The Sintember writing challenge is an annual event taking place in September! As you may have guessed, the focal point of the event is stories about sin. We provide a prompt for each day of September, and any participants are welcome to share the darkest fantasies their minds can conjure from them!
During September, we will do our best to post each story posted for the challenge to this blog, whether through reblogging posts in the #sintember 2025 tag, or through the story being submitted (please do not send your stories to the askbox, as you cannot place a readmore in an ask) to this blog itself! We will also accept posts made after September ends, but they may take longer to be posted.
This blog is moderated by @anxious-mess19 and @monstrousparalysis.
Important Notes!
1- This event is firmly pro-kink, anti-censorship, and anti-harassment. Anybody found to be harassing others, or advocating for censorship of fiction of any kind, is in violation of the challenge's guidelines and will be blocked.
2- Posts are assumed to be fair game to reblog unless explicitly stated otherwise. If you would prefer for your piece to stay anonymous, you may post it to the AO3 collection anonymously, or include that it is anonymous in the title of your submission to the blog so we can post it directly.
3- To make sure your contribution is spotted and shared, please @ this blog when posting! (and use the tag #sintember 2025)
Some (Hopefully) Mobile Friendly Links
Content Warning System
Old Prompts & Collections
Sintember 2025 Prompts
Sintember 2025 Ao3 Collection
Rebloggable Advertisement
Guidelines under the cut!
Contribution Guidelines
All submissions must follow the content warning system. If you are posting/submitting a link from Ao3, the site’s tagging system can serve as your warning. We recommend that you include these warnings in the text of the post itself, before the story.
Though this challenge is primarily focused on writing, drawn submissions are permitted. However, please place them underneath a read more, with the proper content warnings above, so that we can reblog them safely for all followers.
Any fics longer than 500 words should also be placed under a read more, as a courtesy to the dashboards of all of this blog's followers.
Anonymous contributions are possible through sending asks so we can make a post of that story ourselves, or through marking your submission to indicate that you would like it to be anonymous. As well, you can always make an anonymous sideblog to post your stories to if needed.
Though this is a 30-day challenge, you are more than allowed to pace yourself! Skip days, start writing early, or post late! All we want to see is creativity flowing!
The cut-off date for when we will stop accepting posts will be July 1st, 2026, in order to focus and plan for the next year.
Don't worry too much about timezones! Post your works whenever is comfortable to you, for your time zone. We will be using UTC time in the case we ever need to schedule a post to a specific time.
Etiquette Guidelines
Be polite when interacting with fellow participants. Please remember the important fandom rules of "Don't Like; Don't Read" and "Your Kink Is Not My Kink, And That's Okay"!
Read the content warnings if you intend to look at other people’s posts, and understand that they may include topics which are upsetting to you.
Hate directed at this blog, or participants, will not be answered and will result in a block. Threats of actual harm or other extreme harassment will also be reported to the appropriate authorities. If you receive any harassment from a named blog related to this challenge, please send us a screenshot or a link so we can block them from this blog.
If you want to make sure we've seen your post, you can always send in an ask to check!
Contributions are run on the honor system, and we will not be vetting all of them. If you find content that violates our guidelines, please let us know.
Content Guidelines
In short: if you can put it on Ao3, you can submit it to this challenge (so: all fiction is welcome!)
You can write both fan content and original content. All characters and themes are allowed!
Submissions should adhere to the theme of sin and darkness, but they do not have to all be sexual or gory.
There are no regulations on wordcount or prose! Go wild, experiment!
You are allowed to submit fics you have already written in the past, but we would prefer that each story only be posted to the challenge once (stories about multiple prompts are more than allowed, but will only be posted once)
The prompts, and the blurbs that go with them, are meant to prompt your creativity, not limit it. So long as you can link the story to the prompt in your mind, you’re still following it. That being said, if you don’t like a day’s prompt, feel free to just skip it as well!
A wild lesbian space archaeologist meets a "liberator" of artifacts... and chaos ensues
Hello everyone! This post, which overrides my previously pinned post, highlights my recent teen and up fic, published today, entitled "Meeting a Fellow Treasurer-Hunter: Aphra's Encounter with Phee, Mayhem, and the Pabu Crisis." It is a short one-shot. Here's the characters featured:
Chelli Lona Aphra
Susina
Chelli Lona Aphra
Phee Genoa
CT-9902 | Tech
0-0-0
BT-1
Omega
CT-9901 | Hunter
CT-21-0408 | CT-1409 | Echo
CT-9903 | Wrecker
Magna Tolvan
To read the fic, see the link below. I hope you all like it!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Phee goes to a planet in search of an artifact to complete the museum/archive in Pabu. She soon comes across a woman with questionable morals, along with cutting humor, fast talk, and developed talents. These allow her to reactivate old items, which she either wants to turn into weapons or sell for her own profit. Coming across this woman not only changes Phee's life, but that of all those who live on Pabu, with chaos soon to follow...
Warnings:
Kidnapping
Injection/needles
Violence (from laser bolts)
Some of the key tags include:
Sintember 2025
Crack Crossover
Queer Themes
Treasure Hunting
Pabu Island (Star Wars)
The Archium (Star Wars)
Blasters (Star Wars)
Artifacts
Mentioned Sana Starros
Truth Serum
Galactic Empire (Star Wars)
Star Wars Galactic Empire Era
Interrogation
Robots
Tattoos
Useless Lesbians
Theft
Exes
Disaster Lesbians
LGBTQ Themes
Canon Lesbian Character
Past Relationship(s)
Tricksters
One Shot
Destruction of Kamino
Chaos
Moral Ambiguity
Moral Bankruptcy
Killer Robots
be gay do crime
My author's note:
There's been a *lot* of fics with Phee, but none bring together both of them. I was inspired to write this after seeing the official Star Wars Databank calls Aphra one of the most "daring treasurer hunters" in the galaxy (she is also said to be "endlessly inventive and completely unpredictable...[and a] rogue archaeologist [who] studied at the University of Bar'leth where she received her doctorate under duress” and notes she goes on misadventures, and ends by saying that "despite questionable morals and equally bad judgment, her luck hasn’t run out yet") while saying that Phee is a "treasure hunter and adventure-seeker with an eye for priceless artifacts” who sees herself as a "liberator of ancient wonders rather than a pirate" and is a friend of Omega, and the Bad Batch, even "developing a special affinity for Tech" while becoming a "trusted ally and friend to the squad." I thought about it, and this fic falls into the "Outcast", "Mistake" and "I love you" prompts for @sintember, here, and *possibly* "True Freedom" in some ways.
Thumping bass carries me away from the party, out out of the building into the yard. I can't process their laughter and the music is getting worse since they've changed DJs half an hour ago. Better stay away until the mood changes. There's something else in the air anyways, a subtle prickling tension that never bodes well. Outside I've got a chance to sort through my thoughts.
The bench I end up dropping down on is made from rough pallets, and from what I can see in the dark someone's puked next to it. It's dried up now. Must have happened near the beginning of the rave, two days ago – or three? Time means nothing anymore in here. Not a good sign, maybe that's what I've been sensing. Reminds me too much of the 430-vortex. That place is still going, last I heard. Fucking cursed spot. Are we next?
Still, some relatively fresh air and a bit of rest is helping. Beyond the chainlink fence is another industrial factory, bigger than our building. No idea if it's active, but its lights blink red against the dull city night and I'm high, entranced by the streaks and tracers produced when I'm moving my head. Still slightly hooked on the beat coming out from the building, even if the DJ is shit. Some highs are more insidious than others.
No one else is in the yard so it's just my luck when a few of my housemates appear at the fence. For some reason it's usually me doing door-duties. If it wasn't for Jack's smug fucking face I wouldn't even mind. Funny how squatters never seem to have a choice who they live with. I lock the gate behind them and someone calls back: "Better wait up, Joe is still coming." My mood lifts but so does my sense of doom. Wish I wasn't so high right now, overstimulation trying to punch through my defenses. Time to lie back down on the bench and wait for the world to stop glitching.
It's a desolate night, I can feel it clearly now. The laughter inside the building scares me, like some carnival of torture. But Joe is coming home, and that might turn my night around. Focusing on all the images of him in my mind makes the high almost bearable. But then I've come to associate "being high" with "fucking Joe" as well, so I'm not sure which memories are pulling the bigger weight. I can almost feel his touch on my skin, adrift in sensation.
A rattling of the fence snaps me out of my fantasies.
"Sol, open up."
It's Joe alright. Tired and bent as he looks most days when coming back from the streets. Makes me wanna hold him and stroke his beautiful hair and coddle him but fuck, that'd never work. I'd be all awkward and ruin the moment. And yet the sentiment clings to me like cobwebs.
I say nothing and practically roll off the bench to slink towards the gate. Walking shouldn't be this difficult. Now that I have to focus on moving and doing things the drugs become irritating again. No choice but to ride it out.
At the gate I'm fumbling with the mechanism and Joe seems lost in thought. When I finally get the lock open it feels like hours have passed but it probably was only a couple of seconds. Joe walks in and gives me a tired smile. "Alright?"
"Haha, no." It comes out like a reflex and I'm suddenly glad to be struggling while closing the gate. That way at least I can hide my face. Still don't know how to unmask, not even with a handsome fella I've been to bed with who's also my friend. Someone I trust, is what I'm trying to say. My ability to process situations like that is virtually nonexistent. Thoughts turn mechanical rather than honest. What am I thinking? Nobody knows.
But Joe gets it and he's squeezing my shoulder before making slowly across the yard, waiting for me to catch up. He knows I love watching his ass as well. Maybe I'm secretly pretending he's showing off on purpose. Most likely he's simply tired.
We're almost at the entrance of the squat when something beyond the fence catches our attention. At first I'm not sure if it's actually happening, but then there's unmistakable movement and noise. Whoever's pulling up outside is fast, precise, and potentially dangerous.
"What the fuck. Joe–" My thoughts are overlapping and intersecting and racing towards an inevitable end. Are we getting evicted this soon already? We've barely held the building two weeks, fuck. No court notice though, but then this doesn't seem to be bailiffs. Private security, most likely. They give me the creeps, they're acting all military. Never seen anything like it. I'm trying not to panic.
We're sort of frozen for another second or two until what's gathering outside is stepping into the light and they're wearing body armour and holy shit is that weapons? What the fuck. What the fuck, I think there's cameras on there, too. We're done for. I'm losing my sense of reality again, getting stuck.
Joe breaks the moment first, hurrying into the building to warn people, and to try and get his stuff. I watch for a couple more seconds until one of them gets out bolt cutters to snip through the fence, then I get moving. It's chaos inside already. Couple people lying on the floor off their heads, others clustered together arguing about how to get out. Joe trying to get to his room on the upper deck but tonight someone broke off the ladder so it's become inaccessible.
I'm struggling to gather my thoughts, dissociating into trance. My head hurts. Some of the guests around me are worse off though, still pretending they're safe at a rave. Neither they nor I know how to handle an actual raid.
Focus now, I'm telling myself. I've been taught to use a trance state to my advantage, but the threat of weapons and cameras is messing me up. Not just fear, but anger. Something's brewing inside my body, and it isn't ready yet, but the upcoming outbreak feels as sharp and blinding as a lightning strike.
I've lost track of where Joe is and focusing on the storm in my chest blurs everything else around me. A couple screams ring through the air as the people with guns enter the building. They're here to intimidate, not kill. Makes me fear the worst for some reason, but the concern is far off and distant. No one resists as we're being rounded up like cattle in a cage. I get the vague impression that being on camera is scarier to folks around me than the threat of being shot. One danger more real than the other to middle-class druggo-ravers raised on Hollywood violence.
I manage to keep my power words inside as they're herding us into the yard. A huge hole has been cut into the fence, and there's a bus pulled up in the street. Somewhere ahead of me is Joe, I glimpse his red hair very briefly. They're bundling us inside the bus and some people are starting to ask questions, but there's zero replies.
Once I sit down I manage to ground myself a bit. It's still somewhat difficult to gather clear thoughts, but I'm starting to process my environment. Joe is sitting a few rows behind me on the other side of the aisle. He's on a call to someone trying to pull favours. Others around me are unresponsive and scared. No one's sat next to me, possibly because in my dissociation I tend to look pretty crazy. And then there's one guy, a friend of a friend or whatever, who's got his phone out with the flash on and … he's filming what's happening. Pointing the camera left and right and commenting as if this was some sort of video game livestream.
That guy couldn't be more sinister if he tried. I could vomit. Then he turns around to face me and the tension inside me boils over into rage. I reach across the aisle and knock the phone out of his hand with way more violence than necessary. It hits the floor and cracks, tiny splinters glittering on the floor. The sound breaks through everyone's low conversations and shuffling noises. I've caused another shockwave. Who cares at this point. All I'm trying to do is not scream.
There's blood pounding through my ears as I descend deeper into trance. I'm curled into myself pressed against the window, eyes unfocused, trying not to lose touch with my environment. It takes a while for the silence to slink back into hiding. I feel utterly alone.
As I'm struggling with my mind there's someone sliding into the empty seat next to me. I can tell it's Joe so I start to relax. Then a memory hits me with the strength of a physical assault. This one is so painfully clear it'll probably never leave me for as long as I'm alive. I've replayed it before, and it hurts.
Addiction was blurring my consciousness back then. I don't remember if I was high at the time or not. Most likely on a comedown. I'd had an argument with someone in the squat. Who with? No clue, unimportant. I was standing in Joe's room, trying to explain myself. Wasn't even fully listening to myself – couldn't focus that well, scared and lost. Desperate.
In the middle of the conversation Joe grabbed my shoulders, and I felt time slow down, mind going into overdrive. Hadn't been able to process the conversation anyways. I'd been expecting blame but Joe was being kind.
Then the glitch happened. "Solomon, you know I will never, never–" my brain burnt out into short-circuit, fake memories from hell, schoolyard laughter. I heard Joe say "–send you away when you're upset" and felt my world crash into unreality. Going back upstairs to my room felt like fleeing a crime scene. That split-second between the two fragments of Joe's sentence wasn't real. What I had heard made absolutely no sense, with or without context. It was like hearing a line from a parallel universe, inserting the words "be there for you when you need me" before the actual end of the sentence.
We've come a long way since that day but the drugs are hitting just as hard now. Joe's pulling me over so I can lean into his side with his arm around my shoulders. The tears come out immediately and I'm back in the present, exhausted and nonverbal.
"Solomon…" Joe trails off, not sure how to help. We haven't figured that part of our friendship out yet. There's so much warmth in the sound of his voice though, it seems unbearably intimate. It turns me on. It makes me want to stop losing my mind.
My words come out dry and croaky when I'm trying to speak. "It's too many voices. It's too much." I'm not even sure if he heard me but he's really close, he must have heard it. I can feel him pressing a small kiss against my head. His grip tightens a bit. It feels nice. Something's changing.
"I can make them go quiet," he says. There's a tension between us then, an edge to his words, designed to cut through my confusion without destroying my mind. A promise of a temporary break from pain, something to focus on. I have no idea how to reply but I manage to nod.
Joe slides his arm down my body so it rests low on my waist. His other hand comes up and turns my head so he can press our lips together. We don't kiss much when we're together. The shock makes the world fade away for a second. I want to sob with relief.
Soon his hand moves down to my neck and his tongue eats away whatever voices are fucking with my thoughts. The static calm inside my skull is just like when he's stopping my breath in bed. I feel like everybody is watching but I bet in reality no one is. If anyone was pointing a camera at me now I would kill them.
I grasp for Joe's hand and move it to my chest so he can feel my heart beating strong and alive, the way it never does for anyone else. My skin tingles with the promise of an approaching tempest. Lightning and thunder, out of reach when I panic but close by when I trance, slowly gathering their powers to crystallize a spell inside my head. I'm almost there, thin fibres of thinking reaching out for Joe's mind. And then the connection hits.
I'll get us out of here
okay
keep kissing. I love you
I love you too
ready?
yes.
CRACK. A heavy jolt hits the bus as the driver hits something on the street that was miraculously hidden by the dark. People scream, suddenly there's guns pointing everywhere. Then everything is quiet.
I open my eyes and Joe's face is right in front of mine. He's looking stunned but relieved so I guess my teleportation spell worked. Bit by bit I'm becoming aware of where we are. It'll take a few more minutes to gather my consciousness, retrieve my mind from where it's gotten caught up with the invisible realm. The danger is over though. Joe's arms holding me together so I won't fall completely apart. I start feeling my breath. The place we're in is unlike anything I could ever have made in my mind. We've reached a place of rest.
---
Day 1. Lights, camera, action! The spotlight can be its own prison, harder to escape than any other. But who doesn't want to be remembered forever? Chin up, baby! Let's make you a star!
Welcomes deviants and perverts of all kinds, to Sintember 2025!
Today marks the day of our month of sin! So just to remind you, here are the prompts and the guidelines to abide by!
From today we look forward to seeing all of your submissions! Just as a reminder, if you miss a day, no worries! Completing all prompts is not mandatory, nor is doing them in order or during a certain timeframe!
All submission made through using the #sintember2025 tag, by subbitting or @ us at this blog will be reblogged eagerly.
Do the prompts need to be seen from a religious POV since the theme is "sins"?
Hello there!
Religious themes are, of course, welcome, but none of the prompts require any kind of religious imagery, setting or tone. The theme of the blog is more for aesthetic purpose then anything else! We are here to explore and enjoy that which is taboo, and often constructed as sinful.
Thank you for the question, we're eager to see your contributions to the event if you choose to join us!
Due to the change in hands and time constraints, 8 of the 30 prompts have been chosen from the lists of previous years to be Legacy prompts, similar to Throwback Thursdays from last year. Next year, we will likely do only original prompts, but we do hope you enjoy our selection! Plain text and flavor text for all prompts is below the cut!
Lights, camera, action! - The spotlight can be its own prison, harder to escape than any other. But who doesn't want to be remembered forever? Chin up, baby! Let's make you a star!
Hunger - A fact of nature. Sometimes predatory, sometimes pleading. Leave it unfulfilled for too long, and you won't survive...
Mistake - Will the wrong choice be your last?
"Is that supposed to happen?" - The curiosity of a naïve victim, or the herald of a professional's bone-chilling error? Either way, I have a feeling I know the answer to their question.
Up close and personal - Nice and intimate. Too intimate, perhaps. Ever heard of personal space?
Not again - Legacy Saturday: You thought it was done, it was over. You survived, you moved on. And yet the horror continues.
"Why won't you stay dead?" - Legacy Sunday: It keeps coming back to this, again and again and again.
Prayer - Sometimes, it's the only thing a person can do. Especially if they'll be on their knees either way.
Masquerade - It could be the name of a fancy ball, but masks are useful for so much more. What lies behind them?
"Leave me alone." - Everybody needs their space.
Blood is thicker than water - And yet, it tastes much worse on your tongue.
Outcast - It's freeing to live outside society's rules, but loneliness is a poison. Careful to walk the tightrope.
The other side - Legacy Saturday: What lies in the mirror, another dimension, even after death?
"I love you" - Legacy Sunday: I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.
Amnesia - Those blank spaces where memories should be leave plenty of room for imagination to run wild.
Guilty pleasures - We all have to indulge ourselves from time to time.
Keep an eye out - Be watchful, be weary, use your sight to avoid the sight of others. Or perhaps you prefer a far more literal meaning.
Heart - It beats and it beats and it beats at its cage.
"Three's a crowd." - One person too many. Will they interrupt the moment, or embrace it?
The more, the merrier - Legacy Saturday: Group work can be fun, I swear.
Taboo - Legacy Sunday: Polite, civilised people don’t do these sorts of things. But some choose not to care.
No place like home - The longing for a time and place, strong enough to make you sick.
Nobody - My god, I'm so lonely, so I open the window to hear sounds of people— ahem. I mean: if you fall in a forest, do you make a sound?
"Till death do us part." - Only one thing can separate us. Between my presence and everything's absence, what will you choose?
Collared and leashed - Heel. Sit. Beg. Roll over. Good pet.
Immaturity - Is it true innocence, or just the illusion of it?
Philia - Legacy Saturday: Got a kink or a paraphilia? Is there never enough content for it? You know what to do.
Disgust - Legacy Sunday: Things that slither and ooze, the constant decay of the earth beneath your feet. The things that make us sick, so we turn our heads and do our best to forget.
False hope - What a unique form of torture, to always be reaching towards something that isn't there, chasing the shadows on the cave walls.
True Freedom - Exactly what it says on the box. Careful how you use it.
Hey, I think someone out of the mods might be accidentally reblogging stuff to here while meaning to put it on the personal blog. Apologies if everything is as intended.
Yes, that's me (Monstrum). Apologies, I'm very unused to having a sideblog and I use the quick reblog function far too often. I will be executed at the town square at high noon tomorrow for my grave breaches of professionalism, but until then, sincerest apologies for the errors! ^^
Welcome, deviants, freaks, and all manner of artists, to Sintember! For one glorious month, we embrace our darkest, dirtiest, and most dreadful desires, through the marvelous medium of the written word. No topic is too taboo, no fantasy too freaky!
We have 30 prompts, picked for your creative pleasure, lined up for you to let your inspiration go wild with. Throughout Sintember, we will share and spread the work of all our fellow freaks who wish to join in the festivities, to an audience hopefully eager to appreciate this artistry!
Our guidelines are simple, and we even have collections from previous years of sin prepared for your perusal if you find yourself too excited to wait (but don't spoil your appetite yet!)
So, if you have an interest in the insane, the immoral, and the uncensored, please consider joining us, whether through spectation or participation, and spreading the word of this challenge to others!
Greetings, I am interested in joining Sintember. Whenever I write stories currently, it's filth porn for myself. I will probably not be doing that for Sintember. Point is, I don't really post any of my more taboo writings online. Do you perhaps know what kind of stuff I can get away with posting on Tumblr, and which kind of stuff I'd need to post elsewhere, and if so where? Thanks in advance.
Hello!
We're delighted to hear your interest in joining our indulgence!
Tumblr as a site tends to have alot more issue with images then written content, and from experience you are highly unlikely to have any issues with content as long as it's not mass reported. So possibly consider the risk of maintagging a work, if you are writing for a particularly hostile fandom.
For sites elsewhere, if it is fanfiction which you are seeking to contribute, then A03 is the perfect site. We even have a collection there, where you can find all sintember stories, from all years!
As for original fiction, that one's a bit more complicated. You may either create a Wordpress account, or your own site to host it, as to best avoid censorship from parent companies, or harassment from fellow site-users.
Hope this was helpful, we are eager to see your contributions!
Due to the change in hands and time constraints, 8 of the 30 prompts have been chosen from the lists of previous years to be Legacy prompts, similar to Throwback Thursdays from last year. Next year, we will likely do only original prompts, but we do hope you enjoy our selection! Plain text and flavor text for all prompts is below the cut!
Lights, camera, action! - The spotlight can be its own prison, harder to escape than any other. But who doesn't want to be remembered forever? Chin up, baby! Let's make you a star!
Hunger - A fact of nature. Sometimes predatory, sometimes pleading. Leave it unfulfilled for too long, and you won't survive...
Mistake - Will the wrong choice be your last?
"Is that supposed to happen?" - The curiosity of a naïve victim, or the herald of a professional's bone-chilling error? Either way, I have a feeling I know the answer to their question.
Up close and personal - Nice and intimate. Too intimate, perhaps. Ever heard of personal space?
Not again - Legacy Saturday: You thought it was done, it was over. You survived, you moved on. And yet the horror continues.
"Why won't you stay dead?" - Legacy Sunday: It keeps coming back to this, again and again and again.
Prayer - Sometimes, it's the only thing a person can do. Especially if they'll be on their knees either way.
Masquerade - It could be the name of a fancy ball, but masks are useful for so much more. What lies behind them?
"Leave me alone." - Everybody needs their space.
Blood is thicker than water - And yet, it tastes much worse on your tongue.
Outcast - It's freeing to live outside society's rules, but loneliness is a poison. Careful to walk the tightrope.
The other side - Legacy Saturday: What lies in the mirror, another dimension, even after death?
"I love you" - Legacy Sunday: I do, I do, I do, I do, I do.
Amnesia - Those blank spaces where memories should be leave plenty of room for imagination to run wild.
Guilty pleasures - We all have to indulge ourselves from time to time.
Keep an eye out - Be watchful, be weary, use your sight to avoid the sight of others. Or perhaps you prefer a far more literal meaning.
Heart - It beats and it beats and it beats at its cage.
"Three's a crowd." - One person too many. Will they interrupt the moment, or embrace it?
The more, the merrier - Legacy Saturday: Group work can be fun, I swear.
Taboo - Legacy Sunday: Polite, civilised people don’t do these sorts of things. But some choose not to care.
No place like home - The longing for a time and place, strong enough to make you sick.
Nobody - My god, I'm so lonely, so I open the window to hear sounds of people— ahem. I mean: if you fall in a forest, do you make a sound?
"Till death do us part." - Only one thing can separate us. Between my presence and everything's absence, what will you choose?
Collared and leashed - Heel. Sit. Beg. Roll over. Good pet.
Immaturity - Is it true innocence, or just the illusion of it?
Philia - Legacy Saturday: Got a kink or a paraphilia? Is there never enough content for it? You know what to do.
Disgust - Legacy Sunday: Things that slither and ooze, the constant decay of the earth beneath your feet. The things that make us sick, so we turn our heads and do our best to forget.
False hope - What a unique form of torture, to always be reaching towards something that isn't there, chasing the shadows on the cave walls.
True Freedom - Exactly what it says on the box. Careful how you use it.
Sintember is officially still on for 2025! With censorship on the rise, we felt it was more important than ever to keep an event dedicated to sinfulness and freedom of fiction alive!
Greetings from your new mods, Mod Anxiety ( @anxious-mess19, any neopronouns) and Mod Monstrum ( @monstrousparalysis, it/its). We thank the original mod, ( @sin-weaver), for creating and running an event that's brought us so much joy, and we hope to bring you something just as gloriously indulgent!
We'll be making minor changes in the next few days to update the blog's information, and the prompt list for this year will be out this Friday, August 1st!
So, if you please, come and join us for a month of creativity and immorality: Sintember 2025!
We're winding up towards September once again but it is becoming increasingly clear that I simply do not have the capacity to run Sintember again this year.
It's all personal life and disability related, nothing to do with the challenge itself, so I won't go into detail about all that.
If anyone feels like they would be willing and able to take up the mantle, please get in contact with me to discuss it. This is a sideblog, so it is entirely possible for me to hand it over to someone else to keep the challenge alive.*
Or, if anyone wants to run a similar challenge on their own, or know of ones that already exist, you have my full support. Let me know and I can reblog some posts to give shoutouts and all that.
*Note that I will be vetting anyone who wants to take charge of this blog/challenge to try and be as sure as I can that it doesn't get grabbed by someone random or like, antis.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Vainglorious Ventriloquy
Alastor hates Valentino. He hates all men who use women. Those were the men he killed in life. He takes pleasure in killing them in Hell too. But Vox adores him. Vox lets Valentino hurt him like people have already hurt him.
Valentino has no idea why the Radio Demon is interesting. He didn’t mentor Vox very well. They fought all the time and then became enemies. Is Vox actually trying to kill Alastor? Val is starting to think he isn't.
Vox has many secrets, but here are two. One isn’t kept well, because it seems like everyone but Val knows he is in love with Val. But the other? He and Alastor are not enemies. This is the show they put on for an avid audience.
...and then Alastor vanished.
Prologue: Validity
At Alastor's return, Vox remembers how he and Alastor first met. The road after is wild and long.
Written for @sintember’s Day 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, and 30 prompts: Pick a Side, “You came back?”, You weren’t supposed to enjoy that…, Tragic Backstory, Ownership, It’s just business, Revenge, Magnum Opus, Obsession, Too good to be true, Cultivation, and True Freedom.
Apologies for a late post but i got briefly isekai'd by the mental health truck
In any case, another year of sintember has passed! I think this may also be the first year where I've had something to reblog every single day of the month! Massive thank you to everyone who wrote for the challenge, it makes me so happy to see people enjoying my silly little writing challenge <3
A reminder for all, although the month is over I will continue to keep an eye out for and reblog/post submissions through till next July or so, I know it's difficult to keep up with a daily writing challenge for a whole month - I sure haven't managed it yet, lol
And feel free to just use any of my prompts whenever you like, whether you tag me or not, all the previous ones can be found in the pinned post on this blog~
Pleasures In Freedom - Anne Neville/Margaret Of Anjou
A/N: Day 30 for @sintember , a bonus fic.
“Oh…”
Anne’s back arches as she finds her release again against Margaret, her breathing catching at the way Margaret looks at her, barely hiding her laugh when Margaret kisses her fiercely, her breathing hitching a little as she sinks into Margaret’s kiss.
She’s never felt freedom like this, true freedom. She’s always had to be delicate, pretty, small and well mannered. Now, here, she’s encouraged to be wild, be free, be passionate. She’s quiet as she brushes a curl of auburn hair from Margaret’s face, then leans to kiss her again, her voice soft.
“If you had told me, my Queen, that I might find true freedom with you, I would never have believed…”
“Well, we did rather lie to your father, dear one.”
Margaret smiles, then, when Anne shifts a little, barely stifles her moan.
“Mmm, wicked girl…”
“You love me wicked…”
Anne’s voice is teasing even as she shifts against Margaret, letting their bodies meet easily, her breathing hitching as she kisses Margaret again, grinding into her with open need.
“You make me wicked, Margaret…. We have so few hours to be so free.”
She’s rewarded of course, Margaret rolls her over and presses over her with a fierce pace, her gasps and moans rewarded with firm kisses pressed to her neck and chest, her body shaking under Margaret as she finds pleasure over and over, her fingers tangling into the same auburn hair she had pushed from Margaret’s face, tugging just a little, her voice husky with want.
“Don’t stop, Margaret, please.”
“Never, my love.”
Margaret means it, Anne thinks. She will always be free to want and be wanted.
Cynthia’s wrists healed weeks ago, her rested wrists are still tender sometimes but she’s starting to play with less sadness and so much more conviction. There’s a quiet beauty to it, Nina thinks watching Cynthia’s solo.
Cynthia is truly free, her smile bright when the solo is finished, her bow neat, pretty, delicate, all the things she needs to be to appease her orchestra and maestro and the manager, but Nina knows they will not be so gentle tonight.
Cynthia runs to her after the show, not caring she’s supposed to wait for Gloria, not caring that sponsors are watching as their lips meet, firm, passionate, tender, flooded with the joy she feels at finally, finally, being pain free,
