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#the description is from the collectives website
lifehacksthatwork · 1 year
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Just a bunch of Useful websites - Updated for 2023
Removed/checked all links to make sure everything is working (03/03/23). Hope they help!
Sejda - Free online PDF editor.
Supercook - Have ingredients but no idea what to make? Put them in here and it'll give you recipe ideas.
Still Tasty - Trying the above but unsure about whether that sauce in the fridge is still edible? Check here first.
Archive.ph - Paywall bypass. Like 12ft below but appears to work far better and across more sites in my testing. I'd recommend trying this one first as I had more success with it.
12ft – Hate paywalls? Try this site out.
Where Is This - Want to know where a picture was taken, this site can help.
TOS/DR - Terms of service, didn't read. Gives you a summary of terms of service plus gives each site a privacy rating.
OneLook - Reverse dictionary for when you know the description of the word but can't for the life of you remember the actual word.
My Abandonware - Brilliant site for free, legal games. Has games from 1978 up to present day across pc and console. You'll be surprised by some of the games on there, some absolute gems.
Project Gutenberg – Always ends up on these type of lists and for very good reason. All works that are copyright free in one place.
Ninite – New PC? Install all of your programs in one go with no bloat or unnecessary crap.
PatchMyPC - Alternative to ninite with over 300 app options to keep upto date. Free for home users.
Unchecky – Tired of software trying to install additional unwanted programs? This will stop it completely by unchecking the necessary boxes when you install.
Sci-Hub – Research papers galore! Check here before shelling out money. And if it’s not here, try the next link in our list.
LibGen – Lots of free PDFs relate primarily to the sciences.
Zotero – A free and easy to use program to collect, organize, cite and share research.
Car Complaints – Buying a used car? Check out what other owners of the same model have to say about it first.
CamelCamelCamel – Check the historical prices of items on Amazon and set alerts for when prices drop.
Have I Been Pawned – Still the king when it comes to checking if your online accounts have been released in a data breach. Also able to sign up for email alerts if you’ve ever a victim of a breach.
I Have No TV - A collection of documentaries for you to while away the time. Completely free.
Radio Garden – Think Google Earth but wherever you zoom, you get the radio station of that place.
Just The Recipe – Paste in the url and get just the recipe as a result. No life story or adverts.
Tineye – An Amazing reverse image search tool.
My 90s TV – Simulates 90’s TV using YouTube videos. Also has My80sTV, My70sTV, My60sTV and for the younger ones out there, My00sTV. Lose yourself in nostalgia.
Foto Forensics – Free image analysis tools.
Old Games Download – A repository of games from the 90’s and early 2000’s. Get your fix of nostalgia here.
Online OCR – Convert pictures of text into actual text and output it in the format you need.
Remove Background – An amazingly quick and accurate way to remove backgrounds from your pictures.
Twoseven – Allows you to sync videos from providers such as Netflix, Youtube, Disney+ etc and watch them with your friends. Ad free and also has the ability to do real time video and text chat.
Terms of Service, Didn’t Read – Get a quick summary of Terms of service plus a privacy rating.
Coolors – Struggling to get a good combination of colors? This site will generate color palettes for you.
This To That – Need to glue two things together? This’ll help.
Photopea – A free online alternative to Adobe Photoshop. Does everything in your browser.
BitWarden – Free open source password manager.
Just Beam It - Peer to peer file transfer. Drop the file in on one end, click create link and send to whoever. Leave your pc on that page while they download. Because of how it works there are no file limits. It's genuinely amazing. Best file transfer system I have ever used.
Atlas Obscura – Travelling to a new place? Find out the hidden treasures you should go to with Atlas Obscura.
ID Ransomware – Ever get ransomware on your computer? Use this to see if the virus infecting your pc has been cracked yet or not. Potentially saving you money. You can also sign up for email notifications if your particular problem hasn’t been cracked yet.
Way Back Machine – The Internet Archive is a non-profit library of millions of free books, movies, software, music, websites and loads more.
Rome2Rio – Directions from anywhere to anywhere by bus, train, plane, car and ferry.
Splitter – Seperate different audio tracks audio. Allowing you to split out music from the words for example.
myNoise – Gives you beautiful noises to match your mood. Increase your productivity, calm down and need help sleeping? All here for you.
DeepL – Best language translation tool on the web.
Forvo – Alternatively, if you need to hear a local speaking a word, this is the site for you.
For even more useful sites, there is an expanded list that can be found here.
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description:
a tweet by @JUNlPER on twitter saying: ''the same person who leaked the no fly list published email communications of conservatives intentional efforts to ramp up their anti-LGBTQ hate. as was incredibly obvious, the moral panic is intentional and planned out''
followed by a screenshot of the hacker website, named maia with the text:
this file ("Deutsch emails") contains the complete source of email threads for the 2023-03-08 Mother Jones story “Inside the Secret Working Group That Helped Push Anti-Trans Laws Across the Country”. the emails are comprised of communications spanning 2019-2021 principally regarding an attempt to pass a trans youth transition treatment ban in south dakota in 2019, spearheaded by republican rep. fred deutsch and sen. lee schoenbeck.
there are extensive discussions between deutsch and notorious anti-gay and anti-trans “experts” associated with known hate groups targeting transgender healthcare in the united states, including dr. quentin l. van meter and dr. michelle cretella of the catholic medical association, dr. andre van mol of the christian medical & dental associations and american college of pediatricians, dr. michael k. laidlaw of the kelsey coalition, dr. william j. malone of the society for evidence-based gender medicine, dr. paul w. hruz of the national catholic bioethics center, laura haynes of narth, and deacon dr. patrick w. lappert of catholic reparative therapy group courage international. participants discuss crafting their language to avoid acknowledging that transgender people exist, constructing new ways to define doctors as criminals for providing gender-affirming care, and targeting a federal agency publication that correctly points out the dangers of anti-gay conversion therapy. their emails frequently digress into personal vendettas and ambitions of destroying established professional groups such as the endocrine society, and they typically celebrate their anti-trans legal and political achievements as a victory of the christian god.
the emails describe a wider national effort against transition treatment for minors, which included discussions with idaho rep. julianne young and sen. steve vick, georgia rep. ginny earhart, and florida rep. anthony sabatini. several anti-lgbt conservative legal groups are intimately involved in the discussion, including alliance defending freedom, adf-affiliated detransitioners hacsi horvath and walt heyer, eunie smith of eagle forum, adf-linked attorney vernadette r. broyles of the child & parental rights campaign, jane robbins of the american principles project, kara dansky and natasha chart of women’s liberation front, richard mast of liberty counsel, and emily zinos of minnesota family council and hands across the aisle. more recently, the transphobia-captured state of alabama harassed the endocrine society and wpath with subpoenas for their internal communications regarding hate groups and individuals participating in the deutsch emails, including segm, the american college of pediatricians, michael laidlaw, william malone, andre van mol, michelle cretella, and quentin van meter. the release of the deutsch emails is in the public interest and brings an equivalent level of transparency to the internal work of these major anti-trans advocacy and lobbying groups.
CLARIFICATION: i, maia, am not the source of this email leak, merely a publisher, since i feel that this should be more widely available than just to selected journalists''
and finally a link to maia website with the emails
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oharaslover · 3 months
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omg your miguel stories are tew good plz stop encouraging my obsession💀 but just in case you dont wanna listen👀... is there anyway you can do a one shot of miguel being like a laid back sugar daddy/just spoils the absolute shit out of us without giving a fuck PLEASE🙏🏾
anywaysssss love you and i wish you all the best<3
million dollar man
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pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader
contents: age gap (reader’s in college while miguel’s in mid thirties), handjob, and semi-public fingering
author’s note: i loved writing this request sm so thank you for allowing me to indulge 😩 wishing you the best too <33
word count: 4.8K
The rules of the website had practically imprinted in your brain with how many times you reread them- no cat-fishing relationships or scams, no low-quality photos, and to not be abusive. The rules seemed pretty simple but you couldn't help but hesitate to accept the terms, your hand hovering the cursor. "Oh fuck, just click it already," you mumbled to yourself, accepting the small box on the right corner of the screen after a couple seconds of hesitation. Your screen flooded with what seemed to be hundreds of older men, most of them actively seeking out for a sugar baby in exchange for some kind of service in return.
You'd been wanting to sign up for a sugar daddy website after noticing how empty your pantry was, a couple ramen packets sitting on the counters collecting dust. While you knew that you could be living much worse, you couldn't help but want more than eating the same food everyday. With the amount of student debt that you were crumbling under, you couldn't afford to make extravagant purchases. The job that you had managed to sustain you for your basic needs, but you were tired of simply just floating above the debt line. You found yourself with the desire to have more.
You decided to accept on the terms of the website and set up a profile, but you couldn't bring yourself to explore the options available. You stepped aside from the computer, rubbing over your eyes as you debated the reality of the situation.
You didn't have much time to regret your decision though, your phone alarm ringing with the reminder that you had to be getting ready for work soon. You shut off your computer, deciding to face the consequences of your actions at a much later time when you weren’t running late. After putting on the uniform for the ice cream shop that you worked at, you made your way out the house out to the parlor.
"I don't really see what the problem is with having a sugar daddy. You deserve more than what this place pays," one of your coworkers, Luna, told you as the two of you cleaned up the spoons from the previous shift. "You don't think I'm being a gold digger by doing it?" You asked her, wanting to get some kind of reassurance about the doubts that'd been clouding your mind since you'd joined the website.
She shrugged, walking over to take the order of an elderly woman that walked in. "If they know what they're getting into, I don't think it constitutes as being a gold digger. They know that the relationship is purely transactional," she responded to your question after the woman stepped away with her vanilla cone.
Her words rung through your mind as you sat down in front of your computer after getting off work, deciding to explore the options that were available. Most of the names shown on the website were some of Nueva York's most prominent businessmen, their name plastered onto some of the most successful buildings in the state.
You'd expected for most of the profiles to be senile men who were in the middle of a life crisis, instead getting men in their mid forties to sixties. Your nose scrunched up as you clicked through some of their profiles, most of them coming up as married with the description of 'wanting discreet fun.'
You were about to give up on your search for the night when you stumbled upon a profile of a man in his mid-thirties, one of the youngest men you'd seen in the fifteen minutes of scrolling. Miguel O'Hara. His profile revealed to you that he was divorced, his description being that he sought out for someone to spend time with in exchange for monitory compensation, a clear difference between his profile and the others you'd encountered.
To say that he was an easy swipe right was an understatement, your finger almost snapping off from how fast you clicked on your mouse. Not only was his persona more endearing than those you'd encountered, he was one of the more handsome men you'd had seen. You didn't think too much of the swipe, your eyes widening in surprise as you got the notification that it was a match.
You spent about a week talking to him about what could be expected out of the arrangement before he suggested that he take you out to a dinner. His reasoning behind the spontaneous date was that he simply wanted to see how the two connected outside of text, get a feeling of what type of person you were. As you waited for the day of the dinner to arrive, you couldn't help but be filled with anticipation and excitement.
You'd even gotten up early the day of to plan out your outfit ahead of time so you wouldn't have to do so after class, choosing to wear a pair of jeans that weren't too distressed with a black top.  Scenarios of how the dinner would go riddled your mind throughout the day, your focus of what was on the board diminishing with every second that you were in the classroom.
You showed up to dinner half an hour late due to the subway not arriving at its designated time, easily finding Miguel through the crowds of people. not only was the tallest one in the room, he was also the one with the nicest attire in the place. The black button down shirt he had on accentuated the bulging muscles underneath, the material flexing to fit around him perfectly and the black slacks that he had on fit his legs to perfection.
You caught a whiff of his cologne when he stood up to shake your hand, the pure scent of him reeking of money. He pulled the chair back for you, waiting for you to take a seat before he sat back down. You couldn't help but notice how well he filled out the seat, the pure presence of him almost demanding to be seen.
"Sorry I'm late, the subway got delayed," you started off, wondering just how long he'd been here waiting for you to show up. "While I do appreciate punctuality, I understand," he responded, handing you one of the menus from the table. You picked up the menu, noticing that none of the prices were on there but rather just what the meals had to offer.
A waiter came by a couple minutes later to take the orders, Miguel ordering steak with mashed potatoes and a red wine. "I'll just get the grilled chicken with water, please," you told the waiter, handing them your menu along with Miguel’s. They nodded and stepped away, the only sound at the table being the classical music playing throughout the restaurant.
You looked down at the plate of food dumbfounded, wondering how exactly it was that rich people got full. You were half expecting for the waiter to announce that it was a prank, to come back and fill up your plate. Upon realizing that the two bites that were placed on your plate was the whole meal, you reluctantly took a bite out of it.
"So, the terms of our arrangement would be pretty simple. I'd provide you with the funds that you deem appropriate and you would provide me with your company. I'm not expecting any kind of sexual favors in return, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if you had the desire to," he told you, his tone casual as if he were just having another business arrangement. You almost choked on the water you were sipping, setting the glass back down.
"So what you're saying is that you don't want to have sex with me unless you and I wanted to," you repeated back to him, raising a brow as he nodded. "Do you mind if I ask why?" The question came out of you without much thought, his brows furrowing in exchange. You thought he wasn't going to respond to the question as his silence turned deafening, the room seeming to rise in temperature with every second that passed. "I’m looking for this certain kind of arrangement because I know what to expect from this. My daughter passed away a couple months ago and it helped me to realize that no amount of money that I have will keep anyone next to me," he responded after a couple of minutes, his words coming out with a certain kind of precision as he spoke.
You stayed quiet as you let the words stick in your brain, wondering just what exactly it was that made this man so closed off to the world. You wanted to ask him more questions, but you figured that they weren't appropriate for the setting or the arrangement that was being discussed.
"I'd start off with giving you a short allowance for now, $500 a week just to get you started. It'll increase the more that we spend time together, a little bonus if we have to show up to an event together. Obviously, iId take care of the expenses of your outfit," he added, his red eyes boring into yours like they wanted to see through your very being. “That all sounds very promising, but I think I need some time to think about it if you don't mind," you finally spoke up, watching as his eyebrows bunched up before he nodded.
"You look unsatisfied by the meal. Was it not up to your liking?" He asked after you finished up with your meal, placing a couple hundred dollar bills on the table. "No, the meal was good. thank you," you told him, giving him a tight smile as you got up from the dinner table once the waiter came over to the table. "So if it was good, why do you look unhappy?" He pushed the question further, his eyes locked on you as the two of you headed out of the restaurant.
"Like I said, there wasn't anything wrong with the food. the portions were just a bit.. questionable," you responded, your voice dropping towards the end like you were admitting something taboo. You were expecting for him to protest after what he'd just paid, not the small chuckle that escaped from his lips.
Miguel took you to a burger joint in Brooklyn, stating that 'no other place could do it quite the same.' You'd ordered yourself a burger and fries along with a milkshake, Miguel getting the same thing as you. "Thank you for saying something, the whole meal felt like an appetizer," he told you as the two of you sat down with your trays, the juiciness from the burger looking more inviting than the piece of chicken you'd eaten earlier.
"How do you rich people put up with eating like that?" You asked him, almost moaning at the taste of the burger once you took a bite. "Most of them do cocaine if I'm being frank. I normally don't eat out unless I need to so it's few times I have to subject myself to that," he explained, watching as you stole some of his french fries with amusement.
Despite the initial awkwardness that'd been present throughout the dinner, you couldn't help but enjoy talking to him as the night progressed. His dry humor was something that you were growing to like, the way that he seemed to have a response for everything that you asked/told him.
He was honest and direct, not in a way that he used to excuse what some might deem as 'rude', but in a way that seemed genuine and vulnerable. He'd taken you home after the two of you had finished up, saying that it was too dangerous for you to be taking the subway alone at this hour. You watched as he pulled out of your house, a small smile on your face as he drove away.
The doubts about the arrangement crawled back into your brain once you were alone, absentmindedly reaching over for your laptop and signing in. You weren't sure what exactly it is that you sought out for, maybe some kind of reassurance that he wouldn't get bored with you or start expecting for you to act a certain way around him.
You opened up your browser, deciding to read a Reddit thread about the experiences that some others had as being sugar babies. While some of them described the experience as something pleasant, a few posts lingered about some other girls that had a bad encounter with their sugar daddy. You decided to close your computer after a couple minutes, coming to the realization that Miguel was nothing like the men described in those awful experiences and the decision to say yes had never been so obvious before.
You weren't sure when it was that you started seeing Miguel as more than a provider, seeing him as someone that you cared about beyond what he was giving you. He'd kept true to his promise, his daily allowance now being $700 with the time that the two of you spent together. You'd started to seek him out for the littlest things that you had to do, such as going out on grocery runs or going out for lunch.
When you'd asked him to go to the grocery store with you, you'd managed to deny the growing attraction that was slowly starting to build up by simply telling yourself that you were using him since he was able to reach the top shelf. But the more that you gave a thought about where the relationship between the two of you was headed, the more that you were certain that you couldn't live with yourself if he wasn't present in your future.
You went over to his house after feeling overwhelmed with your final exams coming up, hoping that he would just be able to spare a couple minutes and hold you. "What's wrong?" He asked once he opened the door, exhaustion and anxiety coating your features. "I just need you," you responded back to him, his face softening just the slightest bit before he opened the door to let you in.
He guided you over to his couch, his hand wrapping around your shoulders as he stroked your upper arm. The two of you stayed silent for a while, simply staring at the fireplace ahead of you. "I hope I didn't disturb you," you spoke up, knowing how busy he was.
"You could never disturb me. I like having you around, you're more tolerable than the people I work with," he responded, his thumb lazily drawing circles on your arm. "I'll take that as a compliment," you murmured, leaning against him as you felt the combined heat from his body and the fireplace lulling you into a sense of peace and security. "You should. What's got your little head all worked up anyways?" He inquired, the flame from the fireplace flickering in his eyes as you looked up at him.
"I have finals coming up. And I can't really afford to fail, otherwise I'll get my scholarship taken away. I don't know, I guess I'm just anxious knowing how much is on the line," you told him, realizing just how silly your concerns sounded out loud. “I can help you out if you’re really that stressed out about them,” he suggested after a couple seconds, the movements on your arm coming to a stop. "How about this. if you pass your finals, I'll take you on a little trip to Cabo to celebrate. We'll go on a mall spree beforehand to get you ready."
True to his word, Miguel had the tickets set up for the weekend which you would be done with finals. He'd been the first person that you told about passing them, hearing him say that he was proud of you felt like an even bigger accomplishment especially after he dedicated some of time towards helping you review.
"I knew that you could do it, you're so smart," he'd told you once you shared the news with him, his big arms enveloping you in a hug as he held you close to him. It was the first time he'd hugged you, the feeling strange to the both of you as he did. The act felt unpracticed, something he hadn't done in a long time with the way that his arms awkwardly wrapped around you. Despite that minor detail, you felt invincible as he held you like nothing could touch you.
"I'm thinking about getting my nails done. Which set do you think would look better?" You asked, handing him your phone with the Pinterest board of designs you'd saved. He grabbed his glasses from his case, putting them on the bridge of his nose as he peered down at your phone.
"Isn't it all the same just in different colors?" He noted, scrolling through your phone as he tried to find a difference in the multitude of designs you'd saved. "There's somewhat of a difference in there, it's pretty subtle since I just tend to go for what i'm familiar with," you responded, putting on your seatbelt as you waited. The two of you were heading out to the mall, but you'd come up with idea of getting your nails done after getting in the car.
Miguel ended up liking a simple red design with some gemstones on the pointer and ring finger so you gave the reference photo to the lady doing your nails. You watched as she put on the gemstones with precision, your eyes flicking over to Miguel as he waited for you in the lobby.
If he was uncomfortable in this setting, he didn't show it as he scrolled through the People magazine available. You turned your attention back to your nails, an idea sparking up in your head as she started to put on the final touches to the gem design. "Do you mind putting an initial on my ring finger?" You asked her before it was too late, waiting for her to agree before you told her what letter you wanted on there.
Your hand rested on his pants as he drove, his eyes flicking down to the design and slightly widened as he noticed the small 'M' on your ring finger. "What'd you do that for?" He asked, his attention turning back to the road after a couple moments of shock. "Figured it would be a nice little detail since you were so generous in paying for them," you responded, sliding down his zipper with a bit of difficulty as you adjusted to the feeling of the acrylic once more.
You watched as he let out a shaky breath, his eyes remaining on the road ahead. "I'm driving," he warned you as you started to palm him through his boxers. "So keep your eyes on the road, Miguelito. Just feel," you reiterated, your hand squeezing around his cock slightly. “Ay Dios, nos vas a matar.” (oh god, you’re going to kill us)
You watched as he retrained himself as he drove, knuckles starting to turn white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. You picked up some of the precum leaking out through the tip of his reddened cock, lathering all over the shaft as a form of lubrication. Your hand moved with ease up and down his semi-hardened length, his cock getting harder with each tug that you gave him.
He let out a small hiss as he felt one of your nails brush up against the underside of his cock, the area a bit sensitive for him. He'd pay for your nails hundreds of times over and over if it meant he got to see them wrapped around his cock with his initial on them.
You pulled your hand once Miguel was nearing the mall, drying your hand of the sticky residue with a piece of tissue paper he had in the glove box. "Now you decide to stop?" He asked, maneuvering his way into the parking lot with such ease, parking in reverse in what seemed to be mere seconds. If it were up to you, you would've taken about twenty minutes to do the task before eventually giving up.
Your attention went back to the bulge in his pants, his cock still hard from your previous ministrations. "Well, maybe you'll get more motivated to get out of the mall now," you suggested, getting out of the car as you dusted off your attire. Miguel rolled his eyes as he followed behind you throughout the mall, his hand making the slightest contact with yours.
You stumbled into a Gucci store after a while of walking through the mall, immediately drawn into the designs of the bags. You looked around, one of them in particular catching your eye. The design of the bag was beautiful yet simple, a black leather handbag in the shape of a heart. Your eyes widened as you looked at the price tag attached, your hands making quick work to return it to the shelf.
Before you could get the chance though, Miguel grabbed your hand and turned your attention to him. "What's wrong with the bag? You don't like it?" He asked as he looked at you, expecting for some kind of reasonable answer. "No, there's nothing wrong. it's just expensive," you responded, avoiding eye contact with him as you stepped away from the shelf.
"Well, how much is it?" You heard him ask behind you before you got the chance to walk away too far, his hands reaching up for the purse. "It's almost five grand and that's not including tax. It's fine, I don't need a pu-," you started off but you got quickly interrupted when Miguel called over a sales associate to get him the bag from the back. "I thought you said it was expensive, mi cielo," he simply stated before he went off to check out with the associate that had the bag in a dust bag, taking his black amex card from his pocket as the transaction processed. You stood behind, watching as he paid for the bag with seemingly no hesitation.
The rational side of you threatened to come out, wanting to tell him that he could be spending those five thousand on something other than a bag, but you pursed your lips and watched the scene unfurling in front of you. You remembered the whole point of why'd you even joined the sugar daddy website, wanting the opportunity at having nice things.
"You may not need a purse, but your eyes practically lit up when you saw this one. I'm here so you don't have to resign to that disappointment that you've grown used to," he told you as the two of you walked out of the store, his hand resting on the small of your back. “Well, thank you. I really did like the bag,” you told him, leaning up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. You walked around the mall, eyes glancing around the different stores before eventually walking into Nordstrom.
You picked out a couple pieces for the trip that you'd need, such as a couple dresses, skirts, and bikinis for the warm weather you’d be exposed to. Miguel went with you to the fitting rooms, sitting down on the couches outside as he waited for you to finish up. You'd changed into the shirt and skirt that you'd pulled into the dressing room, looking at yourself reflected on the body-length mirror.
You couldn't deny that the skirt made every part of your legs look good, from your thighs to your ass. Even though you were confident that Miguel would end up liking it, you still decided to call him in to get his opinion. He opened up the door as discretely as he could, glancing around to make sure that no associates were nearby as he stepped inside.
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh as the giant of a man in front of you was rendered speechless, eyes raking up and down your figure as he took you in. "Te ves tan hermosa dressed like that," he finally spoke up after a couple seconds, his hands wrapping around your waist as he held you close to his body. (you look so gorgeous)
You weren't completely sure what the first part of his sentence meant, but you could guess that it was something good based on the tone of endearment that he used and the way that he couldn't keep his hands off you. "Can you be quiet for me?" He asked, looking at you through the mirror as his hands splayed on your stomach. The question sounded more like he was telling you to be quiet, so you simply nodded along and watched him sit down on the small stool.
Miguel placed you down on his clothed thigh, your legs spread out for him as your back fell flush against his toned chest. His hand made his way down your body, your skirt being pushed up as he did so. He cupped your clothed cunt, the expense of his hand capturing most of it.
"You look so pretty when you're all like this. All needy and just for me," he murmured into your ear, one of his hands holding you in place as the other one slid the black pair of panties you'd chosen to wear. One of his fingers went inside your cunt, the tightness of your walls engulfing it completely as he pushed it deeper inside of you. Your slick coated his finger as he opened you up in a way that only he could, reaching places that even some of your toys couldn't reach.
"Excuse me, but do you need some help in there? you've been in there for an awful long time," an associate called out, knocking on your door. Your eyes widened at the prospect of getting caught in this position, a small muffled gasp making its way out of you. "No, the dress is just stuck," you called out, hoping your voice didn't come out as needy as it sounded to your own ears.
"Well I can come in there and help you out. Sorry, it's just that we have a line forming," the associate told you, her hand coming to the doorknob and slightly shaking it as if she were trying to open it. Her attempts failed since the door was still locked on your end, the rattling of the knob stopping a couple seconds later.
You were half expecting him to remove his hand, but his fingers remained deep inside of your cunt as he looked down at you. "You weren't playing fair in the car so why should I have to play fair?" He spoke just low enough for you to hear, a hint of amusement as he spoke. You struggled to keep your voice even as you spoke, resisting the urge to just go ahead and let a moan rip out.
"Uh no, thank you though. It's just a zipper but it's almost off," you told the sales associate, letting out a small sigh of relief as the clacking of her heels retreated from the dressing rooms. Miguel pushed another one of his fingers into your cunt, moving them in a scissoring motion before he curled them upwards to reach that spot inside of you.
Your toes curled and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt his thumb make contact with your clit, the nub already starting to stimulate just by the touch of his finger. You felt your clit throb against his fingers as he rubbed small circles on it, the rhythm in sync with the fingers he was pushing inside of you.
Your back flushed against his chest as you felt yourself getting closer to that sweet release of euphoria, your shaky breaths and whimpers getting muffled as you pressed the palm of your hand against your mouth. Just as you were approaching that all too familiar release, Miguel pulled his hands away quickly.
You were about to protest before remembering what you'd done in the car, the words dying in your throat as you got up from his lap. "Touché," you mumbled as you started taking off the clothes that you'd been trying on, watching as he wiped his hand off on a handkerchief. Miguel covered up your body with his as he stepped out of the dressing room, closing the door quickly afterwards.
"Sorry about that, she called me into help her with the zipper. stupid thing wouldn't budge," you heard him speak outside, surely talking to the associate who must be growing impatient with every second that you spent inside. You stepped back into your clothes, carrying the choices that you'd picked out as you went to go join Miguel at the checkout line.
Needless to say, the attire that you'd showed Miguel proved to be a definite yes. He gladly paid for the rest of your clothes, not batting an eye as the total came out to be two thousand. "Thank you for the excellent customer service. The concern that you show for your consumers is truly admirable," he noted as the associate handed him back his card, a small smirk creeping up on his lips as he also received the shopping bag. The two of you made your way out of the store, completing the small checklist that the two of you had made for what was needed in order to have a successful trip.
2K notes · View notes
satoruhour · 6 months
Note
need reader to have a confession with priest!geto about how they feel guilty for touching themselves late alone at night and priest!geto helps them by just fucking their brains out as a “penance” for their sins.
yes, i’m okay in the head btw! (lie)
AU REVOIR, O HEAVEN !
wc: 12.2k
warnings: DARK CONTENT, SLOW BUILDUP, CORRUPTION, priest!geto, fem!reader, age gap (reader is in early 20s, geto in late 20s), long descriptive fic that goes in depth of christian lore, lots and lots of christian references / metaphors / analogies, comparison to Satan’s banishment and fall from heaven, religious themes used in inappropriate ways, questions of religion and life, multiple scenes of f! and m! masturbation, fingering, clit stimulation, virginity loss, both f! and m! receiving oral, cumshot, praise, degradation, spitting, sex in a religious place, p -> v sex, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut
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for a small town like yours, it was a no-brainer that everyone knew everyone; and everyone’s drama as well. from the baker’s daughter being a whore to the mayor of the town being sacked for purposes that have since been twisted by word of mouth. that was another thing: word got around fast, and it was particularly suffocating in a conservative town such as yours. people were not outright about the obvious choices they favoured, but there was the older generation who were not shy to turn down progressive ideas.
because of that, the previous priest was kicked out because of the misuse of funds from mass collection and offertory. it was one thing to see a bunch of notes missing from the sack and the money counter but it was another thing to see that money going into funding a new strip club that was opening in the next town over.
it was simply unheard of, and the parishioners basically gave him a free ride to that very strip club by excommunicating him from his own church. it was unbecoming of a priest, especially in such a small congregation that everyone made sure the new priest to transfer here was a God-honouring one.
you hope he was. you’ve always felt the obligated need to serve your god and your parents. always the good girl, following the Ten Commandments, saving yourself for marriage. it was the natural order of a christian, and you could only hope that you’d get even a fraction of the eternal life they preach about in mass. but lately you’ve been having some . . thoughts, and you pray that this new priest could help you immensely, even if you had to do a hundred Hail Mary’s at the pews.
it was peculiar, the first time it occurred to you. the area where your body separates into two and forms two legs — the centre of it all, the middle where Eve had it covered in statues and paintings with a leaf, the middle where you had only learned of it in anatomical drawings. you knew what the vagina, cervix and the ovaries were, but seeing the convergence of pink and maroon between your legs confused you, even scared you.
and the next was when you’d had a guy come up to you whilst doing up your university application, saying something along the lines of how cute you were, would you like to grab a drink some time? and you were left dumbfounded and unable to answer. you let your eyes travel over his features, of the exposed arms of his button up shirt and the thickness of his forearms, you let your eyes skim over his plump thighs before you’re asked “are you okay?”
“n . . no sorry, i already have a boyfriend.” you lie through your teeth and all the guy does is sigh before walking away — but now you’re left with a bigger problem . . why was the thing between your legs throbbing? you swear you can feel your panties getting wet as well, but you aren’t quite sure why.
that night you’re lying in bed with a lewd website shining right in your face, as you’ve laid here for about two hours already, going through in your head whether you really wanted to do this. your hands had been clean, untainted from the moment you were born, but you imagine going to university and knowing not a thing about sex and that makes your whole body burn in embarrassment.
you chicken out and fall asleep.
“honey! come down here, i want you to meet someone.” your mother calls out to you, running about like she usually does. she’s always overworking — caring for the newborn, cooking the meals, cleaning the place. why don’t you ask dad to help sometimes? / nonsense! he works so hard and deserves a break! i don’t mind. / but he just lazes around at home after work . .
you’re pleasantly surprised to find a long-haired man at your front door, clad in a thick and loose turtleneck sweater with a gentle smile on his face. that uncomfortable feeling returns to your core and you land a hand to your stomach to calm the churning that’s happening.
“hello, and you are?”
you’d never think you would see one of God’s angels on earth in actual flesh in front of you. you’re convinced God is looking over you and you think you might see heaven when that silky voice repeats himself again.
“hi, kind miss, are you alright?”
“h . . huh? oh! yeah, uhm— who are you?”
your mother smacks you on your shoulder and sidles up to your side, holding onto your arm a little tightly that it hurts just a bit.
“don’t be rude!” she whisper-shouts to you, “this is geto suguru, and—”
“and i’m the new priest for the church.”
that catches you off-guard. he’s the new priest that was just transferred over? he looks anything but a holy man of God, what with his long hair and gauges in his ears; if you didn’t know any better you would think he was the one paying for the strip club instead. he seems to read your mind.
“i know i look . . a bit of a delinquent, miss, but i promise you the word of God is what i strictly live by. i honour and praise him with all that i can.”
“ah, i’m sorry if you thought i thought that way, father.” you mumble, giving him an awkward smile that he misses because he’s too busy focusing on the way you say father. you’re prepared to close the door on him already; the pulsing sensation between your legs isn’t fading and your whole body feels like it burns in hell. you rub your thighs together for some sort of relief, nothing.
“that’s usually the response i get, so i thought i would preface it first.” a little laugh leaves geto’s lips and if it wasn’t for you holding on for dear life on the door, you definitely would’ve buckled under your knees. “no hard feelings.”
“he’s a charmer, ain’t he?” there’s another sheepish laugh from the pastor at that. “told me he’s been going around giving cakes to all the people as a way to thank them for letting him take over the church.” your heart melts at that — he looked so hot and had a heart of gold, too?
“what cake did you get us, father?” you blurt out and you have no time to take it back, but the preacher doesn’t seem to mind. you also don’t seem to mind that barrier of authority that was established ever since he‘s introduced himself as the new priest of the church. it felt . . friendlier, less intimidating than the previous. it was probably mostly due to him not wearing his cassock or collar, though.
“chocolate.” that one word possibly ignited every nerve in you. the smooth lilt in his voice paired with the slight smirk. it was detrimental. you were going to hell, you were condemned to eternal damnation.
“how’d you know i liked chocolate?”
he shrugs, “lucky guess.” wrong.
he had come around the day before already, but you were too distracted with work and pressured with a deadline that music drained out everything else — one look at your side profile and the hard-working first year university student was all it took for geto to return again today with another cake of your liking. oh! you’re such a sweet one for asking what flavour we like; frankly, my dear boy, my husband and i don’t really eat cake but her . . loves it for some reason. i wonder where she gets the sweet tooth from, honestly.
geto could only thank his saviour that your mother had promised not to tell you he already came around yesterday. and it looks like she didn’t.
“i should get going, miss . .”
“(y/n).”
geto simply nods his head, resisting the urge to call your name pretty and only manages a decent call to your mother. “mrs (l/n), i’m heading off, thank you for having me. (y/n).”
you return his smile, hesitantly, inching the door close with immense difficulty — you wanted to see him walk away with that imposing height of his, of the proper gait he carried himself with and the politeness in which he greets people of the town.
that night you locked yourself in your room, muttering out some dumb excuse of having to study for a test when in reality you were more interested in the feeling between your legs. it both excited and scared you when you first find a comfortable position on your bed, stalling for a good half ’n hour before the clinking cutlery of dinner happening downstairs had brought you to your senses. there were countless articles open in your safari tab, none of which helped your growing dilemma — a tear in the Red Sea between the sin of pleasure and the liberation of acting on it. you felt like Moses, treading in the centre, on the fence.
one last text made you yelp out loud.
[8:03 pm, read]: R u coming down 4 dinner?
it was your mother, as if she knew what was happening behind doors.
[8:03 pm, delivered]: nope, sorry mummy. need to study for this test, its important !
[8:05 pm, read]: Alright, alright. I left out a serving of what we cooked tonite. Heat up if u need to with the microwave O.K.? Don’t sleep so late!
you simply favourited her message, losing all motivation from before; until your mind crosses over dinner and goes straight to that chocolate cake, and then to the person who had brought it.
“Farewell happy fields / Where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”
“geto . . geto suguru.” the name feels foreign. it does sound like a countryside name but it felt like he had come from the city instead. “geto . .” you sigh, letting your hands tremble and move along your body. they brush over your chest, over your nipples and you recoil a little from the strange feeling. they harden under your touch as you continue to repeat his name.
each murmur of his name is a step farther from God, dipping your toes into the waters of hell as your fingers travel lower, lower, lower. you press a finger against your clit unknowingly, and you let out a loud moan; you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.
but the pleasure’s too much, and so you try again. one hand goes back to your nipples, squeezing your tits and playing with them while your fingers rub pathetic circles along your core.
“su . .” you gulp. “geto—”
you pant softly to yourself as you continue to rub your clit, messy, inexperienced circles in whatever shape or form. as long as it felt good to you, you were doing it. you made sure to keep your moans in as your hips bucked into your hands, back arching off the bed in needy movements. your hands were getting tired, clutching at the bedsheets.
long hair, built physique, crucifix on his neck. funny, you never noticed that before, but now you imagine it clearly, dangling over your face. you’re imagining geto fucking you, thrusting his cock into you as he groans out your name.
you’re at the end of your tether, feeling the deep plunge of your body in Satan’s lair the same time you cum for the first time in your life and your body shakes so violently. you flail around on your bed, bite into your shirt, anything to keep you quiet from the immense orgasm you had just felt. your pussy clenches around nothing and your hand aches so much it might fall off, but it just feel so damn good that you only have a minute’s rest before you’re rubbing at your clit again.
scooping up a little of your cum, you marvel at the clear liquid, sucking on your finger to try the thing that’s always drenched your panties. and soon you’re conjuring the image of the long-haired priest yet again, never really studying for that test you made up or even eating dinner — all you do is rest and come again, each time more wrecked than the last time.
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you dreaded going to church the next morning.
it had slipped your mind that service was to continue once geto has gotten settled down in the rectory, a small outhouse at the back of the church that had been revamped. you’re not sure on how father geto was able to get it done up so fast but, you’re not one to question.
with the short walk to church, you regret not eating the night before, groaning softly at the discomfort of your growling stomach. what you were more worried of though, was what would happen to you once you stepped foot in the church. was your body going to go up in flames? were you going to get ridiculed by the townspeople? were you going to get called out by father geto in front of everyone?
“what’s gotten you so worked up?” your father was walking behind and smoking, as always, not giving a shit about your mother and the newborn.
“nothing . . just, wondering if i got everything in my head for my test.” your mother coos, and your baby brother in the carrier thinks it’s because of him. he babbles into your mom’s shirt, giggling.
“you’ll do fine, honey,” the reassurance worried you only more. you were lying outright — you had no test, you weren’t even studying, you were busy—!
“i raised a smart girl, didn’t i?” you can only manage a smile, reaching the church within minutes. taking the chance to mutter a short prayer and a plea, you take a deep breath and that light from above Lucifer’s kingdom seem to call out to you again.
stepping into the simple but cozy church, you dip your hands in holy water. Father, Son, Holy Spirit along your forehead, chest and shoulders before you trail behind your mother, suggesting places for you to sit at the back. she only waved your hand away, pointing towards the front. we always sit at the front! why the sudden change? / nothing . . maybe thought we could switch it up a little.
the mass starts after a few minutes of waiting, and you have the luxury of wallowing in your self-pity and guilt for those few minutes, trying to get the very filthy imagery of father geto above you, father geto between your legs, father geto himself out of your head. you fail, it’s only amplified when the bell rings and the congregation stands up.
everyone waits in anticipation for the new priest in this small town, hoping he won’t disappoint them like the last one. but they already seem to be in good spirits as he makes the entrance down the very short church. two altar boys follow behind him in the procession, accompanied by an organist and a duo of choir singers, straining to have their voice heard over the loud instrument. he’s already made some friends, nodding to the excited kid who whispers and the shy girl who waves her hands at him. but while everyone feels anticipation in hopes of a good sermon, dread is only making your legs feel like lead, you feel lightheaded, dizzy even.
because whatever you had imagined last night was him in his sweater get-up, and it just now sinks in what a disgusting thing you were doing as you watch the rich purple of his chasuble sway alongside his stole — the very image of him in his priest robes (in Lent season too, not to mention) — meant to deter you from more thoughts, only fed your desires.
geto suguru made being a pastor look so natural, and attractive, that it was almost criminal.
“good morning, brothers and sisters, how are we all doing this morning?” there’s a few murmurs around, but geto doesn’t falter, instead pressing on with his very convincing, beautiful speech; as does he with the rest of the mass. he conducts himself with as much professionalism as he can, handling the Eucharist with proper hands, giving a sermon whilst giving you too many eyes, distributing Holy Communion with a gentle, accepting smile; your skin burnt when he handed you the body of Christ, a soft inaudible “amen” hanging off your lips.
father geto was all the talk after, some hanging around to catch a minute of geto’s time if they could and you were no different, purposely looping your arm through your mother’s and slowly down your pace.
“goin’ out for a smoke.” your father gruffly tells the three of you, two of which understands better. your newborn simply cuddles deeper into your mother’s breast, humming softly into the nap.
“’kay.” it was opportunistic, now, as your eyes flit around the place to find geto talking to two older ladies. he’s politely bent down to reach their heights better, chasuble now removed and simply in his alb, one patting his shoulder and the other giggling. you think you imagine it but his eyes dart over to you for a moment and then off to the other parishioners.
“how are you two lovely ladies doing?” you hear him before you see him and the voice startles you a little, jumping back from brushing your baby brother’s almost non-existent hair.
“fine.” it comes out kurt and abrupt and you burn when your mother nudges you like yesterday.
“think what she means is that we’re perfectly fine. how was your first mass?”
father geto looks around the church, recalls the altar boys, ingrains each church-goer into his head, “i hope the congregation likes me.”
“oh, nonsense! i’m sure they do,” your mother reassures. she was always good like that, putting others before her and making sure they see the best in themselves, “that was a very riveting sermon you delivered.”
“yeah—! yeah, i . . really enjoyed it, father geto.”
a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “did you now?”
you nod, and he continues, “you enjoyed me telling you that sin was revolting?”
when he phrases it like that . . you swallow, “isn’t that what God’s whole schtick is?”
and that makes father geto laugh, because for such an innocent flower like you, you make it sound like you were forced to go to church and made to learn the basis of why God exists and now you just don’t know what to do with it. it’s common for people at their university age where they’re exposed to more views and mindsets, to question the religion you were born in and think about what it meant to be tied to a god you didn’t even really know existed, and when that happens, Christianity turns stagnant and boring.
“yes, pretty much, miss (y/n), but His schtick also involves forgiving anyone who has sinned against Him. after all, that’s what He died on the cross for.”
“y . . yeah, i know, father geto.”
you only realise now his purple chasuble matches his eyes, eyes that swirl with the colours of amethyst. they’re much brighter in the parish lighting, and they hold your stare much longer than yesterday. there’s the tugging feeling at your stomach again that goes right down to your centre and it throbs; your eyes flutter and blink to get you out of your head.
“good that you know . . of course, it’s not an invitation to sin. self-restraint and chastity still exists,” you hate how he puts an emphasis on the latter word, because he could be referring to anything, “but we need not be worried for our lives. we only need to pray and repent in prayer, and God will have mercy on us.”
but well, if God didn’t want you to sin, how then can he explain creating such an attractive person? if God valued his followers’ self control, why did he have to plant such lewd, inappropriate thoughts of his preacher in your head?
father geto could probably see your dilemma with how hard he was staring at you, and he only makes it worse by putting his larger hand on your left shoulder. it descends deeper to your upper arm and the skin there ignites—
“i hope you liked the chocolate cake.”
you manage a small smile, “haven’t had the chance to try it, sorry, father.”
“don’t apologise.” you forget your mother and baby brother is even beside you with how he talks to you. you’d love to be on his chest, hearing the deep rumbling of his voice or even have his hands be somewhere else but your arm. you don’t know how simply talking to you has got him doing everything in his power to restrain himself; not even a prayer from God could help.
“The mind is its own place, and in it self / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.”
what you don’t know, either, that the hand on your shoulder was between his legs just last afternoon, trying so hard not to sneak under his cassock. he could barely keep his moans in, palming his bulge from above his robes at the mere thought of you. no touching means less sin, right? he comes to that pathetic conclusion easily, so all he does is bury himself in the outhouse after distributing his cakes, hips positioned over his pillow and he grinds.
the feeling for father geto was so archaic, been so long since he’s given up his life to God right after graduating university. all the carefree times that he’s experienced — drinking in dorms, going to parties, getting some nice quick fucks in between exams — were going to stop for good. but that doesn’t mean he stopped lusting.
lust. one of the seven deadly sins, a weak point for father geto’s journey as a pastor. it’s obvious now too that he hasn’t really left his older ways, bucking his hips into the fabric of his pillow. he thinks of you, your sweet little eyes and your cute outfit at home, he thinks of your face twisted into pleasure as he’s positioned between your legs.
father geto twitches, friction against the underside of his cock feeling so good after years and years of holding back — with a pretty face to think of, too. his hips ruts in short thrusts, desperate for that high and he chokes on a moan imagining your sweet voice begging to cum. and so does he, shooting such a large, hot load into his underwear that even his cassock is stained with his cum. but unlike you, he’s already thinking of his next round — if he’s doomed to die by lust, then might as well go all the way.
father geto spares a glance towards the door just to be safe before flipping over on his back, and pulls his robes above his lower half. the sight is dirty, underwear painted a darker colour and cum sticking to every part of the fabric. once he wraps a hand around his cock, geto is gone, pumping it so fast he might have gotten a burn along his length but it’s all rewarded by the second quick orgasm he reaches — spurting ribbons of cum all over his holy garments.
it’s why he didn’t have time to write a proper sermon for the morning mass. he was up all night, stroking himself — just, from the thought of you.
it was father geto’s turn to have uneven breaths as you asked if he was okay, hand on your shoulder shaking. but the visions of last night is overtaken quickly by his need to impress the other parishioners, and so he gives you a tense smile.
“enjoy the cake.” it sounded like an innuendo if you’ve ever heard one, but you mutter a soft thank you, before heading off back home with your family. that contact with your shoulder is all you can think of, giddy at the warmth of his hand and eyes.
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“baby, could you open the door for me?” your mother calls out to you, hastily wiping her hands on her apron and abandoning the kitchen to tend to your crying baby brother.
“ok, mummy!” the doorbell’s been rung twice now, jogging a little to the door to prevent the person from waiting. you didn’t think to look through the peephole, a tight-knit (conservative) community made you trust anyone, opening the door to find father geto standing in front of you.
“o-oh. hi, father . .?”
he was dressed in his roman collar, a black shirt with a white strip around the neck and some black jeans. it wasn’t as casual as the first day, and it still held an ode to God even on a weekday.
“hi, (y/n).”
“ohhh! it’s father geto, come, come!” your mother bellows throughout the house, baby brother on her hip as she bounces him to get him to stop wailing. “are you hungry already?”
geto displays a meek smile, “a little, mrs (l/n), since you mentioned how big of a feast you were cooking.”
your mouth drops in recognition; was that why she was so preoccupied for the whole day? doing the maximum in the kitchen not just because it was for your father’s recent promotion at his job, but also for dinner with father geto.
“you’re having . . dinner with us.” it’s more of a statement to yourself than a question to the priest, but he still catches on and assists you by closing the door himself, and taking off his shoes. already, he looks part of the family, looking like a hard-working husband coming back from his job to you. instead, he’s answered the vocation of priesthood, and not matrimony.
“it looks like i am.” it’s such a sly comment, like he already knew the effect he had on everyone. this sucking up was just to get every church-goer to like him more, and it’s working.
geto is charming at the dinner table as he is at the parish, cracking jokes that make both your parents and you laugh, talking about his university life and telling a myriad of stories that he’s gone through.
“what did you major in in university, father?” it felt such a weird question, especially with an honorific attached to something that you were doing at the moment — it felt out of place that someone so close to your age was already pursuing a lifetime commitment of serving God.
“my studies focused mostly on philosophy and theology. i minored in linguistics.” there’s a chorus of ooh’s that echo throughout the table, cleaning up the last bit of food on his plate before he continued. “i’m currently going more in depth for latin, which is a stunning language, beyond those who say it’s dead and should stay dead.”
that only makes him hotter, and you cross your legs beside him, looking at him from the corner of your eye at you play with the last meatball on your plate. the sauce leaves a trail of red from the tomato, somehow mirroring the murder of your old self — or what you thought it was. it was more of a knife wound, a cowardly stab in the arm.
that dinner with father geto only deepened your sense of guilt.
it was the way the priest was quick to stand just as your mother does, offering to help with cleaning up the dinner table. even when she brushes him off, he insisted, answering for her when he only silently takes the plates to the back. all your mom does is shake her head with a smile, letting you help as well. your father just watches curiously, entertaining the baby with his canned alcohol.
“i’m embarrassed i can’t fight back against you well enough to stop ya from cleaning up at my own house,” your mother confesses, already having used her last breath to tell him to not help with the dishes as well. you scrub at a stain on geto’s plate over and over, a stubborn one at that until you finally are able to get it out. it still leaves a faint red glow, though.
“it’s nothing, really, mrs (l/n), i’m happy to help whenever.” father geto’s eyes rake over your figure as you clean alongside your mother, heel bouncing up and down; to non-existent music or in impatience he wasn’t sure.
she just takes the soapy plate from your hands with a laugh, “c’mon, it’s okay, my dear. go entertain father geto.”
it was the way his courtesy shined through when he doesn’t enter your room until he has gotten verbal confirmation from you, guiding him in with a uneasy hand as he looked around your quaint little space. it was filled with photos, some plants, tons of research papers and a messy table to match, but all he did was reassure you. you take note of his flowing hair and the laid back hairstyle he liked to don when it wasn’t for mass.
“how is university treating you?” you’re stuck on being completely honest and lying with every answer, but father geto has a face that makes it difficult to lie to.
“it’s . . alright, i guess,” you settle on your bed, crossing your legs and hoping he wouldn’t pick up any of your essays. thinking is manifesting, though, and his hands naturally go for the paper with the many red markings on the front page.
“Paradise Lost? by Milton?” ah. that paper. you shoot up from the sheets before he can read it, because frankly your thesis in that paper was weak and wasn’t well supported, but you still believed it deeply. you were just having a little bit of trouble straying from your reverence for God. you only manage to clutch the top of your paper, but geto is adamant on reading it, piqued by genuine curiosity.
“the retelling of Milton’s Paradise Lost humanises the experience of Satan’s (or Lucifer’s) fall from glory . .” he trails off, reading over your evidences and analysis. you feel like you’re being read like an open book, laid out bare for vultures to pick at and for God to enumerate your sins until you felt no shame.
with his head still tilted down, father geto has to look up through his lashes and bangs, seemingly making you cower more and more in your spot as the unsolicited advice for your essay dies down on his tongue. the size of his hands has you hypnotised, and he decides it’s against his own values to give feedback about a text he so childishly brushed off when he was in university, even if he had to read it to complete four years in the seminary. geto places a hand upon yours and the heat is dizzying; you can’t help but think if he was just normal person, instead, holding your hand like this.
it was the way he let you explain yourself a little better through your own words. it was a premature essay, anyway, made to test out your close reading and citation skills. but he found your interpretation of Milton’s poem to be much more insightful than he expected it to be — you think maybe, your understanding of the text grows the more you learn about your body, how you like to be pleasured; you feel like Lucifer.
“i . . don’t necessarily think you are born into evil. it’s multi-faceted and loaded, this question. God our Father would do anything but create evil willingly, it’s just unfortunate that the people that bring up their offspring contribute to the shaping of their identity and outcome.”
“then, how . .” your lips twist as you think of a way to word the question, “how would that justify evil existing? wouldn’t the fact that evil is developed somehow meant that God created evil in some shape or form, in the first place?”
father geto rushes to answer but—
“why did he have to create the serpent that tempted Eve in the first place? couldn’t he have just left them alone in Eden?”
“...there to dwell / In adamantine chains and penal fire / Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms.”
you frown, not expecting the other to answer but instead just wallowing in your thoughts. you never thought the talk with father geto would turn into some philosophy lesson, but the more you chatted with him on the bed, the more the conversation seemed to steer that way.
your own faith wavers in the night, a quietness settling over the two of you like a cloak of stars. the mass of each star weighs heavily with your questions up in the air until you faintly hear his answer.
“i don’t . . know, miss (y/n).”
“ah! no no— sorry to dump everything on you, father geto,” you scratch the back of your head, “it was just passing thoughts. i’ve never thought to think of this before.”
it was morbid, it was macabre. it was like looking over and seeing a skeleton in your place instead of flesh and skin and yet each question after question ignites something in him that no one has excited before. he can already feel lust influencing the other six, pumping through his veins at a life void of God, void of religion, a free place to think of the omnipotence of a higher being that no one was sure really existed.
“it’s okay . . it’s natural to ask. it’s natural to inquire. God,” he nods like he was in a trance; the word feels weird on his tongue, “God would want this.”
that night you did anything but sin, clutching the essay between your hands and digging your knees into the floor with elbows on your bed until they ached and you prayed. you wished blessings on your family, you wished blessings on the parishioners, you wished blessings on father geto and you wished eternal damnation on yourself.
there’s a heavy pull on your heart when you go to sleep a few minutes after and the dream you have of your body turning to soot and burning with each feet into flames makes you crave salvation all the more — like all a bad dream, it will be fine as long as you pray, and pray, and pray.
but the flesh desires what the heart denies: the more you ‘hang’ with father geto (by God, he was perfectly okay with that word when you let it slip to your mother. he merely throws up a peace sign in a ‘cool’ way and then immediately cringes, but it makes you laugh), the more you find yourself attracted to his morals, to his ideals, to the natural way in which he exists. he could speak for hours on end, voice sounding like birdsong and a chilling breeze all at the same time.
his voice did wonders in your head, as well, coaxing you into betraying your own code; and you betray it easily. that phantasmic voice leaving you to remove your top and pinching your nipples as soft little moans leave your mouth. the imaginary sway of his crucifix above your face while you harshly abuse your clit and dip a finger into you for the first time. the feeling is so foreign and weird that you shamelessly think of the slight lilt of his voice helping you: “it’ll feel better soon, (y/n). c’mon, finger your pussy for father geto.”
father geto had a natural talent for talking and preaching. that downturn of tone like hitting a dead-end when he holds a point above your head (“but”) and then resolves it into perfect cadence like chords ending a phrase when he proposes a solution (“God will take care of everything”). he does it so much you think he’s rather convincing himself more than he’s convincing you, though.
“perhaps this parable that Jesus uses tells us rather to look within ourselves, to look within the vineyard that is us. the owner have done everything: kept the roots tied so it would not be trampled, making sure they get all the sunlight and water it needs, yet . .” he pauses a little, looking at the almost full parish now that he’s won over the hearts of your town. his eyes flit down to you at the second pew, shooting you a quick smile.
“and yet he yields sour grapes. we pray, we act civil and diplomatic, we are giving, but are you truly doing it for the glory of God? is that maybe why we only get the sour grapes — not satisfied with the ‘thank you’ after doing a favour or silence from God after praying daily?”
geto looks over the last bits of the scribbled sermon, a little more coherent than last week, but still done with thoughts of you. there’s multiple smudges of his words that he has to squint and stutter a bit, caused by the frantic cleaning of his cum upon the paper.
“we all . . naturally expect things back, but to be Christian, to be a follower of Christ, we would have to abandon all thoughts of that.” father geto’s mind wanders to last night as his eyes look for you again. “we would need to be generous, to be kind without needing anything in return.”
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father geto integrates into the church easily, shown in how his sermons capture the hearts of many. albeit, they never really take in the true meanings of the preachings he gives, but it’s enough for geto if they nod and mutter amen like fools in mass; whatever they do out of it is out of his hands.
but along the many preachings he does, there is one subject he fears approaching: lust, the one thing that threatens the downfall of his vocation and yet he cannot get enough of it. each walk and meeting with you only heightens his desire, makes his cock throb beneath his robes. each sunday he wishes he could split his soul in half — one as the confessor and one as the confessing — and repent in the confessional box.
“today’s gospel from Mark, chapter 6 talks about lust, briefly.” there’s a shake in his voice, eyes now scrambling over the congregation to find you in a much more revealing top contrasting with the out-of-place cardigan you have on. he’s sure it was mrs (l/n) that had made you put that on before you left the house; the house where he’s memorised the placement of your shoe rack and how your door creaks when it’s opened too quickly. geto is so fucked.
geto clears his throat before continuing, seeing you adjust your body for a moment, “King Herod is tempted by his flesh when he sees one of Herodias’ daughters dancing, so much so that she tempts him to commit murder. a clear beheading, just from giving into her body, and when she asks of him, he delivers like a dog. this calls us to truly think of the desires that we possess. they need not be sexual,” soft whispers emerge, a taboo subject, “they can also be related to money, to power.”
“lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust,” geto is sweating by now. he pulls lightly on his collar when you press your arms together in retaliation and he has to look away from the way your tits perk up so perfectly.
you had to know what you were doing, surely. partially — you were feeling cold, but you stifle a smile when you realise how geto’s eyes linger a little longer on you, or rather your chest, before he coughs and continues,
“when we are driven so terribly by the feeling that we abandon all morals just to please this person, thing on earth is when we tread into dangerous territory. no earthly possession must make you feel this way,”
the irony settles in his bones after he says it and his dick twitches at the thought of having you under the podium right now, sticking his fat cock down your throat while you struggle to keep the gagging noises to a minimum.
“no matter . .” a gulp, “how rewarding the aftermath must be.”
father geto knows you both are braving the edge of God’s merry kingdom. it is just a matter of who falls first.
“your place is in the kingdom of God, meant to fulfil eternal life with Jesus and the Lord which is what we all should be keeping in mind and working towards, ignoring all the distractions that will soon fade and die off.”
geto coughs again in the mic and breaths shakily, finally tearing his eyes away from you before he concludes the sermon and eases into the Offertory and Eucharist. he buries himself so deep in the procession in order to get you out of his mind, and it’s shown in the haste in which he carries the mass. it feels like he rushes so much that even the day outside follows too, because evening seems to arrive earlier than usual.
the sun sets outside, illuminating the altar. it taunts you like reminding you of the beauty of your faith; it deepens the need developing in your core.
“body of Christ.” you can faintly hear it being repeated over and over at the front, just a few steps away from your turn and you wish you weren’t standing behind your dad’s hulking figure so you could actually prepare yourself for father geto. you’re greeted with his cascading hair tied up into a bun and the cup containing Jesus’ body, gold and shining. you see your stretched reflection before your eyes snap back to the pastor in front and you will your hands not to hail routine.
instead, you stick out your tongue for the father to put the communion on and you take in the little panic of his hands and the choked sentence of body of Christ. his eyes drift down to your pink tongue, to the small twitch it does when he places the host on it and he cannot wait for you to get out of his sight, lest he be overtaken by the sin he particularly preached about just minutes ago.
“any test to study for tonight, darling?” your mother asks after dinner, meaning to ask after seeing you be so fidgety like you needed to be somewhere.
“uh . . no, not exactly, but i do have something i need to do.”
“oh! what is it, sweetie?” she doesn’t read your expressions, you mannerisms, so you were safe from that, but you willed your voice to not break. your body is on fire, you needed to quell your needs, now.
“just— i promised father geto i would meet him later for a confession, since he’s so busy, he could only propose a late timing,” no, you didn’t. either way, you give a reason, explain yourself before she can speculate, works every time.
“oh, okay . .” she trails off, seemingly unaffected, “just don’t get home too late, alright, darling?”
you nod even though she’s too focused on the dishes, pressing a hand to her back in thanks and she carries on, carefree, while you sprint to your room. lock the door, get your phone out.
“ . . ings turns into greed when we act on that initial lust . .” the words recorded just hours ago leave the phone speakers on a low volume, already lighting a flame in your pussy when your hand brushes over the microphone and he stops at the same time, “when we are terribly dri . .”
you sigh loudly when your hand starts to make its way down to your centre, rubbing slightly to the sound of his voice. your clit is just begging to be touched, begging for your inexperienced hands flicking your nub in every which way. impatient, your hands dip into your cunt and your jaw drops open at the intrusion of your fingers, just as your eyes widen and your imagination has never worked as well as it does now.
you can see geto’s amethyst eyes boring into yours, you can see his hips fucking into yours and yet it doesn’t give you the same kick as you think it would — you’re fucking yourself with your fingers even faster, circles on your clit increasing in speed and messiness and you smear your juices all around.
“father— father geto—” it was pathetic, the way you moaned for a man of God, but the feeling of your cunt clenching around what you wished was his dick was too good, the coil in your stomach still feeling rather uncomfortable but welcoming and you’re unravelling with a silent scream soon, back arching off the sheets.
“s . . suguru, f-fuck,” the swear word feels weird on your lips, as with his first name, but the trembling of your virgin body is so delicious that you just keep rubbing and rubbing, taking so long to come down from your high as your pants get heavier and heavier. and then his face starts to fade off, eyes turning into lilac air and you’re glancing towards the crumpled essay on your bed with guilt festering in your chest.
“ . . mptations of the flesh are childish, are temporary. they lead you to do foolish things that have no place in the kingdom of God. we may repent and put it past us but the memories that our tainted bodies possess, they remember the sinful things that you did.” the recording of father geto dies out as with his powerful conclusion, speaking so loudly into the mic that it screeches with feedback, you remember. you don’t even know where the guilt builds up from, in your torso and your heart, despite questioning the faith you were in for all your life.
if God did not want us to sin, why did he create temptations and ask us to pray for forgiveness?
you roll over and remove your fingers with a small whine, taking up your phone and opening up the contact with father geto hesitantly. it was meant to be a strictly professional exchange like the conversations he’d had with many other parishioners: updates on the church, changes in mass timings, but your chat was filled with questions from you and answers from him. you didn’t dare ask him anything out of the faith.
[9:37 pm, delivered]: uhm. father geto? are you there?
oh god, it’s you. the you who on the second walk around the town exchanged numbers with him because he found your thoughts so intriguing.
[9:39 pm, read]: Yes, Miss (Y/N). What is it?
you take a deep breath. better to ask for that confession, you couldn’t risk your mother asking about it tomorrow.
[9:40 pm, delivered]: is it alright to have
[9:41 pm, delivered]: can i come over to the church, for a bit
father geto straights up in the rectory, getting closer to the socket where his phone was charging and hovers over the screen. his hands are clammy when typing a response and he manages it in about three minutes.
[9:44 pm, read]: Of course, my dear. The doors of the church are open for the congregation at any time.
bidding goodbye to your mother, you stay on the lit path to the church and you’re bathing in anticipation, too excited to see father geto that you bump into a dark shadow. almost resembling a hard wall, hands emerge from its sides to clutch at your biceps.
“miss (y/n), what is it? what has gotten you up so late at night?” if he was still in university, he would’ve laughed at how he asked that question. hundreds of texts of u up? that mimic the nature of the question right now. 
“i was hoping . .” you ignore the tingly feeling of the way in which his hands leave goosebumps along your biceps and then to your forearms. finally, they clutch your hands between his, meant to be like a warm hug but instead is like fire, licking at your fingers and wrist like you’re at the stake. “i was hoping that i could, request you for a confession?”
the priest across you swallows with a nod, swiftly putting a hand across your back to lead you to the booth. you both could’ve done it perfectly fine in the pews, sitting across each other. “the confessional is where we will feel the strongest compulsion of Christ. come,” he answers your question before you can ask it, “take your place on the kneeler behind the curtains.”
father geto showers in the same sea of anticipation when he makes sure you’re okay before heading over to his side of the confessional. he’s imagined this scene over and over — you on the pew kneeler, breath warming the velvet curtains — he cannot help the bulge that forms.
the first words he speak behind the curtain shock you, voice sounding so close yet so muffled and distant.
“come, now, (y/n), make the Sign of the Cross with me.”
Father, Son and Holy Spirit
upon your head, chest and shoulders you do it, taking a deep breath before you start. “bless me, father, for i have sinned. it has been . . about five years since my last confession.”
geto nods, the soft carry of your voice in the late night having an effect on the priest. the hold he has on the crucifix of the rosary is so tight it makes an indent on his skin, the only thing on mortal flesh to keep him from falling.
“What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield.”
your thighs rub together, hot breath sending chills down your clutched hands and down your arm as you ponder over the things you’ve done — “i’ve . . lied to my mother at times, to my friends when they ask me where i’m from. i have stolen money for my own needs, n-not— that high of an amount but um . . still a fair amount.”
“what did you need to buy, sweetheart?”
the name surprises you, but you simply ignore it. “i wanted new clothes — was all the rave at uni when the girls wore miniskirts and little tops. unfortunately it didn’t suit me.”
geto swears under his breath when the image of you in such skimpy clothing infiltrate his thoughts. his curiosity overtakes him; overwhelmed with emotion, he never had the chance to see what you were wearing before he pulls back the curtains and hopes your eyes are closed and they are: pulled tight with quivering eyebrows. there, like a sinning Christian is you in a thin camisole, cleavage showing beneath your arms. he peers lower, gasps softly to himself when you’re wearing a skirt.
“father? father, what’s wrong?” you think you hear the swift swoosh and the rings of the miniature curtain clatter.
“n—nothing is wrong, miss (y/n). are there any other sins you want to confess?”
you swallow, “i . . i’ve wished misfortune on my father.”
not the sin he was hoping for but he wasn’t surprised; his head moves in understanding. he had seen your father — merely a ghost in the house and hardly contributing to fostering the family. it goes against what Mary and Joseph stands for as the Holy Family, but father geto has seen a lot of absent fathers and incompetency to truly be taken aback anymore.
“i’ve also . . i’m not sure whether to tell you this, father geto.”
your breaths were all you could hear in the silence of the church, an eerie quietness settling as if the critters and animals of the earth strived to listen to your ultimate sin, too. Beelzebub, Asmodeus, possibly even Lucifer himself clawed themselves up from hell to eavesdrop.
“of course you can, my dear.” the wind through the wooden confessional box sounds like the hisses of the three demons, like they have had holy water sprayed on them from the mere sounding of his voice; but they look hopefully for a server of Christ to fall exactly like they did.
“it’s, related to my body, father. i,” gulping, you continue with a prompt from the other, “i’ve had this growing need, like, one has when they’re hungry. they have the need to fill their stomachs. or— or a sudden pain you have to massage yourself through, like a cramp in the arm of sorts.”
“well . . is it your torso or your arm?”
“it’s . .” you spare a glance towards your centre under your very, very short skirt, the familiar pulsing of your clit turning more and more prominent. “it’s related to my pussy, father.”
you hear a choke from the other side, and then you realise your choice of words.
“ah— m-my bad! i meant my . . vagina, father geto.”
“no— no u-uhm, the previous term was fine. could you describe what you did? how far did you go so i c-can . . give you the appropriate penance?”
behind the curtains, geto have already started palming his bulge, massaging the ache in his length that still continues to grow and harden. the way you describe is so terribly innocent and unknowing, a deepening urge to corrupt you running through his veins.
“i played with um— my breasts, first. i pulled up my top and felt around my nipples, but i got impatient and . .” geto hangs on to every word of yours, shifting to get his robes out of the way. it was just like the first night: his underwear stained with so much pre-cum it’s probably changed the colour of the garment. he peels it away and the lack of restraint leaves him sighing softly while you ramble on—
“i tried playing with that . . thing between my legs.” you recall the quick google search from that first night, “i played with my clit, father.”
geto stifles a groan into his hand just as he starts to stroke himself softly. “y . . yeah, and?”
“i tried to um . . fit my finger in. it was uncomfortable, at first,” you cannot ignore the pull of your core; your hand shimmies past the clasped hands and down to your skirt. you have no panties to swipe to the side: you came here without any. your finger rubs gently at the throbbing bundle of nerves, a soft whine leaving your lips before you remember you’re in the midst of a confession.
“but i . . i got it into my pussy soon enough. and then i put in another finger.” there was a more audible grunt from the other side, the confessional weirdly heating up immensely as you follow your confession: two fingers easily glide in from just how wet you were.
“when?” there’s a strain in father geto’s voice when he asks it, maybe because he was trying so hard to keep quiet. his jaw is locked as he pumps his cock slowly because his tip is leaking so much that even a simple movement would give him away.
“w-wha—?”
“w-when did you first start . . touching your pussy, (y/n)?” hearing a priest say such a lewd word makes you clench around your fingers.
“after you came to deliver t-that chocolate cake . . father geto.”
“f-fuck—” geto squeezes his eyes shut and it’s like he’s a university student again losing his virginity for the first time by the hands of some random chick pumping him. the implied confession has him stroking faster; it was after that trip he made to your house, it was after seeing you stand at the door like a good little girl, it was because of him, right? right?
you snap back the curtains and your mouth waters at the scene: father geto hunching over the little window that separates the two of you and his head hung low; his cassock gathers around his hips and his cock— good Lord, his cock was so big, clutched tightly between his left hand. his tip was weeping, an angry red as it continued to push out globs of pre.
“f-father!” geto doesn’t seem to care, giving you a drunk and nonchalant glance as he continues to stroke his shaft. he knows it’s wrong, doing this in the house of the Lord but it feels so fucking good. “y-you—”
you’re at a loss for words, pointing to his exposed bottom, but even though you’re speaking out against him, you can’t help but follow his hand as it moves up and down like a spell. his eyes are simply pleading, hips bucking up and you would think he was a parishioner instead. shaking in the presence of God, in the presence of you—
you stick your hand past the squeezy window, drawing his interest and before you know it you’re blindly bumping into his erection. there, he silently grabs your hand, guiding it to his shaft. he uncomfortably leans down to look at your face, eyebrows still furrowed but your tongue stuck out and his dick twitches in your hand.
“s-shit, baby . .” geto swears under his breath, and again when you pull on his dick to the window. uncomfortably his body lightly slams against the partition, a soft thud coming from the booth as his head collides with the wood, “(y/n) . .”
he can’t see you, but he can hear you. “may i, father geto?”
you don’t wait for his answer, gauging mainly from the heavy breaths coming from above you. they really do need to change the confessional, too, because you can clearly hear every word he mumbles out from the holes in the partition.
“shiiit—” when you kitten lick his tip, collection the pre-cum that continues to leave his tip, and it feels better than his Rite of Ordination and when he finally got to host his first mass. it’s better than that prophetic dream he has of God calling him to serve Him and the churches in the city with church-goers of boring faces and predictable stories.
here was a rural place, a place where he never expected such a pretty girl to practice the Christian faith, only to falter in the presence of a pastor. he’s gotten such a cute little slut to corrupt. you start to bob your head slowly, unsure of what to do apart from putting his cock on your mouth. your teeth grazes his skin a little and he hisses.
“no teeth. suck in your cheeks,” he cannot see you but he wishes he can, and he knows you listen to his advice when he feels only the smooth glide of your mouth and he wishes it was your pussy that you fingered.
“going deeper, darling,” geto grunts when he pushes his cock past your mouth and into your throat, the sweet gag you do making him dig his forehead deeper into the uneven wooden partition. he can hear your struggling sounds, the muffled moans with his cock down your cavern. but he cannot go any longer without seeing you and reluctantly he pushes you off, still holding your hand and you seem to catch his drift soon enough.
you’re as eager as him, bouncing off the kneeler and leaving your side of the booth, and you’re opening the door to his. the reality of the situation fully sinks in, geto standing there with his cock dripping with your saliva and your camisole pulled down under your tits.
“oh . . baby,” geto coaxes you into him, under a little spell of his when you trail in a light as a feather. you don’t resist his hands pushing you down to your knees, and just like earlier, you’re sticking your tongue out and the priest looks at you from under hooded lids.
“did you touch yourself to me, little girl?” it comes out stronger than intended but you seem to like it, even when your answers are cut off by him slapping his tip on your tongue. it’s so heavy, his cock, and thick too that you can help but suckle on it when you get the opportunity.
“ever since that day, father geto.” you look drunk, swirling your tongue around the tip and continuing to talk, “i . . i imagine you above me and sometimes i dangle my crucifix thinkin’ it’s yours.”
a small laugh escapes the priest. “did you now?” it’s reminiscent of the time where you praise his sermon. his laugh is cut off as you continue to suck him off, hands still confused. he helps you by bringing your hands to the places you can’t reach and you follow like second nature. “dirty fucking slut, aren’t you?”
“i promise i didn’t know anything before this . . father.” you look up at him through your lashes, big doe eyes proving every last bit of your innocence. aht, partially. you did watch a video of this chick blowing her boyfriend, cumming with your own fingers in your throat, wishing it was geto’s cock in your mouth instead.
but having a real cock in your mouth? it was divine, better than the body of Christ in melting on your tongue. your ministrations speed up, the obscene noises of you gurgling reverberating in the wooden box late at night. it would be even worse at the altar where it would echo everywhere.
“y—yeah, baby, that’s it, that’s it . .” his eyes are shut tight, intoxicated on the way your warm mouth feels. you whine into his shaft, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from how deep he was in you.
“mmf— mmph!” your moans sends vibrations up his body, interrupted when geto thrusts his hips into your mouth suddenly and your nose meets with his pubes, eyes rolling back from the muskiness of his body. it smells like incense and sweat, filling your senses as he keeps you right up to his hilt.
“ohh . . fuckfuck fuucck—!” the father pulls you off to let you breathe, pleasantly surprised when you start pumping him violently, tongue stuck out again. there’s a hint of light from the outside that highlights the pinkness of your tongue and he’s never wanted to cum this badly before.
“i’m cumming— baby, baby, i’m g’nna c-cum—” there’s a long, drawn out whine from father geto upon feeling the warmth of your hands stroking his cock so obediently, resting his tip on your tongue where you’d willingly drink his cum like wine. geto shoots his load into your mouth and is the loudest he’s ever been; he doesn’t care who hears him, he doesn’t care if he gets transferred out tomorrow, all he wants to think about is you on your knees and your nipples hardened from confessing to him. he’d like to bet that your pussy was drooling too, hips bucking into the soft skin of your hands.
some of his cum gets onto your face and on your lips, and geto almost cums again when you use his tip to smear his seed around your face, sucking lightly on his tip.
“dirty girl . .” he pulls on your biceps to bring you up, and your lips meet instantaneously like you were meant to be separated for eternity, doomed only to meet for one day a year. it’s messy and sloppy, drool drips from your sides of your mouths as your lips merge together.
“was that your first kiss, baby?” father geto can tell by how you don‘t know how to follow his lead, teeth clashing and breathing uneven.
“am i that obvious?” you frown, feeling self-conscious, but geto is quick to reassure you.
“father geto’s going to teach you everything you need to know, alright?” he brings you in with a finger to your chin, hovers over your lips like a tease.
he teaches you everything you want to know and more, like how the front of the church looks like and how cold the marble of the altar feels against your back as he eats you out and the sensations are all too much for you. he teaches you that using God’s name in vain is alright when it comes to moaning out how good he makes you feel and how your penance is whatever he makes it out to be he teaches you how you can take not one, not two, but three fingers up your pussy.
they’re so much thicker than your own, one hand pushing on your shaking thighs to keep them open while his three fingers move in and out of you. you’re leaking so much, your virgin cunt dripping like holy water down the white marble and onto the matching marble floor.
he teaches you his first name and he makes sure you say it.
“su—suguru . . god, r-right there—” he latches his mouth onto your clit, suckling and flicking his tongue impatiently because he just wants to see you cum. your legs stretch out to knock over a candelabra and the clatter of the metal against the ground is enough to wake up a whole village but you. don’t. care.
your hips grind onto his tongue, feeling the borderline painful stretch of his thick fingers in you but they reach all the right spots that you can’t find it in you to care.
“you taste so good—” geto spits onto your cunt and goes back to sucking on your clit, “pussy’s so fuckin’ sweet, holy fuck.” your noises come out of you non-stop as you bury your hands in his hair, finally knowing what you sound like in an unrestrictive space under the apse.
father geto teaches you how to take a cock up your cute, tight pussy, not bothering for a condom when basically all of your clothes have been discarded throughout the night. it’s almost midnight and your mother have fallen asleep on the couch, unaware her sweet, sweet daughter is losing her virginity in the place she was baptised, where she got her first communion.
the first push into your drenched cunt is painful, mushroom tip stretching you out slightly as you clutch tightly onto his forearm, brows knitted together at the girth of his cock.
“been wanting . . to fuck this pussy so bad, baby,” geto grunts it out, obsessed with how his length slowly disappears into you. he can feel each ridge of your gummy walls, hugging him so snugly that there’s several moans that leave his lips, “have you been— thinking ’bout this as much as i h-have?”
your jaw stretches beyond your limit when he eases himself inch by inch into you, thanking the hells below that your vision was finally coming true. above you there’s that same crucifix, sterling silver with amethyst stones embedded into the design, you remember, catching the light of the lone spotlight above the both of you. there’s a similar glint in father geto’s purple eyes.
“all the time, father—” you moan out, pulling him by his necklace to your lips that are more experienced now, each minute that passes is one more atom of your body turning black from the fire that licks at you from below the altar. you kiss the lips of your parish priest, whimpering slightly when his hips buck and you feel the stretch more clearly now.
“is this what Isaac felt when Abraham tried to bind him for a sacrifice on Moriah? helpless, confused, betrayed?”
geto lets out a hum, sucking hickeys into your neck and you think it’s a million times better than questioning a God that never showed himself, who never really had the intentions of the people in mind, who created sin to watch the downfall of men while he enjoys his time in his kingdom.
if this was what was meant by losing yourself to your devils, you would gladly shake hands with Lucifer and hope the warmth of the fire in hell would be a hug warmer than any hug you’ve received by people of the Christian faith.
“well, baby, do you feel helpless?” thrust “confused,” thrust “and betrayed?” thrust
he punctures each word with a snap of his hips and the pain gives way to pleasure and soon he’s already lost in the comfort of your pussy, hips starting a pace easily that emphasises just how wet you are. the echoes of your weeping cunt and the lewd slapping of his balls into your ass is like the bell ringing during mass, loud, resonating, it shakes your whole body.
“mmfuck . . helpless, m-maybe,” you whine out, legs wrapping around his back, “confused, n-not— suguruuu, yesyesyes!”
you try again, “n-not really. betrayed . .”
you feel like a sacrifice, but it was willing, of a confession that has led to this lewd showing of just how much the temptations of the flesh were insanely undeniable. there’s a murmur of i don’t think i can last much longer into your ear, cock driving into your tight pussy so harshly you’re hoping the small altar doesn’t move.
“b-betrayed, i think—” you squeal when father geto angles his hips up and it kisses your cervix just nicely, sending multiple chills down your body. your moans penetrate the holy air, hair splayed out like a painting and geto knows this is better than any Eucharist he’s ever tasted.
you clench around his fat cock, and he twitches, switching to short, pathetic thrusts into your pussy and he cries out your name as he cums deep in you, giving you all of his seed deep in your womb. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of your first load, the warmth already hooking you in and you pull so hard on his hair he has no choice but to follow your hand.
you let him handle you deep into the night, taking you off the altar and pushing you up against it, entering you again and you brace yourself against the marble.
“s-sorry, sweetheart, you were saying?” he also wants to apologise that he hadn’t made you cum just yet, but your pussy’s so fucking heavenly he just has to be in you again.
“i-i feel a little betrayed,“ you sag over the altar, back arching into his hold. father geto is fixated on the movement of your ass fucking back onto him, “that a priest would break his m-marriage to God for me.”
“i thought they were supposed to be men of God,” you barely manage to form sentences. geto’s laugh at that startles you, as with the hand grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling. payback. you love it, however, a sweet Christian girl turned into a slut, and the last bits of the thread unravels when father geto reaches around to rub your clit.
“’m gonna— cum, suguru—” you whine out, body turning to mush with how hard he rams into your pussy. by now there’s a ring of white around the base of his cock, your juices slowly starting to coat it, too and Lucifer succeeds at sin yet again.
you cannot blame Eve when the serpent is as beautiful and cunning as geto suguru, nor can you blame her when his thick cock just reaches so deep into you, tip kissing your sweet spots and his hand impatiently drawing messy circles on your bundle of nerves.
“that just makes it the best though, right?” geto breathlessly says, “a holy man fucking a virgin raw in a holy place where prayers are said.” your legs are spreading further and further, his sweaty body engulfs yours, you’re dizzy, “you’re too tempting, sweet girl. tempting enough for me to want to abandon priesthood just so i can be buried in this pussy for fucking eternity.”
and you cum, head and heart going a hundred miles per hour as your body trembles in his hold. “there we go, little slut, thereee we go . .” you can feel the chill of the sterling silver into your back and his smile before he orgasms a second time into your waiting pussy, a second, heavy load let go into your pussy. it’s so warm and filling, and you already want more, more, more.
lust for more things turns into greed when we act on that initial lust.
“aw,” father geto coos at your fucked out face, flipping you around to give you a sloppy kiss and forcing himself to his knees just to watch his cum drip out of you, “does she want more?”
“always, father.” you answer with a drunken smile, putting a leg on his shoulder. again, your finger hooks around his crucifix, and you drag the priest down deeper into hell, somewhere father geto would‘ve always ended up.
somewhere where he would renounce his priesthood and worship something, and someone: you.
“Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heav'n.”
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a/n: LOOOONG MAN WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS. also i put the author’s note at the bottom this time bc i wanted to format of the fic to look the best without my goofy words ruining it! hope you guys liked it :) / tagging @crysugu @omgeto @kazushawty @suguruplsr @hydrovillette @slttygeto @hyomagiri @jabamin
part two ✶
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221loislane · 9 months
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An Account of the Current OTW/AO3 Allegations
You may have seen talk flying around about drama going down with OTW (the Organization for Transformative Works) and AO3. There isn't a clear write-up of the situation on Tumblr, and since the allegations in this case are serious and OTW Board elections are coming up, I thought there should be a resource for people to get some basic understanding about the events.
This account is a burner, because the topics here are deeply charged, and I don't want to become a character in what's happening. I am not a member of or volunteer for OTW; I am not affiliated with End OTW Racism; I am not affiliated with Dreamwidth; I do not personally know any of the people involved in these events, or have personal knowledge of the events themselves. I am only compiling the publicly available events, allegations, and discussion into a convenient format for Tumblr. I will be heavily referencing the the similar compilation put together by Dreamwidth user Synonymous, but I am not Synonymous, nor do I know who they are. I am not, however, completely without bias; for one thing, I am writing this with the clear understanding that I believe OTW's treatment of its volunteers and policies on content moderation are both deeply troubling. If I did not believe that, I wouldn't have bothered writing this post.
This write-up includes events relating both to allegations about volunteer abuse and improper handling of CSEM moderation by the OTW, and to arguments made about the OTW's handling of racist conduct and about End OTW Racism's ties to the writer known as Stitch. I am including both of these threads because they are deeply related both causally and in the arguments of many of the people involved, and because volunteer abuse, CSEM, and racist harassment are all deeply serious problems.
This situation has not resolved, and therefore you can likely expect more to occur, probably relating to all of those topics. I have not yet decided whether I will continue updating this timeline, but it should at least give you a grounding in what's happening.
Heavy Content Warning for discussions of child sexual abuse material; abuse, harassment, and stalking; and interpersonal and systemic racism. All language in this write-up is non-graphic and high-level, but some links include more detailed descriptions.
The Events
June 24, 2020: In the wake of George Floyd's murder and in response to pressure from people including Black writer Stitch (of the blog Stitch Media Mix and Teen Vogue) and fan studies academic Dr. Rukmini Pande, the OTW makes a statement promising to review their policies and procedures and take steps to protect users from racist harassment. The specific promises they make are:
Giving creators more control over the comments on their works.
Improving collection searching and filtering.
Improving admin tools for responding to Policy & Abuse reports.
Reviewing the Terms of Service to potentially allow Policy & Abuse to respond to more kinds of reports.
Reassess the required Archive Warnings and consider adding more.
Continue working on user muting and blocking.
They also say that they are considering "reaching out to an external contractor or partnering with an advocacy group," i.e., a diversity consultant, to help with reforms.
August 8, 2021: As part of their July newsletter, the OTW announces that it is creating a new officer role in the organization to research options for diversity consultants.
May 7, 2022: The OTW makes a public statement on their website that an unknown attacker has sent CSAM (child sexual abuse material) to some of their volunteers' email addresses, that they are working with authorities to find the attacker, and that response times may be slower than usual, as they have "shut down a number of internal tools" in order to protect their volunteers and the investigation.
May 8, 2022: Dreamwidth cofounder and former head of LiveJournal Trust & Safety Denise (rahaeli on Twitter, synecdochic on Dreamwidth) posts a Twitter thread urging any current or former OTW/AO3 volunteer who has provided the organization with their real-life name ("wallet name") to contact their local police department and let them know that they are at an elevated risk of swatting. She also provides advice on disabling image auto-loading in emails and dealing with trauma and anxiety from being exposed to CSAM, and mentions that she has contacted AO3 to offer help.
June 16, 2022: As part of their April newsletter (delayed several months due to the CSAM attack), the OTW announces that a Diversity Consultant Research Officer has been appointed.
May 10, 2023: The Tumblr account end-otw-racism publishes its first post, End OTW Racism: A Call to Action. In it, the anonymous authors call on the OTW to implement the changes that they promised in 2020, especially:
Hiring a diversity consultant within the next 3-6 months.
Updating their harassment policies and protocols to address on-site and off-site coordinated harassment.
Creating a content policy for content that is abusive in a racist manner.
As part of their background establishing the problem of racist abuse and harassment in fandom, they link to several articles written by Stitch on their commentary blog, as well as a couple of posts from other fans. In their FAQs and other posts, the organizers of EOR clarify that they are not calling for the removal of any racist fic, but fic that is written specifically with the intention of perpetrating racist harassment or abuse. They also urge supporters not to berate or harass anyone for disagreeing with or failing to support their campaign.
May 17, 2023: An anonymous user asks about the End OTW Racism protest on the anon-meme Dreamwidth community Fail Fandom_Anon (FFA). As part of a tangent in that discussion, an anonymous former volunteer member of the OTW's Policy & Abuse Committee (PAC) mentions that they handled CSEM (child sexual exploitation material) tickets as part of their work, and that the OTW did not provide sufficient resources or expertise in dealing with them either emotionally or logistically. They describe themselves as being traumatized, burned out, and overworked during their time in PAC. They also mention that there was an earlier CSAM attack, targeted only at PAC volunteers, prior to the one that the OTW announced; that they were the volunteer who handled reporting to law enforcement; that the PAC chairs urged Legal and the Board to prepare for more attacks, but that nothing was done; and that the OTW did not provide any mental health resources for volunteers after the CSAM attack. (Here is a link to the user's top-level comment; read down the thread for more.)
May 20, 2023: Dreamwidth user chestnut_pod posts an entry called Be More Democratic, Be More Autocratic, OTW. The thesis of their post is that the OTW fails to adequately respond to racism on AO3 because of structural problems within the organization that amplify biases and make change difficult to achieve, and that in order to address racism and other problems more effectively, the organization should create a clear and straightforward command structure. They also advocate for creating some paid roles within the organization. The comments of the post become a kind of referendum on OTW's organizational policies, and some former volunteers show up to say that chestnut_pod's description of the problems with the org's structure tally with their experience.
May 23, 2023:
An anonymous user links to chestnut_pod's post on FFA. In response, the same former OTW volunteer describes various details of how the Policy & Abuse Committee (PAC) made decisions during her time there. (The description covers a lot of comments, so with one exception I'm linking to Synonymous's overview rather than the individual comments, but you can find all of them either through Synonymous's links or by reading down the FFA thread.) The upshot is that PAC often found it difficult to address racism, abuse, and harassment due to roadblocks and micromanagement from OTW's Legal Committee. In particular, the user mentions that they wanted to remove photo manipulations of real-life minors engaging in sex, as well as ambiguously-sourced explicit gifs from underage fics, and were told that they could not by Legal. (I have described the user's objections at as a high a level as possible, but the language used at the link is much more detailed and explicit.) A subsequent, current OTW volunteer says that since the first user left, the policy has changed to allow PAC to remove similar gifs.
Denise leaves a series of comments on chestnut_pod's post saying that the PAC policies described there run counter to industry best practices for Trust & Safety. In response to a commenter asking whether she could advise OTW, Denise says that she has offered several times, and only heard back from the organization once: after she posted her Twitter thread in response to the CSAM attacks, "at which point it immediately became extremely clear the person in question was more interested in protecting the external reputation of the organization than in listening to any advice I had to give and the only reason they'd contacted me was to pressure me to remove my Twitter thread."
In response to Denise's story, Dreamwidth user azarias reveals herself to be the anonymous former PAC volunteer on FFA. In a series of comments on chestnut_pod's post and FFA (bulk of the information in this comment, but see Synonymous's compilation or read up and down the thread for more), she relays the following story: On May 6, 2022, shortly after the CSAM attack, azarias was kicked out of the OTW volunteer Slack with no notice and no communication. When she realized several days later that this was not an organization-wide shut down, she emailed the OTW Board, Legal, and the PAC chairs asking about the situation, and whether she was a suspect in the attack. The chair of Legal, Betsy Rosenblatt, responded, apologizing for the lack of communication and saying that the shut-out was at Legal's request because they thought azarias' account may have been compromised, but she was not a suspect. On July 22, 2022, having heard nothing further from the OTW, azarias emailed again asking about reinstatement, and Betsy responded that they had just that day started that process. (EDIT: Azarias clarifies that her original stated date of July 22 was an error; she checked on her status July 4, and Betsy responded July 6.) All of azarias's accounts had been deleted, so she returned to the OTW with new accounts, and was informed by her PAC chairs that they were not consulted or informed about her suspension until it happened, were not told why she had been suspended, and were ordered not to speak to or about her during the suspension. Due to awkwardness, trauma, and burn-out, azarias quit volunteering soon after.
May 30, 2023:
On FFA, an anonymous OTW volunteer (not azarias) comments that the OTW Board has posted an update to Slack addressing azarias's story (though she is never named in the update). The update confirms that Legal made the decision to suspend azarias, and says that the Board was not consulted on or informed about the decision to either suspend or reinstate her. A statement from Legal is also attached. The statement does not in any way dispute azarias's timeline of events, and outwardly apologizes to her for the distressed caused, but it also contains several strong insinuations that the letter-writer believes that azarias was responsible for the CSAM attack.
In response to this letter, Denise posts a statement on Dreamwidth and Twitter recommending that any person currently volunteering for the OTW should resign for their own personal safety.
June 3, 2023: Azarias (now posting under her real account, which FFA allows people who are players in the events being discussed to do) comments on FFA that she has consulted a lawyer regarding Legal's insinuation, and has been advised that she doesn't have anything to worry about, legally. She explains some more of the details behind the situation, and discusses some of her guesses about the current situation at the OTW. (For clarification, the Heidi she's referring to is Heidi Tandy, a longtime member of OTW Legal. During the heights of Harry Potter fandom, Fandom Wank coined the term "Heidipology" to describe what they believed to be Heidi's pattern of making insincere, backhanded apologies.) In the comments, anonymous users discuss the fact that OTW's Legal team is made up entirely of IP lawyers, and not lawyers who have expertise in criminal law, nonprofit governance, or Trust & Safety. (Link goes to Synonymous's compilation.)
June 12, 2023: The OTW publishes a statement addressing the End OTW Racism protest. They thank the organizers for holding them accountable, list the steps they've already taken in addressing racism (mostly muting/blocking abilities and similar), and reiterate that they are working on hiring a diversity consultant and reviewing PAC policies. They also say they will improve transparency and communication.
In the comments, azarias (and several others) push the OTW for a retraction of Legal's letter. Azarias also pushes the OTW to make real progress on racist abuse, rather than paying it "lip service." Azarias reveals that she was the Board's original pick for the Diversity Consultant Research Officer, but dropped out. (Further comments later and earlier at FFA clarify that she dropped out due to the OTW's one name policy, which requires that all work that a volunteer does for the OTW be done under a single name; officers are required to serve under their wallet names, and azarias wanted to do her PAC work under her fandom name and not link that to her wallet name, and when OTW didn't let her, she resigned. Link to Synonymous's more thorough compilation of this story here.)
Also in the comments, several users respond to the OTW's statement by posting racist abuse and racial slurs. The OTW leaves the comments up for several days before finally screening them.
June 15, 2023: Denise posts a thread on Twitter, shortly after compiled on her Dreamwidth, laying out what she consider's the OTW's "absolute failure" at Trust & Safety. Among other things, she claims that:
Photomanips of minors in sexual situations, "however terrible or obvious the Photoshop job is, qualifies under the third definition of 'child pornography' as given in 18 USC §2256(8)(C)."
She believes that the OTW may not be in compliance with legal obligations to preserve information about reported CSEM, due to its policy of deleting author information about orphaned works.
In this post, Denise also elaborates on the story she told in the comments of chestnut_pod's post. She says that in May 2022, before the OTW made its statement about the CSAM attack, several volunteers reached out to her for advice, and she learned that the attack emails included threats to expose identifying volunteer information to, among other places, Kiwi Farms, a site whose users have previously swatted many people. In response to this, after the OTW's statement, she published her Twitter thread advising volunteers to alert their local law enforcement, and also reached out to the OTW to offer resources, contacts, and advice. In response, OTW Legal member Rebecca Tushnet called her and spent half an hour pressuring her to remove her Twitter thread.
At the end of the post, Denise briefly touches on the End OTW Racism action that began this conversation, saying that she appreciates their work, but believes that their proposed solutions will not be effective, both because the OTW's organizational dysfunction makes it impossible for them to moderate racist content, and because PAC must moderate "conduct, not content." She says that she "firmly disagree[s] with the foundational work their campaign was built on."
June 16, 2023:
In response to several people asking for clarification on her statements about End OTW Racism, Denise posts a follow-up Twitter thread (which has not at this time been crossposted to Dreamwidth). She says that a diversity consultant will not effectively address abuse because the current OTW culture is resistant to change, and that reviewing TOS policies will not be effective, because the current TOS already allows for moderation of abusive conduct, but PAC has not been empowered to enforce it. Instead, she claims that progress on moderation of racist abuse can only truly be made once the organization's systemic issues have been addressed. She also believes that End OTW Racism's messaging is counterproductive, "because of its repeated failure to differentiate between content and conduct." In particular, she argues that, "by citing so heavily to the foundational background work by people who *have* repeatedly called for bans on work that 'reflects racist and bigoted stereotypes', and by failing to differentiate the two except in passing, the campaign has positioned itself in such a way that it will be, and I'm certain has already been, dismissed by the OTW." She does not mention Stitch by name, but it is clear by context that it is the citations of Stitch's work that she is referring to.
After someone DMs her to request she take down her clarifying statements about End OTW Racism, and various people supportive of EOR on Twitter denounce the statements, Denise posts a follow-up statement to Dreamwidth and to Twitter. She says that she has been contacted several times over the past few weeks by Black fans who have been harassed and abused by Stitch in racist and racialized ways, and who showed her screenshots of these interactions, which Stitch has since deleted. She says that because these fans are afraid to speak up for fear of further harassment, she offered to relay their concerns about a campaign based heavily on Stitch's writing. She does not provide the screenshots, in order to prevent the fans from being identified. She reiterates that she agrees with Stitch and with EOR that the OTW is failing to respond to racist abuse and harassment, but that she disagrees with their approach and proposals. (For what it's worth, as I said up front, I am not personally acquainted with either Stitch or Denise, and have no personal knowledge of events, but Denise is not the first person to accuse Stitch of racist harassment. There has been a great deal of discussion on FFA, both well-sourced and not so much, detailing Stitch's past behavior. I am linking to this round-up so that people can find it, but with the exception of those that directly link to the evidence, and one or two that reference Stitch's public writing, I do not know the accuracy of any of the claims, and I do not know the source of some of them. The allegations listed also vary wildly in their degree of seriousness, ranging from "actually harassed someone" to "said something distasteful," to "is friends with a known serial stalker and harasser.")
The OTW posts a newspost addressing Denise's original (June 15) thread and allegations. The say that they are in legal compliance with CSEM reporting procedures, that they provided resources to volunteers following the CSAM attacks, and that "the Legal Committee has always worked closely and cooperatively with the Policy & Abuse Committee, and continues to do so." They do not reference azalias's accusations or Denise's claim to have been pressured by Rebecca Tushnet. In the comments, azarias, Denise, and many other users, both anonymous and signed, express outrage at the OTW, and push for answers, apologies, retractions, and in some cases the resignation of Legal and/or the Board.
End OTW Racism posts a statement acknowledging the OTW's acknowledgment, and calling for supporters to donate to the OTW so that they can vote in the upcoming Board elections.
June 16-18, 2023: A group of people on Twitter, Tumblr, and Dreamwidth post individually and in conversation about Denise's comments on Stitch and End OTW Racism, defending Stitch and arguing that Denise's claims about them and disagreement with their and EOR's work are racist, unfounded or overblown, and a derailment from EOR's mission. Some of these are the same people who are in the comments of the OTW's response to Denise, pushing for the OTW to respond to azarias's allegations. (These are not inherently contradictory positions; I just want to note that both the personal and ideological stances here do not necessarily line up neatly into, say, pro-OTW and anti-OTW.) See, for instance, naye's Dreamwidth post, fiercynn's Dreamwidth post, or pearwaldorf's Tumblr post.
June 18, 2023: Denise posts a Twitter thread going into much greater detail about the number of fans of color who reported to her that Stitch had harassed them ("a number greater than five and less than fifteen"), and the severity of their claims ("Several of them said the harassment they experienced was so severe and pervasive that it caused them to change screen names, leave fandom, or otherwise restrict their conduct online.") She also gives a detailed, step-by-step outline of how she went about verifying their claims to her own satisfaction. She continues not to give out identifying details to prevent further harassment.
[Updated June 19, 2023 to correct language around the attack on OTW, which was a CSAM attack, not a CSEM attack.]
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Not sure if you've answered something like this before, but how do I write "prettier" sentences? I know one thing that will help would be expanding my vocabulary, but a thesaurus only seems to get me so far. I feel like when I write, especially when I'm describing things, my sentences are so basic. Idk if this makes sense, if it doesn't I can try and find examples from other writers to help describe what I'm talking about!
How to Write "Prettier" Sentences
Pretty prose is something many writers aspire to, however, it's not as easy to achieve as looking up words in a thesaurus. It's something you have to train yourself to do through both learning and practice.
Learn By Reading/Listening
First and foremost, making sure you're reading/listening to a variety of books and stories is essential if you want to learn how to craft prettier prose. Reading and listening to stories helps train your brain to: recognize the cadence of pretty prose, understand the structuring of pretty prose, understand how to craft meaningful imagery, and fills your head with vocabulary.
Expanding Your Vocabulary
Vocabulary is also an important component of crafting pretty prose. Following web sites, pages, and apps that have a "word of the day" (like the Merriam-Webster website) is a great way to learn new words. You can also purchase a word-of-the-day desk calendar for 2024. Some writers like to flip open the thesaurus every day on a random page and read a few random words. You can also read creative articles in newspapers, magazines, websites, etc. to learn new words. You can also look up the specific vocabulary for something you're describing, like if you're describing a house, you can look up the architectural style and general architectural terms to learn how to describe specific things like the style of home, the trim, the windows, etc. Finally, in addition to the thesaurus as a source of new words, you can add other word references to your collection, such as The Describer's Dictionary, the Random House Word Menu, The Writer's Lexicon, etc.
Learning Poetic Cadence and Imagery
Listening to music/reading song lyrics, and reading/listening to poetry are great ways to teach your brain how to craft descriptive imagery. Poetry has to say a lot with few words, so it helps you understand the power of using just the right words in just the right way.
Effective Description is Important
Effective description is of course another piece of the puzzle. Not all writing is description, but a lot of pretty prose is descriptive. So, when you're describing things in your story, make sure to consider the senses--what can be seen, heard, tasted, smelled, felt/touched? You don't want to incorporate all of that into the description of one thing, obviously, but if your character is walking into a forest, considering all of those things can help you come up with a vivid, beautiful description. Sometimes, looking for photos or videos of the thing you want to describe can be helpful, too.
Practice Makes Perfect
And last but not least: practice. Once you've started to train your brain using the methods above, when you go through a draft to revise it and come to a sentence that needs sprucing up, try out different things that you've learned. Don't go overboard with the thesaurus, but perhaps your sentence describes twinkling stars... is there another word you could use instead of twinkling that's more surprising and vivid? The thesaurus suggests: glimmering, shimmering, sparkling, blinking... cross-checking each of these in the dictionary shows they're all appropriate choices for describing the twinkle of a star. You can also read the sentence out loud to listen to the cadence... are there longer or shorter (yet appropriate) words you can use instead to make the sentence more lyrical? Improving your sentences in editing helps you learn to craft pretty sentences as you're writing them the first time.
I hope that helps!
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trans-axolotl · 6 months
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Image description: [Black text on lined paper. Text reads: Share your story with the Psych Survivor Archive. Hold the psychiatric system accountable for the violence and coercion we've survived. Make space for our anger. Grieve together. Celebrate our resistance. The Psych Survivor Archive is a forum for psych survivors to share about their experiences and be believed. You can share as much or as little as you want. Your story will be anonymously published on the website with writing from other psych survivors. The archive is open to anyone who identifies as a psych survivor, including people who survived inpatient hospitalization, rehab, troubled teen industry, partial hospitalization, outpatient programs, ABA, and any other form of coercion psych treatment. Check out the prompts, participant rights, and content guidelines. Share your story now: www.psychsurvivorarchive.com/submit-your-story]
Hey everyone. I wanted to share this here as well. The Psych Survivor Archive is looking for anyone who wants to share their story and have it anonymously published on the website, in order to create a collection of our experiences navigating the psych system. Your responses will be anonymous and can be as detailed or vague as you want. On the website, there are prompts, but you can feel free to share in whatever format makes sense to you.
This is a more informal way to participate in the Psych Survivor Archive if you are not interested in creating art for the zine, but still want your story to be heard and validated.
For me, it has felt very cathartic to write out my story, on my terms, in the way that I want to be known. I hope that the archive can offer that space to other psych survivors as well, and I can't wait to keep developing this project and offering even more. In the next couple weeks, submissions will open up for the second edition of the zine, so if you're interested in submitting creative art or writing keep an eye out!
love and solidarity always <3
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Wedding Dress Wednesday 👰
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This ca.1834 wedding dress from the V&A Collection has that quintessential 1830s silhouette. The shoulders are sloped, the skirt is voluminous and the sleeves are massive.
Description from the V&A website:
"Wedding dress consisting of a pelisse robe with large sleeves and bell shaped skirt. It is made of white muslin with self coloured cotton embroidery in a formal floral pattern. There is a bow of satin at ankle height, in the front of the skirt. The dress is lined with silk and fastens at the neck and waist with black metal hooks and eyes. There is an additional silk tying ribbon inside the waist."
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https://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O166833/wedding-dress-unknown/?carousel-image=2010EG1364
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katesimblr · 8 months
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Greeny collection
From me are only the recolors the meshes I didn't make; the credits are visible in the description of the respective object in the game. For most objects it is essential that you download the mesh, otherwise the recolor won't work.
Coffee table| 18 swatches |X | mesh: X
frame standing | 100 swatches |X | no mesh needed
loveseat| 11 swatches |X | mesh: no mesh needed
pillow 1| 37 swatches |X | mesh: X
pillow 2| 40 swatches |X | mesh: X
side bed table| 15 swatches |X | mesh: X
spiral stair medium| 20 swatches |X | mesh: X
spiral stair tall | 20 swatches |X | mesh: X
spiral stair top| 22 swatches |X | mesh: X
rug| 18 swatches |X | no mesh needed
runner| 14 swatches |X | no mesh needed
Check out more recolors or buildings here on my website katesimblr.com . If you use my recolors, please follow my T.O.U.
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Now that I'm finally home from work, I want to take 2 seconds to gush about my favorite writing books: The Writers Helping Writers series by Angela Ackerman and Becca Puglisi.
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I am so lazy when it comes to descriptions so these have been lifesavers.
I'll literally go through my WIP during editing to add little emotional tells, which adds SO MUCH and also prevents my characters from constantly shrugging, sighing, and eyerolling as they are wont to do.
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(two of my favorite pages lol)
Plus there are setting thesauruses! I love these so much because I am so bad at setting descriptions.
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Wanna traumatize a character? There's a thesaurus for that too.
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You can tell I'm an angst writer, can't you 😂
They also have a website with even more description inspo: thesaurus collection
Anyway, these are soooo good and incredibly handy and fun and I love them a lot XD
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burningvelvet · 4 months
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At the bookstore today I saw this new Mary Shelley game. It may seem like a cash-grab but honestly I think Mary herself would LOVE this. Mary's father William Godwin owned a children's bookstore which sold games as well. When they weren't writing some of the most acclaimed 18th century philosophy, he and his first wife Mary Wollstonecraft also wrote some childrens literature, and both focused heavily on youth education in their belief system. Later, Mary and Percy Shelley (both inspired by her parents, whom they idolized) also worked on childrens stories together and bonded over their mutual love for children, games, education, and imaginative play all around.
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The description reads thus: "Contained within these three volumes is a secret many have devated their entire lives to unearthing, and always in vain. It is a secret I would have taken with me to the grave, except that it is, in more ways than ane, our family's legacy, and thus rightfully belongs with you.
"You have just received 'The Shelley Volumes,' a collection of hollowed-out books left by Mary Shelley (author of Frankenstein) to her son, Florence. Inside you'll discover a trove of beautiful documents, 2D and 3D jigsaw puzzles, and other mysterious objects and artifacts. Solve Mary's puzzles and you'll be treated to a heartbreaking story that culminates in a shocking reimagining of the truth behind her famous novel."
From the website: "Mother of Frankenstein is a groundbreaking new game that combines the best of escape rooms, immersive theater, and prose fiction."
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reverie-starlight · 8 months
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{glasses- mammon x MC}
in which you and mammon spend time in the human world doing one of your least favourite activities- shopping for new frames.
I started this in february when I came to the realization that I needed new frames and an immediate feeling of dread set in. I hate frame shopping. but I love mammon. so this was born. also I shared a snippet of this forever ago, so here's the full thing.
gn!MC, no physical description other than wearing glasses and not liking contacts.
warnings: none, just 2.9k words of fluff!
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“Ugh,” you groaned mostly to yourself, but also to whoever wanted to respond, “why is shopping for glasses so difficult?”
You were doing some online shopping in the dining room as the others either played cards or worked on their own projects. Mammon, who was beside you, leaned over and scrolled through the options.
“Remind me why ya even need new ones? The frames ya have now are good aren’t they?”
You sighed. Since coming to the Devildom, you noticed that your vision seemed to be getting slightly worse. So you brought it up to Lucifer one day, explaining that you had to make a trip to the human world to get a new prescription and pick out some new frames. 
Devildom eye care didn’t exactly cater to humans just yet.
The appointment wasn’t for another few days but you wanted to get an idea of what you wanted so the pain and disappointment of standing around for hours looking for frames was lessened.
“I’ve had these frames for a few years now and I don’t want them to break with new lenses in them. It’s better to just get new frames and lenses so they last longer overall.”
“Oh, got it. So why don’t ya get something completely different? Shake it up a bit, try something new?”
“That’s like saying I should change my entire appearance,” you turned to face him. “For me, my glasses are a huge part of my self-image. I don’t wear contacts, I don’t like them, so making sure I have glasses that suit my face that I’m also confident in is a must.”
“Alright, I get that. Well can ya just get a new pair in the exact same style, then?”
You shook your head. “I already looked on that store’s website, they don’t make it in the colour I want anymore.”
“Huh, so it really is that difficult.”
You rolled your eyes but hummed in agreement anyway. 
“MC, why can’t you just get the lenses and put them into some frames you find here? I’m sure you’d find much nicer ones down here anyway!” Asmo suggested from his end of the table.
“That’s not how it works, Asmo, they have to do that with a machine and I doubt they’d just give MC loose lenses,” said Satan, looking up from his card game with Levi. 
“How odd,” he pondered for a second. “Well let me help you then! I bet I could help you find something that suits you better than what you have now!”
You gave him a look and he scoffed. “Oh please, I’m not saying what you have now is bad, I’m just saying with enough searching I could find something perfect for you!”
“That’s alright, Asmo, but thank you. I have a few options saved that I’d like to try already. I really don’t want to stray too far from what I have now.”
“Hmm, suit yourself,” he shrugged and went back to reading his magazine. 
You rolled your shoulders back and stretched your arms above your head. “I’m starting to get a stress headache so I’m going to my room for a bit. I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
A chorus of farewells sounded as you stood up and collected your things. You tilted your head, motioning for Mammon to follow you. He did so happily, getting up and trailing after you.
Once you were settled in your room, laying on your bed, lights off and window open to combat your headache, Mammon locked the door and gently pulled you on top of him as he laid down with you. He began gently rubbing your temples. You nuzzled into his touch and he smiled a bit. 
“Hey, MC,” he was careful not to speak too loud. 
“Mhm?”
“Do ya think ya could convince Lucifer to let me go to your appointment? I doubt he’d say yes if I asked.” 
You nodded the best you could in your position. “I already asked if you could come with me and he said it was fine. We just can’t tell the others ‘cause in his words ‘they’ll act up and cause problems’.” 
He huffed out a laugh and brought his hand down to stroke your cheek for a second. You whined and dragged his hand back up to your temple. “Oh, sorry,” he apologized, and then a couple minutes later he added, “He’s right, though.”
He didn’t get a response because you had already fallen asleep. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since you and Mammon had gotten a free pass out of classes for the day, you both basked in the warmth of your blankets for a bit longer after your usual alarm went off two days later.
Mammon groaned and stretched out a bit. “MC, why’d ya set your alarm so early? We don’t have to go to RAD today, let’s sleep in a bit longer.”
You smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning on getting up just yet,” you yawned. “I just wanted to set my alarm early so I don’t end up oversleeping.”
“Hmm alright. Well wake me up later, then.”
You tugged a strand of his hair and giggled when he yelped. “No way, pretty boy, if you fall asleep I’m gonna end up falling asleep too. Just stay awake with me.” 
He grumbled a bit but eventually sat up and stretched. “Fine, whatever. But ya owe me bigtime!”
“Mhm, whatever you say, Mammon.”
“I mean it!”
“I know, dear.”
“You’re messin’ with me.”
“I am, dear.” 
He growled and lunged for you, making you shriek. “Payment for making me get up early starts now,”
You laughed and let him roll on top of you. He looked up at you expectantly and you raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Does the mighty avatar of greed want something from me? Whatever could it be?”
“Watch it, MC, I’m in prime position to make ya regret teasin’ me if ya keep this up,” one of the hands wrapped around you moved up to trace over your sides and you squirmed a bit. Not really in the mood to get hyper so early in the morning, you gave in and continued playing with his hair. “That’s a good human.” 
You rolled your eyes affectionately and enjoyed the next few moments of peace before you really had to get up. 
An hour later the both of you were in the kitchen attempting to make some quick breakfast. 
To neither yours nor Mammon's surprise, Beel was digging through the fridge in his uniform. He glanced up and did a double take when he saw his brother. “Why aren’t you in uniform, Mammon? You’re going to be late if you don’t start leaving soon.” 
You shared a worried look. You hadn’t come up with an excuse yet for the off chance any of the others questioned him. 
“Uh, I’m not feelin’ great today, Beel.” He said unconvincingly.
He gave Mammon a once over and raised an eyebrow. “But you’re dressed.”
“Are the others gone already?” You cut in, trying to divert his attention. 
He nodded and didn’t push the previous subject any further. “I’m the last one here aside from Lucifer. The others left ten minutes ago.”
“You should get going then, I wouldn’t want you to be late!” You tossed him a bag of fruit and ushered him out of the kitchen before he could question anything else. On his way out, he wished you luck on your eye exam. 
Once he was gone you glanced at your boyfriend. “He’s going to tell the others and they’re going to race back here when they realize, so we should hurry.”
You pulled him out of the kitchen just as he was reaching for a slice of bread. “Wha- hey! MC, what about breakfast?”
“If we leave within the next ten minutes, we can get some food in the Human world before my appointment. Let’s go find Lucifer.”
You both walked out into the hall and immediately came to a halt. The eldest brother stared down at you with a raised eyebrow. “You were looking for me?”
“Yes! Beel saw Mammon out of uniform so I figured we only have a limited amount of time to get to the castle and into the portal before the others come back and insist on coming with us.”
Lucifer sighed and pinched his nose. “Alright, come along, then.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were thankful that Barbatos didn’t have you appear in the middle of a busy street, but the looks you got from strangers passing by as you and Mammon walked out of an alleyway with rumpled clothes and messed up hair really weren’t that much better. 
After smoothing out the evidence of your interdimensional travel methods and wandering around a bit, you were brought to the front of a quaint cafe. 
You checked your phone and saw that there was still time before you had to head to your appointment (you made sure that Barbatos opened a portal fairly close to the optician’s place for time and money’s sake). “We can get food here, Mammon, is that okay?”
He nodded and grinned. “Whatever ya want, babe, it’s on me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Do you have any currency from this country on you?”
He pursed his lips. “...ya have a point.”
You kissed his cheek. “Very sweet offer, though, my love, I appreciate it.”
“I’ll treat ya when we get back home,” he promised, standing up a little straighter and nodding once in assurance. You pretended not to notice the faint blush dusting his cheeks after receiving your affection.  
You took his hand and led him into the shop. 
When you were finished eating and enjoying some warm drinks, you made your way over to the clinic where your exam would take place. You walked in and glanced over at Mammon. “Have you ever been to a human eye doctor before?”
He shook his head. “Human medical exams aren’t really my scene when I’m up here, ya know?”
You shrugged. “I get that. But you've never been curious to see how they work or how they’re different from a Devildom eye exam?”
He scoffed. “That sorta thing is more up Satan’s alley, ya know how he is with that stuff.”
You laughed. “Yeah, I remember this one time during my first year in the Devildom, he kept asking me about a bunch of human world things he had read about. Wanted to know firsthand if they were true or not. I could barely keep up with all of his questions.”
He sighed fondly and shook his head a bit. “Sounds about right.”
You made sure you were checked in before taking a seat in the waiting room. A few minutes later, your name was called and you were both led to the tonometer.
“Okay, MC, we’re just going to have you rest your chin up on here and you’re going to feel a puff of air blow into one side.”
Mammon’s eyes widened. When the lady conducting the first test stepped out of the room for a second to grab something, he whispered “why do they need’a blow air into your eye?! Isn’t that dangerous?”
You snorted. “Calm down, it doesn’t hurt you. It just makes you flinch a bit and measures how much pressure your eye can take.”
“Oh, alright then.”
“Sorry for the wait, are you ready to begin?”
Once you got done with the tonometer and actually went through the process of seeing the eye doctor and doing the other standard eye tests, you were so over it. All of that just for them to tell you that your prescription had only changed a little over the past few years (which you supposed was a good thing, but it wasn’t making you too happy). 
After an hour of searching with no luck, you waited for an attendant to help you find a specific style you had bookmarked online. You leaned most of your bodyweight onto Mammon and sighed. 
“Alright, babe?” he asked you softly, running a hand over your back and holding you upright against him.  
You nodded into his neck. “Just done with all of this. I hate shopping for glasses.”
He hummed. “I know. But think about it this way- ya get it done today and then ya don’t have to worry about it for a long time.”
You shrugged and just let him sway you guys a bit as you waited. Having him here with you made the whole experience a bit more enjoyable at least, with how he would hype you up after every pair you tried on, even if you insisted you hated it. (“I have no clue what you’re talking about, babe, ya make everything look good!” he said one time, which was followed up with a giggle from the sales associate who clearly found you both adorable.)
You slowly pushed yourself off of him as the attendant returned, thankfully with a pair you actually didn’t hate. 
“So it looks like the ones you had bookmarked are currently out of stock, but these were the closest I could find to them! It’s the same make, just an earlier design.”
You smiled at her. “I think I actually like these ones a bit better than what I originally wanted, so that’s alright.”
She let you try them on and a wave of relief washed over you when they fit you perfectly and looked good, too. It was clear that you had found your new pair. 
Mammon grinned at you through the mirror. “Those look great, MC.”
You turned to the sales associate and told her you would be taking them, so she took them over to the front to hold them for you, along with a backup pair similar to your old ones you had chosen earlier.
Turning to Mammon, you released a breath of relief as she walked away, happy to have that over and done with. “That took forever.” 
He patted you on the head. “Yeah, but ya got it done and now you have a cool new pair of glasses that look great on ya!”
Ten minutes later, you were walking out of the store with a new burst of energy and a very confused demon boyfriend. 
“So we did all of that just to have to wait a week to actually get the glasses?!”
You laughed a bit. “Yeah, it takes time for the lenses to be fitted to the frames properly, and they probably have a lot of orders too. They don’t always have the equipment in the store, so they have to ship the frames somewhere else. I gave them my number so I’ll know when they’re done and I can just come back quickly to pick ‘em up.”
He shook his head. “I see why ya hate shopping for glasses so much.”
You took his hand and made your way down the street, headed towards a secluded area for Barbatos to open a portal back to the Devildom. He tugged on your hand for a second and stopped walking. “You don’t have to let them know we’re done just yet, right?”
A sly grin took over his face and you eyed him. “I guess not… why?”
“How would you feel about an impromptu date?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A couple hours later, you were walking through a portal with wide smiles and paint on your faces, bags in your hands and balloon hats on your heads. (Fine, maybe you had to pay for the date because of your boyfriend’s lack of human world currency, but you really didn’t mind- you brought some extra cash with you just in case, anyway. Plus? Carnivals are fun and cheap.)
Lucifer shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”
You snickered. “What? We had a day off and made the most of it.”
“You do realize the chaos you two have coming if you show up for dinner with all of that, don’t you? The others have already been whining all day about how they didn’t get to go with you, imagine if they find out you weren’t just at the eye doctor all day.”
You and Mammon shared a look. 
Lucifer sighed. “What am I going to do with the two of you? Come on, Asmo just texted to let me know dinner is almost done.” 
You thanked Barbatos for the portal and followed Lucifer back to the House of Lamentation. 
In the end, the others did whine and complain about how you should have picked one of them, and they definitely chewed out Mammon for hogging you all day, but ultimately you were so happy with how the day had turned out.
And you left out the part about having to go back the following week, instead spinning them some lie about how they would ship it to you, or that one of the maids from the castle would get them for you, ignoring Lucifer’s withering stare and sharing a knowing smile with Mammon.
You’d deal with the fallout later, you convinced yourself, because later that night, when you were laying in bed with him and giggling at all the silly pictures you two took, you couldn’t really find it within to scold yourself for lying. After all, you were fairly certain your experience would have been a repeat of all the times before without Mammon with you to make it more bearable.
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thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed <3
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twstedpometea · 1 year
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Ugigiugi and Tracing
Hello Twst Fandom! I’ve been silently paying attention to the drama around the Ugigiugi situation and wanted to add in something in regards into this topic.
I had to take some time to track down a particular comic, but I do have proof Ugigiugi has traced from another artist i followed on Pixiv. Bear in mind this artist also posted their art collection a month before Ugigiugi made one of her comics. I’ll be sourcing the Pixiv comic below and showing the panels that obviously have a been traced.
https:// www. pixiv.net/en/ artworks/84516818 by 村上. Date of mini comic is September 21, 2020.
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As you can see I pulled Ugigiugi’s and the Pixiv’s comic panels to show where the tracing is. The believe this all speaks for itself.
As an artist myself I’m going to state this very bluntly. You should not be copying/tracing someone else's drawings/comics for your own art. This goes for everyone. Older or younger; or even if they post on other social media websites. Tracing and posting things you originally didn’t create shows a level of dishonesty within the community. I checked Ugigiugi’s Pixiv account out of curiosity and a lot of her traced art isn’t hosted there. I can only hypothesize either it was once hosted on Pixiv at a point (possibly reported/taken off???), or she never posted on that website because she’s probably copied from artists there and didn’t want to get in trouble yet went ahead and posted to other social media sites for attention. (  T_T) It should go without saying that Ugigiugi appears to a chronic tracer. I have checked her DA posts and other SM posts but she has never given any artist notes on her submissions about admitting to using references, bases or even if people have “inspired” her with proper links on her traced art submissions. She just submits stuff with little description. There no shame in admitting you use references, game references or even doll bases or use tracing for the sake of learning (and only learning); that being said, giving your resources proper credit is necessary if your going to be using someones else resource for your drawing. But, it’s pretty clear Ugigiugi isn’t looking to even be an honest fanartist. Some of the artist that she has traced appear to be Japanese or of a different country and they may not have a Tumblr/Twitter/DeviantArt or enjoy interacting outside their local language websites. They might not even know their stuff is being traced which us why I am going to go ahead and link two more posts with fanart tracing for references. These posts are made by @crowstales​​ on the subject of Ugigiugi https: //www.tumblr.com/crowstales/709186361712869376/this-is-a-call-to-attention-to-ugigiugi Part 1 https: //www.tumblr.com/crowstales/709555007152963584/this-is-a-call-to-attention-to-ugigiugi-part2 Part 2 Please keep in mind I am also taking the same rule as Crowtales stated. Don't harass the artist but don't continue to support her content! If you can find the original artists she’s copied from on other art peices and can send some form of notification to let them know Ugigiugi traced them. Giving the amount of evidence that keeps showing up it’s pretty concerning how much she’s stolen and it brings to question if any of her art is legit or if it is mostly traced or pure resources that she won’t credit.   (<x<’  )  I haven’t even seen her acknowledge all of this tracing or make a public statement either. It also begs the question of if she’s just going to continue to trace things, and if so; who else’s stuff is going to be traced next? Either way, if people continue to find more evidence or find the artist she’s copied please be mindful enough to help the original artists and not tolerate tracers or any type of plagiarism within the fandom space. Thank you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End note: At this time I am aware Ugigiugi has “left” Tumblr/deleted some stuff and has locked her twitter account. However, she still has everything she’s posted on her DA so she hasn’t stopped submitting copied artwork or hosting her older copied art. Make sure if you know someone or recognize an artist she’s traced please let the original artist know so they can properly report the art wherever else she’s posting her traced art. -TwstedPomeTea
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Actually y'know, while I'm at this - didn't wanna make that anon's innocent ask all about this, but please ninja turtle fandom, do NOT take the 2003 tmnt Fandom.com wiki as gospel. Most of the information there is questionable at best and I am still not over hummerhouse, who's written like hundreds of tcest fics, being a moderator there. I suspect with how long they in particular have been around that there's just, a whole older generation where tcest was a lot more tolerated and seen as normal, and, you know, personally I'd like to find out about cool extra stuff about a show I like from people who don't ship siblings together. So, question the sources, check things for yourself.
Here's where else you can go look for stuff! (gonna write out the links in case Tumblr fucks up so you can just copy paste them for yourselves <3)
🐢 Peter Laird's blog! (https://peterlairdstmntblog.blogspot.com) Plus, specifically all the blog posts about 03! (https://peterlairdstmntblog.blogspot.com/search/label/TMNT%204Kids%20TV%20show)
🐢 The Technodrome Forums (http://forums.thetechnodrome.com) - an internet forum for discussion about all the iterations, but also stuff like roleplaying :D It might seem old-fashioned but at least you get to ask around for anything you might need.
🐢 @tmntkiseki here on tumblr! Collecting a metric fuckton of character sheets, vehicle sheets, concept art, gadget art, and background art. Bonus - everything very neatly organized in their pinned post!
🐢 Similarly we also have @tmntbackgrounds (I think that's just 03?), and @tmnt-background-screenshots (more than just 03, more than just backgrounds)!
Anyways this got a bit long and I realized that the older iterations' fandoms don't have many reliable sources of info (although I am forever frickin grateful for the character sheet and background blogs at least) so anybody is free to reblog this with resources or leave them on this post in comments or reblog this onto their own info-collecting blogs. Just uh, y'know, remember to cite your sources and don't be a stickler about randomass character information. As far as I can tell the newer iterations - '12 and Rise and MM - don't have this big of a problem with a lack of sources, but I'm not that active in those sides of the fandom, so feel free to add on with other iterations as well if you want to!
immediate edit: a strategy wiki page for the 03 game! (https://strategywiki.org/wiki/Teenage_Mutant_Ninja_Turtles_(2003))
another edit: you can also, of course, find the whole 03 series on youtube!
yet another edit: thank you Human for a Kiddle link (https://kids.kiddle.co/Teenage_Mutant_Ninja_Turtles_(2003_TV_series)) about the 03 show, the descriptions are p brief but the website does get into all the other iterations as well so it's great for comparison!
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fruitcoops · 6 months
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Opening your page always reminds me of Jules- and we haven't seen him in a while!! Can he come back in one of your fics soon ?
Jules <3 Always a legend, always beloved here. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, Hattie belongs to me, and the cinnamon roll recipe is lifted directly from this video by Claire Saffitz on the NYT channel! Bon appetit!
“Hello MTV, and welcome to my crib.” Remus paused, then turned to Julian. “Do you understand that reference?”
“No.”
“That’s so depressing. Why are you so young?”
“Why are you so old?”
Remus wrinkled his nose and turned back to the camera. “Welcome to a new installment of Lion Pride’s baking series. I’m Remus Lupin, and I’m here today with my little brother to make everyone’s favorite breakfast food—”
“Pancakes.”
“—cinnamon rolls.” Remus frowned down at where his brother was kneeling on a stool and rocking gently back and forth. “You knew that. We practiced.”
Julian arched a brow at him. “My favorite breakfast food isn’t cinnamon rolls.”
“Not everything is about you.” A light poke to his forehead made Julian stick his tongue out. Remus stifled a smile. “You ready?”
“To eat a spoonful of icing? Duh.”
“We’ll get there eventually.” Remus pulled a large ceramic bowl from the collection of dishware to his left; the pattern was faded around the rim from years of use, but the bowl itself was shiny and clearly cared-for. “Alright,” he began. “I’m not a huge baker, but Jules and I grew up with Saturday cinnamon rolls, so this is a bit of a family recipe. Someone is probably going to type it up for you guys since my handwriting is iffy—”
“Literally unreadable,” Julian coughed.
“Shut up. The recipe will be somewhere on the Lion Pride website, or linked in the description below. In the meantime, we’re going to do a step-by-step demonstration for anyone who would like to try this at home. Milk?”
Julian passed the half-gallon over before looking to the camera. “This recipe is also going to be on our mom’s Instagram, if you look up ‘baking with Hope’. All one word, no caps.”
Remus snorted as he measured the milk into a pan waiting on the stovetop. “Nice. Love the shameless plug.”
“I made a bet with Dad that she’d have more followers than you by the end of the year.”
“Of course you did.” Remus shook his head, but it was more fond than anything. “We’re measuring a cup of milk into a pot on the stove, and then we’re going to warm it up until there are tiny bubbles on the sides.”
“That’s called a simmer, for anyone watching,” Julian informed the camera.
“It’s called bubbles, for the rest of us plebians.”
“What’s a plebian?”
“You.” Remus took a whisk from a small bowl on the side and stirred gently. “Timing for this step kind of depends on your stove, so just keep an eye out and make sure it doesn’t burn. We’re going to keep the milk at the small bubble stage—”
“Simmering.”
“—for….a minute? Ish?” He shrugged. “Until it steams. Then we’ll turn the heat off and measure out a third of a cup.”
Julian pushed his elbows onto the countertop, leaning over to watch. “You should tell the people we’re doing this at night.”
“What? Oh, yeah, this is an overnight thing. It’s currently…” Remus squinted to something off-screen. “Just before eight in the evening. We’re going to let the dough rest overnight, then finish in the morning.”
“We’re staying over for the P-L-A-Y-O-F-F’s,” Julian said. They reached down to knock on the cabinets in unison with near-identical grins.
“We deserve some cinnamon rolls.”
“Hell yeah.”
“Ew, don’t swear on camera.”
“That’s not swearing.”
Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a threatening shake of the whisk. “If you drop a swear word right now, I’m hitting you with this. That’s a promise.”
“You’re the one that taught me all the swear words!”
“So not true.” Remus stirred the milk once more, tapping the whisk gently on the side of the pot. “Dad is responsible for at least half. Okay, this has been bubbling for a little while, so I’m going to turn the heat off and pour about a third of a cup into the bowl over here. Then Jules is going to add some flour to the main pot and give it a stir.”
Julian took the whisk from him with unbridled glee and dumped the flour in; Remus held the pot handle for him while he mixed, still leaning on the countertop to adjust for height. “It’s getting thicker,” Julian noted with a glance at the camera. “It’s kinda like…paste? Or Nutella.”
Remus’ mouth twitched with a smile. “Nutella is a paste.”
“Nutella is a butter.”
“It’s literally hazelnut and chocolate paste.”
“Butter is just milk paste.”
“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Remus laughed. “God. Okay. Once your milk and flour looks thick like this, you’re going to add it to the big bowl with the other milk in it and add some cold water so your rolls aren’t messed up.”
“That was so scientific,” Julian said dryly.
“This is a lot of criticism from a kid that doesn’t even like cinnamon rolls.”
“I like them. They’re just not my favorite.”
“Then you’re lame, and I don’t want to hear it.” Remus clapped his hands on either side of the bowl and looked into the lens. “Wow, this is going to take forever. I’m not a baker. Bear with me. We’re adding three eggs to the bowl and whisking that, which I’m going to do because I don’t trust people under the age of twelve with raw egg.”
Julian narrowed his eyes. “I’m coming back here in three days and cracking very egg you own.”
Remus smiled. “Happy almost-birthday. Anyway, the bowl is mostly cool now, so we’re going to add all that flour in here—yep, thanks, bud—and then a half-packet of yeast so it gets fluffy.”
“Why isn’t Sirius doing this? He’s better at baking than you are.”
“Wow.”
“He is!”
“You’re not getting a single bite of this frosting.”
“Don’t hide from the truth.”
Remus shook his head at the camera. “This was supposed to be a cute family bonding video. I’m going to mix this now, because apparently I suck at any kind of baking more complicated than that.”
“I didn’t say that, I just asked why Sirius isn’t doing the stuff he likes doing.”
Remus turned the hand-mixer to a lower, quieter setting and rested his hip against the edge of the counter. “How often does Sirius voluntarily get in front of a camera?”
Julian inhaled, then faltered with a grimace. “Hmm. Yeah. Never mind. He’s still better at it than you are.”
“You’re still not getting frosting.” Remus clicked the mixer a notch higher. “We’re keeping this at a pretty low setting so the dough stays soft, and we’re only going to let it run until the dough is one big lump. Now that that’s together, we’re turning the mixer off and covering the bowl with a towel for about five minutes while we get our sugar, salt, and softened butter ready.”
The camera cut briefly; when it returned, Julian was scraping fine crystals off the countertop into a towel Remus was holding over the edge. “Slight problem,” Julian said through a laugh. “Uh, we got a little bit excited about the sugar.”
“Oh, god, it’s getting all over the floor—” Remus straightened slightly and whistled. “Hattie! Treats!”
The house was silent for a moment before the sound of skittering paws reached the camera. Both Remus and Julian broke into wide grins, and Julian dusted his hands onto the floor so he could reach down and pet the pointed ears just barely visible over the counter edge. “Hi, baby,” he cooed, leaning over until he was mostly out of frame. “Aw, little vacuum cleaner. Is sugar bad for dogs?”
“She has eaten so much worse.” The inky tip of Hattie’s tail was the happiest metronome in the world while Remus dumped a small container of salt and sugar into the dough. “We’re going to blend this until the dough gets stretchy instead of lumpy, still on low speed, and—hi, honey, I don’t have anything in my pockets. I promise. No, you can’t eat my keys. There’s definitely still some stuff on the floor for you, though.”
A black nose appeared by Julian’s knee and he giggled as it wandered down the side of his pants, honing in on each pocket. Hattie sneezed when she reached his sock and gave the hem of his pantleg a light nibble. Julian beamed up at Remus. “Can I bring her home with me?”
“If you steal my dog, I’m donating you to Goodwill. Okay, this is going to go for about twenty minutes and they’re definitely going to speed that up in editing, so here’s the rundown: mix this for 20 minutes, add your butter in tablespoon chunks, mix it until the dough is soft, then let it sit on your counter for an hour before putting it in the fridge.”
“Why don’t we just put it right in the fridge?”
“Because the yeast would die.”
Julian’s eyes went wide. “Yeast is alive?”
--
The kitchen was much brighter when the video returned—the new camera angle allowed sunlight to stream in through the side window unhindered, as well as giving an unobstructed view of Hattie on the floor by Remus’ slipper-clad feet. Her yawn squeaked, pink tongue lolling, but her full attention was fixed on the activity above.
“It’s about eight in the morning now, hence the pajamas,” Remus informed the camera. “I took the dough out of the fridge about ten minutes ago, and you can see it’s close to doubled in size.”
Julian gave the bowl a mournful look. The cowlick on the side of his head matched Remus’ with frightening accuracy. “How long is this going to take?”
“You can go back to sleep once it goes in the oven. We’re going to do the filling right now, though.” Remus held a hand out; Julian passed him a crinkly plastic cracker sleeve. “These are airplane cookies. Or biscotti, or whatever the fancy name is. They have cinnamon roll spices in them because I’m too lazy to track down all the individual bottles from the spice cabinet this early. You can probably find them in the recipe. I don’t know. You can crush them in a food processor if you want to wake up your entire family, or you can just use a rolling pin.”
Remus set the sleeve of cookies on the countertop and handed over the rolling pin—one half-started “wait” and an enormous THUD later, both of them were frozen, staring at the ruptured end of the plastic sleeve where shards of cinnamon cookie had burst forth.
“Oops,” Julian whispered.
“Or,” Remus began. “You can give your little brother a rolling pin and kill two birds with one stone.”
“…my bad.”
Remus glanced at the ceiling. They were silent for a handful of seconds. “Honestly, dude, I don’t think anyone noticed.”
Julian muffled a laugh in the crook of his elbow and Remus turned away for a moment to compose himself, filling the kitchen with quiet snickering as Hattie cleaned up the few crumbs that had fallen onto the floor by her paws. Finally, Julian picked up the rolling pin and began gingerly crushing the rest of the cookies. “I’m gonna keep going until it’s kinda powdery, I think.”
“Good plan.” Remus shot a quick, small smile at the camera while he watched Julian work, brow creasing with the effort. “We’ve got a stick and a half of soft butter here when you’re ready.”
It didn’t take long; Julian carefully poured the crushed cookie into a bowl and folded the butter through with a faintly rainbow-tinted spatula. Remus took a pan from the ever-shrinking pile of dishes beside them and lined it with parchment paper, ripping the edges so they would fold nicely in the corners.
“Kay.” Julian tilted his head at the filling and nodded. “It’s smooth.”
“Sick. Scootch over, I’ll roll this out.” Remus tossed a small handful of flour onto the countertop before dumping the dough out, dropping a playful elbow to Julian’s side. “Ope, sorry.”
“You’re so mean to me.”
“Whatever. We’re going to make this into a rectangle so it’s easier, and it should be fine for rolling because it was in the fridge all night. I’m going to flatten this until it’ll fit in the pan. It’ll be…an inch thick? Half an inch, maybe? And then Jules, you’re gonna spread the filling over it.”
Julian frowned. “We’re cooking it flat?”
“What? Why would we do that?”
“You said it should be the length of the pan.”
“Yeah, so that all the pieces will fit.”
“Oh. That makes more sense.”
“We’re not making cinnamon pita.”
Julian tipped his head back and forth. “Doesn’t sound bad, actually.”
“You’re eleven, you’re basically a garbage disposal.”
“I’m basically twelve.”
“Three days.”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”
Despite the back-and-forth, Julian tucked himself close to Remus’ side while Remus rolled the dough into an even rectangle, and spread the filling across it with intense focus. “Leave a little space on the sides to roll it up,” Remus suggested gently. Julian’s tongue poked out at the corner as he scraped the edge clean and gave a last sweep with the spatula before leaning away.
“Good?”
“Perfect.” Remus loosened the edge closest to him and began to roll it up with steady, methodical hands. “You want to go slow with this part, or else it won’t spiral. And once we get it to the end here, we’re going make sure it’s all nice and even before cutting. Uh, I’m using unflavored dental floss right now because that’s what I have, but you can use string or whatever. If you use a knife, you might squish the inside and get a wonky shape.”
“Dad uses fishing line.”
“Mhmm.” Their concentrated frowns matched while Remus slid the floss beneath the roll and wrapped it around, allowing the floss to slice cleanly through the dough. Julian buried a yawn in Remus’ shoulder and gave a slow, sleepy blink. Once the rolls were cut, they filled the parchment-lined pan to the edges. Remus cracked his knuckles and looked up at the camera. “We’re going to take a quick breakfast break while these double in size, and I’ll put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 15 minutes after that. We’ll see you for the frosting!”
“Your TV voice is weird.”
“Your TV voice is weird,” Remus mimicked, prodding him until Julian hopped off his stool with a laugh. “Go eat your Cheerios.”
The video sped through their break—Remus collected a few items from the fridge and returned to the counter to mix a handful of ingredients into a bowl. The pan steamed, the coffeepot bubbled, and Hattie waited dutifully by his side for her allotted bits of ham, hand-fed alongside a few Cheerios from Julian. The rolls went in and came out without a fuss as Remus finished the scramble and smiled to someone off-screen.
“Frosting,” he announced when the video returned to normal speed. “Super easy. Cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla. Mix it up, then add a stick of butter, because this recipe is delicious and also personally clogs your arteries. Jules, touch the rolls for me.”
“Why?”
“To check if they’re cooled down.”
“But they might be hot.”
“Right, which is why I’m making you do it.”
Julian scrunched his nose at him, but gave the rolls a tentative poke. “They’re fine.”
“Sweet.” Remus tugged the pan to the middle of their workspace and scooped a lump of frosting into the center. Overall, it kept its shape as he slathered it to each edge and corner. Julian gave an expectant look; Remus paused, but scraped the last bits off the sides of the bowl and handed the laden spatula to him with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “Don’t tell mom.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jules said around a mouthful of thick sugar.
Remus pushed the rolls toward the camera with a smile that dimpled one cheek. “That’s all for today, folks. Hope you enjoyed making cinnamon rolls with us, or at least enjoyed seeing the real star of the show—”
“Me.”
“—Hattie. Make sure to tune in for our home game in Gryff tomorrow night!"
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cuties-in-codices · 4 months
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Where do you find these manuscripts? Is it like a website or do you find it randomly??
hey, thanks for the curiosity! lenghty answer below the cut :)
1)
medieval manuscripts are typically owned by libraries and showcased on the library's websites. so one thing i do is i randomly browse those digitized manuscript collections (like the collections of the bavarian state library or the bodleian libraries, to name just two), which everybody can do for free without any special access. some digital collections provide more useful tools than others (like search functions, filters, annotations on each manuscript). if they don't, the process of wading through numerous non-illustrated manuscripts before i find an illustrated one at all can be quite tedious.
2)
there are databases which help to navigate the vast sea of manuscripts. the one i couldn't live without personally use the most is called KdIH (Katalog der deutschsprachigen illustrierten Handschriften des Mittelalters). it's a project which aims to list all illustrated medieval manuscripts written in german dialects. the KdIH provides descriptions of the contents of each manuscript (with a focus on the illustrations), and if there's a digital reproduction of a manuscript available anywhere, the KdIH usually links to it. the KdIH is an invaluable tool for me because of its focus on illustrated manuscripts, because of the informations it provides for each manuscript, and because of its useful search function (once you've gotten over the initial confusion of how to navigate the website). the downside is that it includes only german manuscripts, which is one of the main reasons for the over-representation of german manuscripts on my blog (sorry about that).
3)
another important database for german manuscripts in general (i.e. not just illustrated ones) is the handschriftencensus, which catalogues information regarding the entirety of german language manuscripts of the middle ages, and also links to the digital reproductions of each manuscript.
4)
then there are simply considerable snowball effects. if you do even just superficial research on any medieval topic at all (say, if you open the wikipedia article on alchemy), you will inevitably stumble upon mentions of specific illustrated manuscripts. the next step is to simply search for a digital copy of the manuscript in question (this part can sometimes be easier said than done, especially when you're coming from wikipedia). one thing to keep in mind is that a manuscript illustration seldom comes alone - so every hint to any illustration at all is a greatly valuable one (if you do what i do lol). there's always gonna be something interesting in any given illustrated manuscript. (sidenote: one very effective 'cheat code' would be to simply go through all manuscripts that other online hobbyist archivers of manuscript illustrations have gone through before - like @discardingimages on tumblr - but some kind of 'professional pride' detains me from doing so. that's just a kind of stubbornness though. like, i want to find my material more or less on my own, not just the images but also the manuscripts, and i apply arbitrary rules to my search as to what exactly that means.)
5)
whatever tool or strategy i use to find specific illustrated manuscripts-- in the end, one unavoidable step is to actually manually skim through the (digitized) manuscript. i usually have at least a quick look at every single illustrated page, and i download or screenshot everything that is interesting to me. this process can take up to an hour per manuscript.
---
in conclusion, i'd say that finding cool illuminated manuscripts is much simpler than i would have thought before i started this blog. there are so many of them out there and they're basically just 'hidden in plain side', it's really astounding. finding the manuscripts doesn't require special skills, just some basic experience with/knowledge of the tools available. the reason i'm able to post interesting images almost daily is just that i spend a lot of time doing all of this, going through manuscripts, curating this blog, etc. i find a lot of comfort in it, i learn a lot along the way, and i immensely enjoy people's engagement with my posts. so that's that :)
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