Foolish Mortals Kink Meme!

[grimgrinningghosts]

 
(Stolen from DRRP's Kink Meme)

HERE'S SOME GUIDELINES/RULES:
1. All requests- smut, fluff, gen or otherwise (alternate murders, anyone?)- are welcome so long as it's about Foolish Mortals.
2. Fic and art fills are all good.
3. This is for all rounds of Foolish Mortals. Intermingled cast requests ("what if so-so and so-so from this and that round met?") are acceptable. (Even though there's only the Mock Trial and one Round so far)
4. Staying anon is fun but not required
5. There's going to be enough dicks to go around we don't need you to be one too.
6. Use proper trigger/content warnings for sensitive and/or offensive subjects, just like you would in FM proper.
7. This is a judge free zone, however, we only ask that you be mindful of character ages, esp. in regards to the younger characters.
8. If you do not want your character to be involved with the smut or things that make you uncomfortable please contact us. This is ultimately just for fun and we would hate for it to become upsetting for anyone.
9. Respect player wishes if they ask to not have their character be in smut or anything out of their comfort zone.

Comments

surely a prompt that deserves two fills

[(Anonymous)]

There was the acrid scent of wood smoke, charred flesh, and a man's cheap cologne-- of the three, the first two he'd grown accustomed to, quite easily. The third still made him cringe, then falter, then fall.

"They do barbeque a bit different back in Lafrans, don't they?" The man chuckled and leaned forward from his perch on a broken pew, lighting a cigar with the flames of the green witch's pyre. She was still alive, it seemed; though her screams had turned to fainter groans, she had not gone as silent as her sisters. He did not seem perturbed. "Always preferred hickory myself; gives the meat a nice, smoky flavor."

"This isn't for consumption," he said, trying to keep the haughtiness in his voice. "This is for salvation."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Mon Père." He took a long drag from the cigar, blowing holes of smoke that dark shadows playfully danced through, and leered at him. "Not that you'll be doin' much sleeping tonight, will you?"

He's never been a strong man. A good man? Perhaps. A righteous man? Certainly. But, never strong. Not on his own, at least; only with the guidance of the Divine could he find the courage to continue his mission. And it seemed that there was only one true way to commune with Him.

The weekly purgings of the unworthy were trying on his spirit, leaving him tired and doubting. He had tried almost everything to cure it-- prayer, fasting, mortification of the flesh-- but nothing worked, nothing seemed to work as well as this particular ritual.

He fell to his knees in front of the broken pew, head bowed as if in prayer, hands pressed firmly against the ash-coated floor. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he said, the words as easy and comforting as breathing. "It has been five days since my last confession.

"Three, actually," said the man above him airily, and he grimaced. Surely that hadn't counted... He felt something hard and cold nudge his chin, and found his face being lifted upward.

"Come, M'sieur Frollo," he said, the other foot finding his way to his shoulder, a thin ankle wrapped around his neck, pulling him forward. "Come find your repentance."