
“That’s not what I asked.” He doesn’t like that, scoffs, shake of his head, curling his body to sit up and she sees his back. His back in the pale light, a mural of gnarled scar tissue, pink and puckered cross-hatching. She isn’t surprised, but she still takes in a sharp breath at the sight and she’s sorry for it, reminding him of the fact of his body that he had forgotten for even a moment. Caught, he glances at her over his shoulder and he sighs because there’s nothing to be said. Moves with a caution she hasn’t seen from him before, slow and small in getting up from the bed, puts on his undershirt and briefs from the day before. 
Sudden and surprising, she finds herself gripped by a cold terror, her heart ramming up against her ribs, spine slicked with ice. She can’t move, watching him kneel on the bed and make a cage around her with his arms, leaning close so she can smell his sleep-soured breath. 
“He ain’t an easy man to like.” 
“No, he’s not.”
“Do you like me?” His eyebrows pinch with hope, and she could nearly laugh because she’s certain he could kill her now, if he wanted to. He came close to it a few times last night. But he’s a boy, a hopeless boy waiting for an answer. 
“I don’t know what I think of you.”
“I like you.” She wonders if he can hear the thrumming fear in her pulse, if he notices the way her eyes shift to the top drawer of her dresser where a second gun sits humming and waiting. If he does, he shows no sign of it. He’s looking at her, and only her.
“That’s good.” It must be nice how simple this all is to him. He hums a single note and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, cold air stirring when he gets back off the bed to continue getting dressed. Slowly, the fear thaws out of her, leaving something else behind. 
A little blink of hope. Her boss calls them cracks. Little weakness, little slippage, places where the lines between two people slacken and fray. She thinks that she’s found somewhere to dig her fingers in and pull and push. Father and son, and the fine fissures that pain creates. A new wound for her to mouth at. She thinks that the next time her boss calls, she might just have something to offer up to him. A boy, a body, a traitor. 
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kaeluc-genshinimpact · 5 months
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It's time again for a round of "Are they brothers or aren't they brothers?"
Kaeluc Antis never tire of accusing shippers of shipping an incestuous ship. And that's why I would like to write a little about it. 1. At least in Germany you can't just adopt a child. Qoute: To be able to adopt a child, the biological parents must have consented to the adoption. It is irrelevant how the parents relate to each other. The consent must come from both parents. For example, in the case of stepchild adoption, the permission of the parent who does not continue to care for the child must be given. Source Diluc's father couldn't have adopted Kaeya, because Kaeya's father never agreed to it. And I take extra German guidelines, because Mondstadt is modeled after Germany. Especially because Keaya would then have taken the Ragnvindrs' family name and would no longer be called Alberich.
2. What are sworn brothers. Qoute: In the European Middle Ages and early modern times, oath brotherhood (Latin fraternitas iurata) referred to an artificial kinship relationship between two friends, which was often sealed through ritual acts, including within the church. These rituals could include mixing or exchanging the blood through drinking (blood brotherhood). For a cross-cultural order, see Brother (friendship). Since the publication of the book Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe by the historian John Boswell, there has been a discussion in history, in the lesbian and gay movement, but also in the various churches about the extent to which this institution can be seen as proof that Christianity is same-sex is connections in the past are not only acknowledged but also acknowledged. However, John Boswell's claim (see below) that sworn brotherhoods were legitimized as same-sex partnerships (i.e. including genital acts) accepted by the Orthodox Church in the form of adelphopoiesis is not tenable. The original purpose of adelphopoiesis was to establish a spiritual kinship (as in a baptismal sponsorship) (see below).[2] However, contrary to the claims of Boswell's critics to the contrary, the oath brotherhood must actually have been used by same-sex couples. This is proven by Orthodox canon law, which justifies the abolition of adelphopoiesis in Eastern Roman law and in the ecclesiastical canons with the fact that the oath brotherhood had been abused for the “fulfillment of carnal lusts and sensual passions”.[3] Source So we are talking about a spiritual brotherhood/family and not an adoptive or kinship. Otto Apocalypse from Honkai Impact also says that Welt can join his family by becoming Otto's sworn brother. In this case, it may even be right, if Kaeya actually calls Diluc his brother and Crepus his father.
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3. Can I marry my Stepsilbing. Qoute: According to Section 1308 Paragraph 1 Sentence 1 BGB, a marriage should not be concluded between people whose relationship within the meaning of Section 1307 BGB has been established through adoption. This does not apply if the acceptance relationship has been terminated. Otherwise, adoptive siblings can only marry each other with the approval of the family court (Section 1308 Paragraph 2 BGB). However, the effectiveness of a marriage concluded contrary to this provision is not affected. It cannot be repealed because this case is not mentioned in Section 1314 of the German Civil Code (BGB). Source
So yes. Keaya could marry Diluc, if he would break the relationship with Diluc and his father. So. If Kaeya had been adopted. Which he isn't.
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And even the Webtoon Artist of the official Genshin Impact Webcomics shipped them togehter:
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No matter how you turn it and turn it, there is still a translation error. Diluc and Kaeya are not adopted brothers, but sworn brothers. Deal with it.
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dejablueballs · 1 year
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Deja Blue/Avatar hc
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a/n: Just some silly ideas and hcs abt the blue crew. Wanted to put in my two cents, they're random and are just my personal mind vomit. They have no real personalities or lore so regard this as horseshit if you want <3 also these were all the ones I could remember!!!
_____
Miles Quaritch: Objectively, bad at sex. Was an old man in his prime with power and money to burn, i can assure you he doesn't care about where the clit is much less if his partner cums. Probably doesn't believe in the female orgasm. Thinks ten minutes of missionary is good enough. If he really cares about who hes fucking sure he'll give you a good time but 9/10 hes just not fun in bed [think of strickland in tsow]
Lyle Wainfleet: Loves fat women, gotta be 200lb and over to ride this ride, no stretch marks? no service! Will deny so because of toxic masculinity. Acts disgusted and laughs with his little friend group to keep up appearances but will be on his knees begging for his big babe to sit on his face the same night
Recom Mansk: Doesn't laugh often, its very hard to make the stone cold bastard even snicker but when he laughs he fucking laughs. Big snorting chortling open throat guffaws, cant be controlled or stopped. He has the tendency to puke if he laughs too hard so thats another reason he keeps it under wrap. weak ass gag reflex
Recom Z-dog: was a hardcore horse girl her entire adolescence and never quite grew out of it, daydreams about riding and owning a direhorse
Recom Fike: insecure manlet, was a short man and is now the shortest recom. Tends to puff up, flex or otherwise start shit to assert his masculinity. Stands on his tippy toes during arguments. Can't argue without tearing up, learned how to mask it when human but now he just pops if overwhelmed
Recom Prager: the man with the plan, i.e recreational drugs. Always keeps an ounce or a tab on him, hence the spaced out look. Living as a human on pandora can be stressful so he found a great way to cope. Nothing hardcore just reggie, acid, valium etc etc just small things to help ease stressed soldiers. If caught he will lie and throw whoevers closest under the bus
Recom Ja: just notebooks upon notebooks of bad poetry, keeps one on hand in case ideas ever spark or if smthg abt pandora really inspires him. Its all very bad or bland poetry, hes smart enough to know so and never shares anything he writes. Probably some "saw a snail, effervescent" type bullshit in there or ripped off lines to strengthen his stanzas. Keeps small logs on his day to day life, very boring
Recom Brown: loves taking selfies of himself, working out, meetings, private or hang time. Doesn't matter, just enjoys self documentation. probably has a locked folder of his own dick pics. Def the type to measure
Recom Lopez: was raised devout catholic, priest, baptisms etc etc all the big catholic stuff so you'll usually see him with a silver cross necklace or a rosary during special occasions [good friday, ash wednesday, lent, chrsitmas etc etc] Not preachy about it but hes silently judgmental. Listens to sermons with headphones while alone or working out. Always be able to catch him watching the older sunday service channel since he doesn't have access to earth cable in real time. Has several small christian tattoos. He's like mac from always sunny, basically
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compacflt · 6 months
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I have to ask because I'm just too curious! How is your writing so good? Like, holy hell, your prose, the flow from one sentence to another, how you tell Ice and Mav's thoughts and the yearning and pining and angst and everything. You made me cry so many times reading their perspectives, and it's such a unique take and so relatable and sad at the same time.
I'm just wondering if you've taken any courses, what you do to improve your writing, or maybe any references and ideas for when you get stuck on a scene. I'm not much of a reader of western media, so maybe you have some recommendations?
Thanks in advance! You're one of the best writers I've ever had the pleasure of reading!
See here for my regular writing advice :)
yes, i am a double major in journalism & english so I’m taking basically all writing classes at school. but as i said in my previous advice post, i haven’t learned anything in any of my classes that you couldn’t learn just by reading attentively and writing on your own. the benefit of a structured program is Having Deadlines and that’s about it imo
I don’t have a ton of recommendations for precisely this reason—my recommendation is to literally read everything you can get your hands on, AND to treat Everything you read/watch/experience like high literature. Advertisements in the subway have a theme & a message & employ certain literary tactics to deliver that message to you. They’re worth learning from. So are the nature documentaries on tv—which stories are prioritized and why? What story techniques do documentarians, for instance, use to make us, the viewer, relate to animals and experiences that are otherwise unrelatable? Can you find examples of foreshadowing & symbolism in your own real life? Fiction is just a reflection of the dynamics of our own world—if you can find the rhythm of an overheard conversation on the street, you can find the rhythm of fictional dialogue
(Which is why i continue to stress, keep a journal or a diary. one of the most instructive exercises i ever did was when I was in a creative writing class at like 14 and they had us just follow strangers around and write down exactly what they said. So you get a lot of “so he told me, like, he was, like, like, um, ‘I’m not cheating on you,’ or whatever, and I was like, bitch, what?” —But that’s how people talk! It’s a good exercise lol.)
my one actual craft recommendation is basically mandatory assigned reading in many western english/writing classes—for good reason: Thomas c foster’s “how to read literature like a professor.” He summarizes about a hundred classic western texts and explains how they use various english-canonical symbols (“if characters eat together they’re taking communion,” “if a character gets wet and doesn’t drown it’s a metaphorical baptism,” “literally everything you read is somehow related to sex… except sex which is usually about something else”) and it’s written really well for both readers and writers. Basically my bible. a great primer if you don’t know where to start with western literature/if you don’t know where to start with writing symbols and stuff
anyway to summarize, life is literature, living is reading, we all still have so much time to learn, read “how to read literature like a professor,” and keep a diary
I also forgot to mention this in my last advice post but don’t use epithets please 😭 idk if you use epithets or not but this is just general advice, it’s my most snotty literary opinion and it’s very common in fanfic for some reason (it’s like so specific to the fanfic genre it’s insane) but i am extremely convicted about it i feel very strongly so im telling you. epithets make your writing sound very obviously fanficky. “the blond man” “the taller man” etc… just don’t use them it’s so unspecific!! WHICH blond man???? WHICH tall man? why can’t we be specific here?? have we been suddenly struck with amnesia?? just use his name!!
Also you say you don’t read a lot of western literature—I am not sure where you’re from but don’t feel like you HAVE to read/write only western literature to be successful. That’s only true if you want to succeed in the gatekept western lit market—and even then, the gatekept western lit market is literally currently foaming at the mouth to hear other perspectives right now. Who you are & where you come from invariably affects how you see the world & write about it, so lean into that if you can!
unfortunately my advice for getting stuck on a scene is “just write it.” Just sit down and get SOMETHING on the page. Spoiler alert, those tend to be the scenes i (and most of the writers i know) dislike the most, when coming back to reread my/our own writing. like there are many scenes in my fics that i have published where i think the lack of passion is unfortunately pretty obvious. But that’s kind of the way it goes. Some scenes you will like/want to write better than others. Shrug. at least they’re there on the page. as they say: don’t let “perfect” be the enemy of “good enough.”
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battybriefs · 1 year
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Remember kids, it's only grooming when it's gay.
But for real heres personal story time. Let's talk about actual grooming.
I grew up in the Mormon church in the 90s and early 2000s. Like a good child, I participated in all the church activities including the young women's program. My parents wanted me to do it, i was told the church leaders were good people so I didnt question anything.
While the guys in the boyscouts and young mens program were learning survival skills, learning woodworking, learning how to fix cars, and learning financial literacy ... we were learning to do our makeup, can food, bake bread, sew clothes, cook large meals, and learn about changing diapers. It was hammered in our heads from a young age that our entire purpose in life was to get married, serve the husband, have kids and raise a family.
I remember when I was a Beehive, around 13 or 14, our ward was invited to participate in a fashion show for one of the local bridal stores. They dressed all the young women up, did our makeup and hair, put us in wedding dresses, and invited all the men in the ward to come watch us runway walk in the cultural hall. I was a literal child. I didnt even have tıts yet. Men in their 60s and 70s in our ward came to watch us parade around in our little wedding gowns. That's straight up a pedopagent and grooming child brides, y'all, and I didn't even realize it because things like that were so normalized in the church.
I remember sitting in the bishops office interviewing for my first temple reccomend so I could participate in the young women's activity to do baptisms for the dead. He asks me if I live by the laws of chastity. I was young, naive, sheltered and didn't even know what the word chastity meant. I remember him aggressively, explicitly asking me questions about my virginity- had I ever kissed a boy, touched a boy, thought about a boy, touched myself, touched a girl, thought about a girl, felt tingly down there, had a hymen. He kept asking me over and over if I was sure about my answers, and would elaborate on what he meant like he was fishing for a specific answer. It felt so dirty and invasive. In hind sight it felt more like he was trying to get spank bank material than trying to find out if I was being a "good girl".
Fast forward a few years. Im in Junior High, probably about 15 years old. I'm a closeted homo sitting next to my girlfriend in church, trying my damndest to hold my tongue and not let people catch on that I was crying. The young woman's lesson was about a woman's worth.
They opened up by talking about how we're getting old enough to go to college in a few years and that that's great, but a career and college education should be a hobby and not a goal. They stressed that we shouldn't put our educations and careers as a priority over finding a man, getting married in the temple, and starting a family. They said as soon as we found a man, we needed to drop out and become stay at home mothers. It was the mans duty to provide for the family. We were told that the reason God sent women to this earth to serve men and raise families, and that it was a divine and sacred calling.
The second half was about how lesbians and gay people were sent by the devil to destroy families. We were told if we "struggled with same sex attraction" we needed to pray, repent and try harder to be straight. That we needed to tell the bishop so they could help us get gay conversion therapy. That even if we liked girls, we needed to find a man to marry and bear his children. They actively encouraged gay men and women to catfish straight partners and trick them into thinking you loved them with the purpose of bearing children. Can you imagine how fucking awful it would be to fall in love and marry a person thinking they felt the same way, only to find out they're gay and living a lie so they don't go to hell?
The church advocating "its ok to be gay but you have to be celibate and single for the rest of your life" was a change the church made a few years later when Prop 8 passed and their members started leaving in hoards.
Meanwhile I've been to drag shows since I was in high-school. It's just a bunch of people with great makeup skills doing lavish impressions of Lady Gaga and Freddy Mercury.
Why is a drag show considered grooming but telling actual children that theyre going to be mommies and daddies when they grow up not? Why is it grooming if a trans person is out in public doing something mundane like grocery shopping, but it isn't grooming watching television shows that has love triangle plotlines that revolve around teenagers making out and exploring their sexuality? Why is it grooming when a children's show has a character with two daddies but not grooming when the children's show character has a mom and a dad?
If people really give a shit about grooming, they need to start in their own backyard. Start by deconstructing straight representation in media. Start by asking why its ok to joke that a toddler is going to be a ladies man when he grows up. Start by asking why child beauty pagents even exist. Start by looking at how your religion teaches and enforces sexuality. Start with comprehensive and age appropriate lessons about the human body and consent with little Suzy so when uncle Bob is being inappropriate at the family reunion she has the knowlege and tools to know whats going on, to assert her boundaries, and the confidence to tell another grownup what's going on.
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picklepie888 · 1 year
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My Personal Ranking of Every Dracula Adaptation I've Watched/Listened To Since Dracula Daily
(Warning: spoilers under the cut)
So since I've started reading Dracula for the first time via Dracula Daily, I have over the past few months watched three movies and two podcast/audio plays of Dracula. The three films I've watched are the 1931 film starring Bela Logosi, the 1958 film starring Christopher Lee, and the 1979 film. The audio versions were the Mercury Theatre radio play starring Orson Welles, and the podcast Murray Mysteries by Knöve's Storytelling. These five Dracula adaptations had varying degrees of quality, and now having completely finished reading the original story I can now make a definite ranking of them based on book accuracy. Without further ado, let's sink our teeth into the content.
5. Dracula (1979)
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Differences from the book
Jonathan's saga at Drac's castle is completely skipped over and the film begins with the Demeter crashing
Lucy and Mina's names are swapped in this film. So the girl who Dracula drains to death is named Mina and Lucy is Jonathan's fiancee. I looked it up later and apparently the director just thought that 'Lucy' was a better name for a leading lady. Really stupid reason if you ask me, but whatever.
This is a very heavy Dracmina adaptation (or Draclucy in this case? IDK the girl he falls for is definetly meant to be Mina but with Lucy's name)
Both Quincey and Arthur are absent in this version
Renfield is sane at the beginning of the film and is shown interacting with the other characters before he descends into madness and ends up at Seward's asylum later
Dracula is a prominent character throughout and the characters interact with him regularly. Obviously Lucy (actually Mina) interacts with him the most (ugh)
Van Helsing and Seward are Mina and Lucy's fathers. And Seward is about the same age as Van Helsing, which I've noticed is pretty common in these adaptations
We never actually see Transylvania in this film
Lucy (Mina) becomes a full vampire at the film's climax
Van Helsing dies in the final confrontation, and Jonathan kills Drac via exposure to sunlight.
What I Liked
Starting with the things I liked about this movie, because there's not many. I like that Van Helsing and Jack Seward are friends in this version. The other two films I've seen didn't have the bond between these two characters which was a core part of the original story. I liked that they shared a good portion of their scenes together and they do act like two men who have known each other for a long time. I'll give this movie credit for getting this one thing right.
The cinematography is exquisite. The muted colors, the way the inside of Dracula's residence at Carfax is framed on camera, the eerie gothic aesthetic throughout the film is masterfully done. But pretty visuals don't make up for poor characterization.
Mr. Swales is in this version. He's only in two scenes, but I was still pleasently surprised to see him in an adaptation.
They did the Lizard Fashion™ scene.
What I Disliked
They absolutely massacred Mina's character. She was so unbearably hateable throughout the film. The narrative made it clear that she didn't give a crap about Jonathan, and she practically threw herself on Dracula the minute she saw him. There was also the scene where she tells all the men (yes including Jonathan) that she hated them for coming between her and Dracula. Can you imagine book!Mina ever saying such a thing to her beloved husband who was willing to damn himself for her?!?! And DO NOT get me started on the Baptism of Blood scene! The part of the story that's supposed to be a horrifying metaphor for rape is instead played out as an act of passion between two lovers. There's also no ambiguity here, Dracula and Mina just straight up have sex. And Mina loved every minute of it. Imagine someone made a film about a rape victim and framed their traumatic experience as a passionate love scene! I almost went into a fit of rage at this scene, it disgusted me to my core!
Jonathan is really bland in this film. The writers clearly decided to set his characterization aside so they could focus more on the spooky vampire vibes and the affair his fiancee has with the vampire. They didn't make him a bad guy, but I didn't feel anything but pity for him in this film. The only scene where he shows any other emotion aside from 'concerned husband' was when he got understandably jealous when Mina was flirting with Dracula and he called her out on it. Other than that, he doesn't show anywhere near as much passion for Mina as he does in the book.
There's a scene where Drac lizard crawls into Lucy's window, and when she sees him, she smiles and shows her neck to him. I didn't like this, because it implied she was giving consent for him to drink her, which again frames the victim on having some blame on what happens to her.
Dracula still brutally kills Renfield like in the book, but I didn't really understand why? I might of missed something when watching, but Renfield doesn't do anything to try to protect Mina in this version. Drac just teleports into the asylum, snaps Renfield like a twig, refused to eleborate, then kidnaps Mina.
Did not like this movie. Terrible adaptation and so many characters, especially the women, got screwed over in favor of framing a stupid 'forbidden love' narrative.
Rating: 0/5
4. Dracula (1931)
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Differences from the book
Still no Arthur or Quincey
Lucy is in the film, but she only has maybe two minutes of screen time, and her arc never got a conclusion, she just stays a vampire forever I guess. They could've left her out of the film completely and it wouldn't change anything.
Seward is yet again an old man in this film, and he's Mina's father. He also doesn't have much of a relationship with Van Helsing, they act more like business partners than friends.
Renfield takes Jonathan's place in the beginning of the film as the solicitor who goes to Dracula's castle. The narrative frames his encounter as the reason he went insane.
Mina has nothing to do in this movie but be a passive damsel in distress. About 70% of her dialogue is her screaming her husband's name.
Jonathan is simply called 'John' in this version. Seward is never adressed by his first name, so there's no confusion.
Like in the 1979 movie, the characters regularly interact with Dracula throughout the film, and frame Van Helsing as the one guy who knows he's a vampire and has to prove it to everyone else.
Renfield also has way more scenes in this film than he did in the book.
The final confrontation takes place at Carfax, Drac kidnaps Mina, and he's killed by Van Helsing and Jonathan.
This version is more based off the play from the 20's rather than the actual novel. And you can kinda tell by the way the story is paced, and how the characters come into the sets.
What I Liked
Bela Logosi as Dracula and Dwight Frye as Renfield are both by far the most entertaining aspects of this film. Even though I think they both got more screen time than they should, I have to say they both pulled off their characters spectacularly. Especually Frye as Renfield; the way he was able to portray a mild-mannered solicitor and then a madman is incredible.
There's no musical score through out the film, which really adds to the creepy atmosphere. Especially for the scenes at the begining at Dracula's castle where there isn't much dialogue.
The sets are really cool! Dracula's castle in Transylvania looks enormous and all kinds of creepy, just as it was described in the novel.
There's no Dracmina in this version, and Jonathan and Mina actually care about each other!
What I Disliked
The pacing was really wonky. As I mentioned before, Lucy's whole story arc was just glossed over, she was dead almost as soon as she was introduced. And then they brought up that a woman that looks like her is going around kidnapping children, and then that issue's just...never brought up again for the rest of the film. So is she still a vampire? Did she die after Drac was killed? And her death had very little impact on the main characters, even Mina who is supposed to be her friend. The whole ordeal with Renfield at the castle and the Demeter was also over with within the first five minutes of the movie. I get that they could only fit so much of the story in an hour and a half film, but come on!
All of Mina's intelligence and agency she had in the novel is completely thrown out the window, and she's replaced by a sexist archetype that was shown in every horror movie in the thirties. She spends the majority of the movie screaming and crying and being under Drac's control. This version of Mina is still better than the 1979 on though. At least this one loves Jonathan.
Jonathan is still pretty bland. His whole personality is just 'concerned husband', and that's about the extent of it. We don't get to see his arc from a gentle Englishman to vengeful gremlin on the name of his wife like the og story. All of his feminine aspects is taken away too, and he basically just acts like the generic male hero with no moments of self doubt. I do appreciate that they kept the dedication to his wife though.
Van Helsing and Seward don't act like friends. In fact most of their interactions involve Van Helsing proposing an idea that vampires could exist and then Seward tells him he's full of crap. This goes back and forth until Mina starts to turn.
Several of the plot points happen offscreen and then is brought up later through dialogue by the characters. Namely Dracula's assualt on Mina.
Renfield died like a bitch in this version. He was crying and begging Dracula to spare his life, unlike in the novel, when he grabbed Dracula in his mist form and wrecked him in order to protect Mina. He still helps the heroes in this version, but it doesn't feel as genuine when he chickens out the minute Dracula threatens him.
Overall, not a great adaptation, but a decent movie on its own. It would have worked better if it had been a series of films, so that way they could have all the story arcs with more proper pacing. They still did Lucy and Mina dirty, and there's no justice for Arthur and Quincey.
Rating: 2/5
3. Dracula (AKA Horror of Dracula) (1958)
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Differences from the book
Still no Quincey! Seriously, what does Hollywood have against the cowboy?? No Renfield either.
Jonathan dies at the beginning at Dracula's castle.
There's only one vampire bride, and Jonathan kills her at the start.
Arthur and Lucy are siblings in this version.
Mina and Lucy have also swapped fiancee's, but unlike in the 1979 version, they still have the same roles they had in the book. So Mina is married to Arthur, but Lucy still gets drained/turned into a vampire.
Both Jonathan and Seward are minor characters in this movie. Jonathan dies at the castle at the beginning, and Seward only appears in the scenes where Lucy is ill. For the most part, Arthur fills in the roles of all four men who aren't Van Helsing. So if you thought Arthur didn't have enough to do in the og story, he does literally everything in this version. Except one thing, which I'll get to in a moment.
Two new characters were made for this movie. Arthur and Mina's maid, who basically takes the role of Mrs. Westenra from the book, and the maid's daughter who becomes a victim of vampire Lucy.
Van Helsing is the one to kill vampire Lucy rather than Arthur.
Arthur kills Dracula in a physical showdown.
What I Liked
This was the first movie adaptation I saw with Arthur in it, and I liked that he has more of a role here, even more so than he had in the book. I just wish we didn't have to sacrifice the other male characters sans Van Helsing for it.
The scene where Bloofer Lady Lucy lures the maid's daughter away to the graveyard was legitametly disturbing. The way she talked to the girl reminded me of how adult predators tend to talk to children to get them to follow them. Really scary stuff.
Dracula himself shows up sparingly in this movie! Finally a film adaptation that understood that a part of the horror of Dracula is that he only shows himself when he wants to.
The Baptism of Blood scene is actually portrayed as a traumatic moment for Mina. She's terrified and clearly doesn't want what the Count does to her.
Christopher Lee made a pretty awesome Dracula, with the few scenes he's in. He nailed the mystery and creep vibes the Count had in the og story.
What I Disliked
This movie had Van Helsing stake vampire!Lucy while Arthur stood there and covered his eyes. I didn't like the direction they took with this scene, because Arthur killing Lucy was a pivotal part of his character arc in the book. At the very least, movie!Arthur makes up for it a bit when he kills Dracula in the ending.
I think making Arthur and Lucy siblings was a weird choice. Especially since they kept the scene from the book where vampire!Lucy tries to seduce Arthur with a kiss before Van Helsing stops them!! So there's some icky incenst undertones there because of that. I really don't get why so many Dracula films insist on making the characters related when none of them were in the book.
The main cast felt pretty empty without Jonathan, Jack, and Quincey. Again, since Arthur fills up all the other men's roles it felt like the cast was lacking, with the focus mostly being on just the two men (Art and Van Helsing).
Mina didn't have much to do in this film, although I did appreciate her devotion to both Arthur and Lucy. It was clear that she cares about them both. And there's no Dracmina thank God! Aside from that, she just kinda played the role of 'emotional support.'
There's a scene where after Van Helsing places the garlic flowers all over Lucy's room, she throws a fit and smashes one of the vases. She then has Arthur's maid get rid of all the flowers and open her windows, the very things Van Helsing instructed not to do. I get that this was probably because Drac hypnotized her, but again the narrative is kinda blaming Lucy for what happens to her. Plus the maid was kinda an idiot to listen to her and not the doctor who instructed her to keep the flowers there.
They made the final confrontation with Drac a big showdown, unlike how it was in the book. On the one hand, its much more dramatic, but Arthur was the only one who was really involved, as in the book where all the main characters had to defeat the Count via teamwork.
This was one of the better Dracula films I've seen so far. This one was more focused on the human characters (even though they got rid of half the cast), and they allowed Drac to be a mysterious monster rather than a typical villain. Again, I really liked Christopher Lee's take on the Count. I just wish they had at least kept Jonathan for the rest of the film.
Rating: 3/5
2. Mercury Theatre's Dracula (1938)
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Differences from the book
No Quincey (again!)
Arthur and Jack are combined into one character (literally named Arthur Seward).
It's implied that Seward is the one who put all the journal entries together rather than Mina.
Mina and Lucy don't interact in this version, and Mina isn't introduced until after Lucy's death.
No Renfield or vampire brides.
There is minimal Dracmina, but it's all on Drac's side, and Mina doesn't reciprocate at all (thank God!)
Mina kills Dracula in the end!
What I Liked
Orson Welles might just be my favorite Dracula so far! He has such an incredible voice that is both mesmerizing and spinechilling. His take on Dracula will keep you awake for several nights.
Despite being the shortest adaptation I've seen so far (it's under an hour long), they somehow managed to get all the important plot points of the story, and it doesn't feel rushed or poorly paced.
The main focus is on the human characters, and the found family aspects from the original story are still there! Seward is still hopelessly devoted to his old professor, and Jonathan and Mina are in love and bound to each other.
There was no victim blaming for the female characters!
Mina got to kill the Count! After all these terrible film versions where she's been reduced to a screaming damsel or a promiscuous bitch, Mina finally got the justice she deserves!! I'm so glad Welles and his team understood that Mina's role in defeating the Count was just as important as the men's! I just wish later adaptations knew this!
What I Disliked
Mina and Lucy's friendship was left out of the narrative. I know this was probably to cut time to fit the hour-long timeslot, but their friendship was so important to the story.
It felt too short?! Again, I know they only had an hour to broadcast the story, but I felt like it could've gone on another thirty minutes at least. It was really good though, so that hour went by too fast for me.
As good as this version was, it still really could've used some vampire-hunting cowboy action.
This radio play came out in 1938, and somehow it understood the female characters better than most modern Dracula adaptations. The voice acting is great, the sound design is great, and Orson Welles nailed it as Dracula!
Rating: 4/5
1. Knöve's Storytelling's Murray Mysteries (2021)
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Differences from the book
The characters have canon queer identities.
Jonathan is ace.
Mina is bi.
Lucy is pan.
Seward is a lesbian.
Art is nonbinary.
Van Helsing is implied to be aroace.
Seward and Van Helsing have both been genderswapped, and their first names have been changed to Jane and Abigail respectfully.
Arthur strictly goes by 'Art' and uses they/them pronouns.
Renfield is only refered by the initial 'R.'
The story takes place in the modern day, and the characters use modern technology and slang. Most of the characters use audio recordings rather than written diary entries.
Drac vapes and owns a cat.
The story starts with Mina and Lucy at Whitby, and we the audience don't get to know about Jonathan's encounter in Transylvania until Mina does, when she listens to Jonathan's audio diary.
Holmward becomes canon by the end.
Jonathan and Mina's roles are swapped in the final act, so Jonathan is the one Drac violates and is slowly turning into a vampire, and Mina is the one who goes feral for her hubby.
Jonathan and Mina have a dog in the epilogue rather than a son.
Quincey gets to live!!!
What I Liked
This is the most faithful adaptation I've seen by far! All the important story beats are there, as are the character dynamics! This is the first adaptation I've seen that has all the main cast, and they work wonderfully together!
This one has Quincey!!! And he has the best lines in the whole show! Seriously, they took his himboness from the book and dialed it up to 11! It's magnificent! And they included the iconic bat shooting scene!
The idea to have Dracula as a podcast spread out through multiple episodes was a brilliant idea! They were able to pace the story the way it should, we get to spend time with every character and really get to know each of them, and the whole 'found footage' aspect this podcast has was a stroke of genius!
All the voice actors have amazing chemistry together. If you watch any of the BTS videos, you'll see that almost all of them are friends IRL, which adds to their performance here. I especially love Mina and Lucy's interactions, they really do feel like they've been best friends forever.
The team makes the decision to leave Jonathan out of the vampire hunt due to his trauma, unlike the og story where they left out Mina because she was a woman. This makes more sense considering the changed time period, and it's less misogyny BS we have to deal with. It also gave us unhinged vengeful Mina, which I greatly appreciate.
The scene where Jonathan tries to get Mina to promise she'll kill him if he turns is so heartwrenching! I swear, the VAs got me screaming crying and throwing up at how regretful, angry, desperate, and terrified they both sounded at the same time! God all the emotions were on point!
Dracula himself only appears for about three episodes in this series, which was all we really needed of him. Almost all the focus was on the human characters, which was as it should be.
What I Disliked
Dracula and Van Helsing don't have accents. I know this is supposed to be a more serious adaptation, and the VAs attempting to do accents that aren't natural to them may come off as unintentionally goofy, but still it didn't feel quite as authentic to the characters. Van Helsing was already pretty goofy enough as a character, it wouldn't have felt out of place if they had kept her Dutchness. Dracula also sounds like Just Some Guy, which is actually kinda hilarious after all these adaptations that try so hard to be over the top villains with foreign accents.
There are some areas in the story where I thought they were a little *too* faithful to the book. Namely the relationship between Seward and Renfield. Granted, it's not quite as bad as it was in the book, but it's still not great either.
This was definetly the best Dracula adaptation, and I don't know how anything else could top it! Maybe if we get a fully fledged TV series some day that's faithful to the book, but for now this podcast is just the best! Great writing! Great voice acting! The whole series is on YouTube, please go listen to it!
Rating: 5/5
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loveerran · 11 months
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Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not
It is rumored that the LDS Church will soon implement a policy that bans the baptism of transgender children of record (generally children who are 8 years old) if those individuals have socially transitioned (a social transition means changing dress or grooming, or a name or pronouns, to present oneself as other than their assigned sex at birth).
I do not believe this will happen for several reasons (partially laid out below, but I didn’t suspect the infamous-and-since-retracted Policy of Exclusion would happen either).
If the church were to implement this policy, it would mean 8-year old children will be told they cannot come into the fold of God. That they cannot make a covenant with Jesus to (Mosiah 18:8-10):
Be numbered among his people
Bear the burdens of others that they may be light
Mourn with those that mourn
Comfort those that stand in need of comfort
Stand as a witness of God at all times, in all things, and in all places that they are in
Serve Him and keep His commandments
In my opinion, no one should tell a little child they cannot come unto Jesus (Mark 10:13-14), regardless of the challenges that child is facing. In fact, I would suggest that children facing difficult challenges are most particularly in need of Jesus. Perhaps there are some who may think dressing or presenting oneself in a gender non-conforming way violates the “Keep His commandments” part of the covenant. But everyone sins and comes short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23 - and note: I am not at all certain that an 8-year old child who has socially transitioned is in a state of sin), and many adult sinners are baptized anyway.
We should also keep in mind there is no worthiness interview for 8-year old children of record in the LDS church (LDS General Handbook 31.2.3.1). Little children are without sin. All that is required for them is to have a desire to come unto Christ and a sufficient mental capacity to grasp the difference between right and wrong (those who do not have the mental capacity to understand right from wrong are exempt from baptism).
There are some sins considered serious enough they may prevent adults receiving permission to be baptized (LDS General Handbook 31.2.3.2 and 38.2.8.7). These include adults currently ‘living in sin’ (ie – having sexual relations while not in a legally married cishet union). That’s the entire list. The remainder (paying tithing, committing to go to church, obeying the word of wisdom) are mostly pledges of intention to obey and mirror future temple recommend interview questions (and most adult members do not hold an active temple recommend).
Additionally, certain particular past sins or crimes may be serious enough to require approval from the First Presidency (the church’s highest governing body) before the adult can be baptized. These include murder, sex crimes (rape, incest, CSA), other serious crimes involving jail time or where a person is currently on probation/parole, or adults involved with plural marriage (the church is very strict when it comes to polygamy).
Oh, and faithful transgender adults who transition (socially or medically) to live honestly and openly, as they identify, are also required to obtain First Presidency Approval before being baptized.
I personally don’t believe transgender adults who want to serve Jesus belong in the same section as murderers, rapists, child molesters and those convicted of serious crimes.
Do we really want to add 8-year old children to that same list?
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angellayercake · 8 months
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The Diary of Cardinal Terzo Three
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Cardinal Terzo x Assorted Characters | NSFW | AO3 | Intro | Two
Based on this funny little article we start to read about some of Terzo's creampie adventures in his diary. I am still accepting prompts for this so just let me know!
disclaimer I know this is the farthest thing from safe sex but let’s pretend in this universe there is a special secret satanic sti and pregnancy protection just for fun
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17/09 There is no real requirement for a Sibling to join the church formally but for some the act of swearing themselves to Satan is an important part of their  spiritual journey so when a Sibling reaches the age of 21 they are able to take part in an Unholy Baptism and performing these on consenting Siblings was one of my many duties. Which was why today I found myself waist deep in the lukewarm pool inside the chapel. Sister Mary was stood before me dressed in a pure white robe, the water was wicking it's way up the gown slowly turning translucent and revealing her body to me.She blushed prettily under my gaze but I felt no guilt looking my fill as she had already stammeringly requested her baptism follow the old way. She wanted me to fuck her as she swore swore her soul to Satan and I was happy to oblige. As we spoke the words I peeled the sodden gown off her leaving her bare before me. I fucked into her torturously slow as she recited her vows, maybe cruely, timing my thrusts with her words. Her stutters and moans just spurred me on and when she finally finished I had to ask.'How does it feel being filled with your Cardinals cock?' She couldn't tell me so lost in her pleasure and her vows so I hit her sweet spot over and over until her perfect cunt couldn't take anymore! Creampie count: 484
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31/10 Halloween was an important night in any good satanists diary but sometimes it is nice to enjoy the more frivolous side of this particular holiday. So although I had my role to play in the rituals later on in the evening I had leave to make an appearance at the local bar's fancy dress event as long asI allowed Omega to come with me to bring me back on time. My fondness for that ghoul  comes back to bite me again, though I could hardly complain about my handsome companion. Naturally I dressed as an angel, a scantily clad angel, the sash only partially covering my chest and the skirt skimming the top of my thighs. A generous sprinkle of body glitter adorned all the visible skin and I noticed I had caught the eye of a similarly scantily clad devil. We locked eyes and she gestured towards a secluded corner of the bar. I had to follow Omega rolling his eyes but trailing behind me all the same. We didn't even exchange words as she pulled me into the dark corner. Our lips found each other at the same time as she spread her legs for me. She pulled out my already hard cock while shooting glances at Omega who was keeping watch. 'Your friend is welcome to join in' she whispered and with some quick manoeuvring, well that was that. We did make it back in time. Just. Creampie count:560
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01/11 When we did return well I was in for a treat. My partner for this ritual had already been prepared for me and it was someone who I recognised from my trip into town.'Fancy seeing you here Kitten' I said as I took in the tableau that was set up just for me.She gasped but couldn't say anything more around the gag in her mouth.She was bent over the altar he limbs spread to the four corners while the soft black rope criss crossed over her body. I had changed by now back into my ceremonial cassock so I could trace the shapes on her skin with the cold sharp nails of my gloves and watch her shiver. ‘I don't think you had permission to be in town, did you Kitten?' She gave another wet gasp as she started to drool in anticipation I think you must be punished before we begin. 'I picked up one of the many candles nearby holding it over her and let the heated wax drip down onto the expanse of skin before me. I grabbed a handful of her hair tipping her head to side and allowing me to drip more wax to the sensitive area where shoulder meets neck as she shivered below me.She was a writhing mess for me, limited as she was by the restraints, by the time I stopped to survey the splashes of dark wax. Setting the candle aside I finally sunk into her as we performed our sacred duty to the Dark One on this special night, at last. Creampie count: 562
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23/12  Birthdays I have always found very important. A day to celebrate the existence of someone special, so to see a Sister so dejected on her birthday well something had to be done. 'Happy Birthday Sister,' I spoke loudly as I sat intending to draw the attention of others nearby who were neglecting their friends' day for the sake of their yule excitement. She did manage to summon a smile for me but it did not meet her pretty eyes even as a chorus of birthday wishes grew around us.'Thank you Cardinal, I am surprised you remembered.' My heart clenched for her, how she thought I could forget. Well it would be easy enough for me to show her how cherished she was. 'I would never forget my favourite sister's day! Meet me tonight?' She nodded her agreement and I hurried to prepare the best birthday party I could. There was cake and balloons and party hats and presents but the only guests had been the sister and myself. As I crawled up from under the table I saw her smile finally reaching her eyes. 'Better birthday?' I asked. 'The best, 'she sighed running her fingers through my dishevelled hair. 'There is one thing we are missing for the best birthday, I think.' She looked at me in askance so I didn't keep her waiting 'Birthday sex!' I said as Ilifted her and carried her into my bedroom for the rest of her present. Creampie count: 653
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fat-fem-and-asian · 6 months
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Big Swiss Prompt List
mix of quotes from "big swiss" by jen beagin. can be used as either a direct quote to incorporate or a jumping off point! Dialogue
"My triggers are covered in wet sand," She said, "because my head is a giant cement mixer."
"Fuck you, sunshine."
"Actually, her voice reminds me of metal," Sabine said, "Liquid metal."
"You distracted me. That's why I fell."
"But you? You, I loved."
"Don't tell me you talk to me in your head." "I do, all day, all night."
"We're just having an affair." "Think of all the calls you missed, the meals you've skipped, how late to work I've made you."
"Are you in love with her?" "It feels that way."
"We're not dating. Don't be disgusting," Big Swiss said, "I love you."
"When I'm fucking you, you get this bored expression on your face, its confusing, disorienting, and - if I'm being honest - extremely exciting."
"Its not love/hate so much as push/pull, and its very hard to stop once the cycle starts."
"Are you trying to get me to leave you?" Greta didn't answer.
"Your wounds are getting some much needed air."
"I'm not done with you. I'm not sure I'll ever be."
"I chose you, over and over, for months and months. "
"Yes is a pleasant country,"
Prose
"Her bad habit was to talk to him like a dog."
"Yes, people age horribly. They suffer strokes. Their bodies and brains fall apart. But the male ego? Firmly intact until the bitter end."
"Unfortunately, her real self was horny, easily enraged, and no longer interested in making money."
"In fact, she felt distinctly as though she were sleepwalking, or in a perpetual state of daydreaming."
"Her only need, seemingly, was to satisfy her own curiosity."
“Kissing Big Swiss’s teeth was jarring and humiliating, like kissing a bathroom sink. But maybe that was too unkind. It was like kissing a baptismal font full of holy water.”
"Although Big Swiss seemed increasingly oceanic: vast, unknowable, capable of swallowing Greta whole."
"You never felt as thoroughly fucked as you did with a woman."
"But there, in the corners of her mouth, the hint of a cruel streak."
"One of the pitfalls of same-sex relationships was that you couldn't break down in public restrooms. At least, not in peace. The bitch followed you in there."
"I wanted her to know me, to blow it wide open, and I nearly told her my real name, but I was too startled by her face, her faint smile, the way she nodded her head."
"Shame was something you passed like kidney stones, and it was leaving her body at last."
"She was crashing, it appeared, and the comedown was rough. Greta felt it too - a doomed sadness."
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