#air-ful

[skz-haven]

© Stray Kids Japan

[rykno-j]

Reschedule (H/elluva B/oss)

Happy Birthday @selfindulgentsuffering!!

tada! This is for you, thanks for getting me into this show, and I hope i did alright.

ship: s/tolas x b/litz (i forgot the ship name)

s/tolitz?

disclaimer: they might be out of character since, well, i dont really know how to write dialogue but fuck it! am i right? also theres a true lack of snz in the fic, apologies for that, plot took over.

word count: 2k

---------------------------

"Pick the fuck up, you dick obsessed piece of shit-!" Blitz hurled his phone onto the ground, shattering it in the process. Seriously, this was like the fourth? Fifth? Sixth? time he broke one and it was always (mostly) due to that shitty bird.

It's not like he expected a whole reception for his monthly visit to the mansion to return the book, but it was unlike Stolas to just straight up ignore him for the past couple of days.

Not that he.. cared or anything like that, fuck no.

Well whatever, he might as well start scaling the walls if he planned to reach the bedroom anytime soon, an endeavor which would have been much easier if he wasn't lugging the huge book around.

Finally reaching the balcony, Blitz took a quick look around to check for security before ramming straight into the tainted glass windows.

What the fuck? Since when did he lock his doors? Stolas practically didn't care about his own safety, always shitting around and expecting someone to save his ass, it was annoying, really.

Tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. "STOLAS, BEFORE I BREAK THIS FUCKING SHIT DOWN YOU BETTER-"

"..Blitzy?"

To his left, Stolas peeked his head out of the ajar door. In silence, Blitz looked towards the window he was pounding, then at the door, then back at the window again.

"Oh so you still don't lock your doors." (completely ignoring the fact he tried opening a fixed window)

Inviting the imp into his room, Stolas returned to the edge of his bed, curling up in his sleeping robes. He was unsure why Blitz had come to visit, he was sure the full moon was not here for at least a few more nights.

"What? I got a stain on my shirt? Whyya looking at me like that?"

"Hm? Oh I was just wondering what you're doing here Blitzyy, breaking into my bedroom of all places especially-"

"Are you fucking serious Stolas? I'm here to return your damn book."

"O-Oh its that time of the month already?" Fuck he had been asleep longer than he thought.

"Yeah yeah poor you," Blitz mumbled, shoving the book back into its designated hole in the shelf. He then hopped off, starting the action of unbuttoning his shirt while walking towards the bed.

"Blitzy dear, what are you doing~?"

"Seriously, Stolas. Is this confusion act another one of your bird kinks? ..Eh you know what? You do whatever you want, I'm just here to do whatever I need to."

As Blitz advanced towards him, Stolas started back crawling deeper into the sheets, tripping over his robes in the process, leaving him pinned under the other's shadow.

"I uh, this might not be the best time Blizty, you see uh- well, Octavia is home tonight and I would hate to wake her up with, uh, well, sex sounds."

"Oh I can keep you quiet alright, just you watch."

"Oh! No, please! I could, well, we should, reschedule this, r-really. You see, I'm not really, uh, in the mood right now." Stolas forced out a smile, trying his best to ignore the little pulse of pain in his head.

"You serious? I lubed up and shit for this!" Blitz groaned, rolling his eyes as Stolas feebly struggled against his hold. "What's with all these fallen feathers anyway," he gestured towards the mass of fluffies all over the bed. "Been sleeping with someone else?"

"Oh Heavens no."

"Masturbating, then?"

"Oh never! Not when I have a glorious imp dick such as y'hh! yours!" With a sudden burst of strength, Stolas pushed Blitz's weight off of him, rolling to the side to stand. "But seriously Blitzy, you should go."

"I didn't come all this way just to be turned down by-"

"hih-'tshh! 'tcshh!"

"some-"

"ng'tshH!"

"cock hungry-"

"snff- ungh"

"Hey uh, you okay there?" Blitz asked, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. Normally, he wouldn't have got so far in his speech before Stolas would completely take over, ramping up the horniness to the maximum before pulling his pants down.

"Just f-fine darling~" Stolas laughed in response, though his voice sounded strained to say the least.

"Hmm.." Blitz scurried up behind the other, pulling on his arm when he won't look his way. "Nah you're hiding something. No horny remark, no dirty talk of how much you want to be dicked, something is wrong here, Stolas. You held at gun point or something?" Blitz climbed up the bedframe to reach Stolas' eyelevel. "Need me to off someone for you?"

"Noo, oh no, of course not! Just-"

"Just?"

"I've just been, well.. feeling a little unwell, that's all."

"Oh that's all?" Blitz hopped off the bed pole. "Gotcha, I'll get my guys at I.M.P to send over another care package to you. How was the last one we sent? Good enough?"

"It was.. brilliant. The fork really.. helped. Uh, soo Blizty? Could we discuss a reschedule of this.. thing?" It hadn't occurred to Stolas that moving their fuck-date to another night would mean the other takes his leave now.

"Hm? Yeah of course, but what's there to discuss? I'll come down a few days later to pick up the book and fuck you. Sounds good? Great, alright. I'll uh, see you then."

Before Blitz could take even a single step towards the balcony, a thin hand reached out to stop him.

"W-Wait!"

"What?"

"Oh! Uh, sorry." Stolas released his grip, brushing his hand awkwardly on his robe. His body had acted subconsciously. He had not meant to do that. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to stay over for the niii-dinner! Dinner. Well I've not had dinner yet, so whaddayousay?"

"Fine."

"Oh please Blitzy, it would- wait. What did you say?"

"I said fine. Now, can you actually cook or are we just going to eat cereal again?"

-

And so cereal for dinner it was, if you could even call it dinner. To Blitz, it was more akin to watching Stolas struggle and fail to stay awake every 30 seconds. His head feathers (hair?) was a mess, puffing out in several angles that could normally only be achieved after a night of rough sex.

"S-Stolas look. If you wanna go to bed, you can just go."

"But I've been doing nothing but sleep for the past few dayys Blitzy, I wna spend time awake with youu."

"You're being fucking weird." Blitz stood, picking Stolas up with minimal effort. "Look, I came here to fuck you and that's it. I'm not your dinner date or your playmate, okay?"

"I know.." But truly, it was unsure at all if the bird was really listening or not. "I've just been so lon- and I just wanted to hav- around to make me fee-" the ruffle of the blanket drowned out Stolas' mumbles as Blitz deposited him back in bed. And to think the owl was actually older than him.

"Blitzy, would you stay the night?"

"I thought you wanted to reschedule?"

"Yes but well.." Stolas shyly thumbs the blanket between his fingers, "we don't have to have sex."

"Then what's the point?"

"..."

Receiving no reply, Blitz made his way to the balcony, hopping onto the railing and preparing a quick jump down. Despite himself, he casts a quick glance back at the owl, brows furrowing as he watches Stolas turn to his side, the blankets curling around him into a small tight ball.

Ugh fuck.

As Stolas miserably tried to fall back to sleep, he suddenly felt a dip in the mattress as if something of substantial weight was placed on it. Tilting his head a little to check what it was, he could barely contain the squeak of delight when his eyes landed on Blitz.

"Yeah yeah, don't get your feathery ass in a twist, I'll stay for the night, whatever, no biggie." Blitz flipped over to face the window. "It's not like I have anything else to do. M&M are sleeping, the book is with you, and Loona is not going to appreciate me coming home this early when I specifically told her I'd be gone for the night."

"Thank you, Blitzy."

"Mhm, you're welcome." Ignoring the fact that Stolas' eyes were staring holes into the back of his head, Blitz closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and tried to fall asleep.

-

"hh' hih!- nhh~"

Stolas pulled the blanket over his beak, trying to muffle out the little sniffles he was forced to make. Dammit, the excessive sleep was making his head woozy, yet he was still somehow too tired to get up and do things.

Looking over at Blitz, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to pull the little imp under his covers into a hug. But Blitz was already going out of his way to stay here, so Stolas cuddled into his blankets instead.

"hH! ..hih'nngchiew! ..sorry."

This was bad. Stolas knew, (more so than anyone else, of course), that his sneezes came in fits, itchy ones that didn't want to stop the moment they started. Usually, this little tidbit of his was nothing more than an inconvenience, something that he dealt with by himself at home, with the occasional help of a feather.

But now, oh how could fate do him like this, Blitz was in the room. More so than simply 'in the room', at that, for he was a mere inches away, within cuddle's grasp.

Stolas groaned, beating his fists lightly against the mattress in annoyance, causing a small bundle of feathers to fly up. It's definitely a sight to behold. Normally, someone would come by his chambers to sweep up the feathers. But since he had put a strict 'no entry' order on his bedroom since 3 days ago..

"hiH' atchhw!!"

..One of them was unfortunate enough to land directly on the tip of his beak.

"Bless you."

"Oh-!" Stolas jolts up. "I thought you were already asleep my dear."

"How could I, when you're beathing behind me like a broken vacuum cleaner someone mistook for a fleshlight so they're shoving it down their dicks wondering why there's so much blood everywhere after they cum."

"That's- oddly specific."

"Yeah well, it happens to the best of us. My point is, sigh, if you need to sneeze, you should just do it. No need to make yourself suffer more than necessary."

"Yes, but it's impolite, and-"

"I've licked feathers off your asshole before, so don't come to me talking about this whole impolite shit."

"Well, yes Blitzy, but this is different!"

"Oh yeah?" Blitz's voice held a challenging tone. "And why's that? You know, I've read somewhere before that sneezing and getting off gives that similar rush of pleasure."

"From one of my books, perhaps?"

"Ah great, so you've read the same one."

"I suppose I have, but Blitzy-"

"SooO, maybe we won't have to reschedule after all."

"Whatever do you mea- ah-!" Before he could process what had happened, Stolas felt someone flip him over onto his back. Blinking, he watched as Blitz straddled him, expecting the weight of the imp to settle on his ribcage, the same way it would whenever he was being bondaged for sex.

But it never came.

It later occurred to Stolas that Blitz was putting his weight onto his own knees rather than sitting on him. Whether on accident or on purpose in attempt to look out for him, a light blush dusted the owl's cheeks.

He was thankful that imps can't see in the dark.

-

'Let's get started, shall we?"

"S-Started with what, Blitzyy?"

Tired of answering his stupid questions, Blitz reached for a feather in the dark. Once he found one, he held it between his fingers, lifting it up to barely above Stolas' nose.

"With this." Letting go, Blitz shot out both his hands to Stolas' wrists, pinning them against the mattress as the feather slowly glided down.

Tilting his head to avoid the feather proved futile as Blitz's tail whipped out from behind him to hold it in place.

"B-Blitzy.. hh'! I- need myhH'! -hands bhhH'-ack n-now.."

"Not unless ya-"

"hihh! -gssht!" The sneeze caused Stolas to curl in onto himself, his thighs bumping into Blitz, making him loose his balance and fall onto the owls' chest.

Arms finally free, Stolas lifts one to his beak, sniffling softly.

"S'hh-orry darling~ It's just- hH'! hih'Ngxtt-w! ..ow-" Stolas flips onto his side, Blitz still against his chest. "It appears my nose is rather painful."

"Yeah no shit, with the way you've been treating it." Blitz pokes Stolas' chest fur accusingly. "Ever heard of a tissue?" When he was replied with silence, Blitz rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket to look for some. "Here you fucking g-"

"..hHt' zzscht-iw!!" Stolas sniffled into his wrist, laughing softly as he felt Blitz jolt up in shock. "I'm sorry dear, that one snuck up on me."

"Don't worry about it, it's not like I've never been covered in your bodily fluids before." Blitz shrugged, handing the other a pocket tissue he happened to have on his person. "Here."

"..Blitzyy~ why are you handing me a condom? You know I don't have a d-"

"Oh. Shit, wrong thing. That one's for me, was for me, for tonight."

"Mm, right, right. I'm sorry that you had to come all this way for nothing Blitzy. You know what? How about you keep the book for the whole of next month hm? Save yourself the trouble of coming down?"

"Right. But you know, I actually don't quite mind the trouble." He watches in annoyance as Stolas does nothing more than press the tissue to his beak. "Ever heard of blowing?"

"Oh my Blitzy~ right now?"

"What the-? Oh fuck you! Not everything is about sex you perverted bird!"

"Well yes," Stolas went silent, and for a moment Blitz thought he was going to sneeze again. "But I am glad you're here, Blitzy, even if- especially, when we're not having sex."

"Right, keep saying that and I might start to believe it's true."

"But it is true. I love you Blitzy~"

"That fever's making you talk crazy." Blitz sighed, pressing his palm against Stolas' forehead, ignoring how the other leaned into him. "Just- rest, okay? Get better soon so I don't have to send that stupid care package, shit takes money you know?"

"Mm, whatever you say Blitzy." Stolas pulled the other in and under the covers, tucking his chin between Blitz's horns with a soft croon.

And Blitz, despite himself, didn't try to struggle free. Even with their monthly rendezvous, the pair rarely cuddled. This was different, it was nice, even if Stolas was warm, (hot), and delusional from his fever.

Imps are immune to fire after all.

And of course, the care package still arrives the next day.

-end-

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Notes: if anyone's wondering, i'd place this fic (in terms of in-universe timeline), somewhere where blitz and stolas are still in pretense

Thank you all so much for reading!

(and for my very special friend, happy birthday!) heres to waiting for hh s2 and for stolas and blitz to break up!

[watchmegetobsessed]

UNOFFICIAL

A/N: i know, it's still not the 3rd part of one summer BUT at least it's something new! it is also based on a dream i had about my work crush lol

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: You and Harry are in a temporary phase of bein unofficial, but you don't mind it, especially the tiny moments you share when no one is looking.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The pub is buzzing as always, the atmosphere is lively, warm, loud but not too much, most of the tables are occupied by the same usual people, glasses, ful, half full and empty are scattered all over every surface. The bartenders are working relentlessly behind the bar, one drink after the other lands on the counter.  It’s not exactly the hottest spot in town, but there’s a core circle that knows and loves the personality of this place and it brings them back every week.

Your group is part of those people, you’ve been spending Friday nights here for as long as you’ve been working at the university, which has been for over two years now. You were fresh out of your PHD studies, very excited to start teaching as a professor finally and who you are lucky enough to call your friends now welcomed you at the school with open arms. 

Sarah was the first one you connected with, women in STEM have a deep, instant bond, especially in a male dominant field such as physics. She invited you out for lunch on your first day and introduced you to the rest of the group. Mitch, the quiet but loving husband, Jeff who speaks enough for Mitch and himself as well, Pauli, the energy bomb and then there’s Harry.

It still makes you smile when you think of the first few months of knowing Harry. You were convinced he didn’t like you, because he seemed timid and tense in your presence, almost avoiding having even the simplest conversation with you. One night when the two of you ended up sharing a cab home from the pub and you had just one too many beers you questioned if you’d done anything to upset him.

He looked shocked and explained that he’s just a bit slow to open up to new people and he was also a bit taken aback by you and how extroverted and bubbly you were. He apologized if it all came off wrong, you laughed about it and it was already forgotten.

Since then, you’ve gotten the closest to him. In every way. 

Sarah is telling you about a funny encounter she had with a student this week, she always has the weirdest stories, you’re listening to her, but your sixth sense also kicks in and as the door of the pub opens you know it’s Harry even before looking there. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he looks around, his glasses fogging up a bit in the hot air of the place after the crispy, chilly october evening he has walked through. He was supposed to leave with all of you but he had to do a last minute consultation with a student, so he just told you to go ahead and he would join you later. 

You’re already smiling when he finally spots you and slaloming between the groups of people he finally reaches your table.

“Man, I thought we would have to go back and drag you out of your office,” Jeff teases him as he shrugs his coat off and takes the last empty seat by the table that’s right next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, your eyes meet and you force yourself not to turn into a giggling mess.

You and Harry have been dancing in a kind of a gray, unofficial zone for a while now. After the rocky start your friendship bloomed easily, but since last semester it’s been more than that. You have no idea when or how, but slowly, you just knew you were more than friends. It started with meeting without the rest of the group, having lunch or dinner, making plans, just the two of you, endless conversations, building a connection you’ve probably never had with anyone before. Secret glances, small touches, you fell for him without even realizing. 

The past month it’s been intensifying, but you still haven’t talked about it, not even after you kissed a few weeks ago. It happened at your place, so naturally and smoothly, you were cooking together, he had opened a bottle of wine and you were just having a good time, moving around each other in your small kitchen until you ended up pressed up together, noses brushing and he just leaned in and kissed you. It was soft and tender, warm and familiar even though it was a first. Like you were meant to be kissing all along. 

Then you just went back to cooking, had dinner and later that night when he left he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth and that was it. Neither of you felt the need to talk about it, but it’s been definitely hanging there between the two of you, you just haven’t had that last nudge to finally fall over the edge and right into this new adventure.

“Sorry, tried to be as quick as possible,” Harry chuckles as he looks around, his eyes settling on you last and you see a bit of sparkle in his eyes that definitely has your heart skipping a beat. 

With Harry’s arrival the group is finally complete and another fun Friday evening starts. You ventilate about work and students, then the boys play darts for a bit, Pauli wins as always and then Jeff challenges Sarah and Mitch to play foosball and see who’s the better player and the rest of you are watching their battle. The place is pretty packed, you’re standing by the foosball table and Harry is right behind you, nursing his second beer of the night. People are passing by towards the toilets and back to the bar, it’s noisy in there, but not too much. Harry’s presence behind you is warm and calming, his chest touches your back whenever someone walks past behind him, but he always pulls back, though you wish he would just stay. 

A guy chooses to squeeze past between you and the table, making you move back, bumping against Harry and his hand gently grabs onto your waist, the touch of his palm instantly spreading a buzzing warmth in your body. You fit his front so perfectly and you want to stay like this, but you can already feel his hand moving away, but you grab it and pull it back.

There’s just a split moment of hesitation in him before his whole presence softens and he melts against you, his hand resting on your hip as if it belongs there. 

You can’t help the smile that tugs on your lips, especially when he shuffles a bit behind you, his nose brushing into your hair and maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear you feel him kiss the back of your head.

Across the table Pauli just smirks as he catches what’s happening while the Rowlands are playing so determinedly like never before, but he keeps his mouth shut and returns to the game without a word. 

Harry’s fingers are gently moving, stroking you as you stay like that, until the end of the game, which Sarah wins. You want to pout when Harry lets go of you because you all move back to your table, but you swallow it back. After the ruthless game Sarah offers to buy a drink for Mitch so they head over to the bar and Pauli soon stands up as well.

“Jeff, come out for a smoke with me,” Pauli pats his shoulders.

“I’m good,” Jeff nods at him, oblivious to the fact that Pauli is trying to give you and Harry some alone time.

“No, you need to come. I wanna talk to you about something.”

You just laugh under your breath as you hear Jeff asking Pauli what’s so important as they make their way outside, leaving you and Harry alone at the table. Neither of you dares to look at the other, not because it would be weird but because you know the pull would be way too strong. 

Instead, Harry reaches over, his hand finds yours in your lap and he laces his fingers through yours, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. For some reason you feel the urge to finally try to address it for the first time.

“Is it still something unofficial?” you ask and dare to look at him. 

“We can make it official,” he shrugs with a tiny smirk and you just want to climb over and kiss him stupid when he is being so cheesy.

“I kind of like it being unofficial. Because… it’s just ours for now,” you admit. 

There’s nothing you want more than to explore whatever it is that’s between you and Harry, but this phase is so comfortable and only yours, you want to be selfish just for a little bit more and keep it to yourself.

Keep Harry to yourself.

“Unofficial it is,” he chuckles and ignoring the buzzing crowd around, he pulls your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it before letting go of it as Sarah and Mitch approach the table. 

For the rest of the night, it’s all just stolen glances, tiny touches underneath the table and no one comments on just how close the two of you are sitting. It’s kind of funny how obvious it is to all of your friends, but they let you stay in your little unofficial bubble just a little longer. 

You share a cab home and Harry kisses you on your doorstep before getting back into the car. In the morning he texts you if you want to have dinner together and of course you do. You spend the weekend in your bubble, but soon enough, you slowly dance out of the unofficial phase and by the end of the semester everyone knows that you’re a couple.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[jjsungie]

Season's greetings Air-ful

[anika-ann]

Hiiii 💕

Made-up fic title: “A different kind of high”

(Yes it’s from a song lol have fun 😂)

Hiiii honey 💕 Oh I had FUN with this, okay. I got carried away so much I don't even want to know the original context of the lyrics 🥹 (or maybe I do, for the fun of it.

ANYWAY. Thank you for sending and thus participating in this game. You too, get a drabble instead of plot. 900 words, allusions to smut and Alpha Ransom 👀 🙈

A Different Kind of High

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, first attempt at a/b/o, implied smut, chase kink, praise kink, hints of soft!dark if you squint very very hard, language

Your heart hammered madly in your chest, its echoes thundering in your temples. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly with every breath you tried to catch, your muscles burning from exertion.

You stood pressed with your back to one of the walls of the study right by the doorframe, door having been swung open, offering you a chance to slip through and hide without making a sound drawing his attention.

His voice carried through the house, making you cover your mouth quickly – suddenly even your breathing sounded too loud, loud enough that it could alert him of your presence here.

You did not want that.

“Come out, come out, little kitten, we’re done playing…” Ransom bargained teasingly, trying to coax you out of your hiding place. “You’re a smart little thing, Omega, but I’m your Alpha… I’ll always find you.”

You swallowed the whimper threatening to spill from deep within your throat at his praise, cursing him to his damnest and yet ready to fall on your knees for him at once, fresh gush of arousal dampening your core. He knew what he was doing. The low dangerous but playful tone sent shivers down your spine, no doubt heightening your scent.

You were a smart little thing; you had rubbed your wrist along your mating gland, sending your scent dispersing in the air, all over the house; you had rubbed the sensitive aromatic skin of your wrist all over pieces of furniture around the mansion, doing your best to overwhelm and confuse your Alpha’s senses, making it impossible for him to tell what was but a trace of your scent and where you actually were… and apparently, you succeeded.

You must have, because he had never chased you for so long. He would have normally found you in third if not fourth of the time. You were getting better; and the longer the chase, the more adrenalin flooded your veins, excitement and anticipation stirring deep within your belly.

The more riled up Ransom got, the more pleasant the outcome was – and that was the goal.

The aftermath of the chase could be oh so pleasant…

The images flooding your mind sent fresh whiff of your arousal to the air, causing you to rub your legs together as silently as possible while still getting the much-needed friction.

Then, you froze.

You heard his footsteps, quick and almost soundless, like one of an apex predator; the predator he was. The alpha.

You could run; and you would. You just needed to time it perfectly to keep up the game.

“Oh Omega… you smell so fuckin’ sweet. I can’t wait to have you begging me to stop eating you out and just finally give you a good ol’ fuckin’…” he drawled out a promise, making you bite your tongue this time.

Not yet, not yet, not—

Now!

You sprang from the wall, using your hands to push away and gain more momentum – but it was a second too late.    

Ransom’s large body pinned you against the opposite wall in a blink of an eye, his ful weight and sheer strength preventing you from moving your feet a single inch.

He was firm and hot and hard against your front, long fingers wrapped around your wrists like handcuffs nailed to the wall next to your head, his nose already running up your throat, causing you to instinctively tip your head back to make space for him, rewarded by a broad lick up your mating glad. Your knees buckled under the onslaught of arousal and bliss combined, your Alpha’s body simply pressing into yours further with a dark delighted chuckle.

“Oh my bratty little Omega… when do you even learn?” he mused, teasing your bond with his teeth, your responding gasp and the damn-near spasm to your core making you jerk your hips only encouraging him to double on his ministrations, your heart a second from beating its way out of your chest. Craving him, craving to feel more, you vainly tried to move your hands so you could touch him, explore his brilliant physique, map every crevice of his taunt muscles with your palms, to breathe in all the nuances of his magnificent scent. You needed to know if he needed you just as much as you needed him, if your little escapade aroused him and drove him at least half as mad.

But he wouldn’t budge, nailing you to the wall unrelentingly.

“Alpha-“

“Oh Omega… you fought good… but when I’m done with you, you’ll never want to run away from me ever again.”

With that playful growl, his lips slanted over yours in a claiming kiss, all remnants of rational thoughts evaporating from your head. Your body slipped fully into an omega mode – to be good, so good for your Alpha, so he would be so good to you in return.

But your last thought was one of rebellion and submission at once; despite what he was saying, you knew you’d run again. You’d have him chase you, because the rush it gave you, the most exquisite kind of high you had never thought you’d experience, was too addictive.

And the outcome?

So. Damn. Worth. It.

Even if it cost you a few pieces of underwear and other pieces of clothing Ransom tore apart to ruin you, even if it left you a soaking panting mess, indeed begging your Alpha for things you had never thought you might imagine, let alone speak – whine, really – out loud.

As Ransom’s long fingers slipped into your panties and ripped the fabric clear, you made more than just peace with your fate and vowed to meet this kind of fate halfway next time as well.

-🥹😇🥹-

My hand... slipped. Oops. This was not the introduction to the a/o/b verse I imagined. Ah, well.

Thank you for reading - and I hope you enjoyed 🥹

Thank you @chase-your-dreams-away for playing 💕

[changbeens]

CHANGBIN (feat. CHRIS) | JAPAN SEASON’S GREETINGS 2024 Air-ful Teaser

[doormatty3]

Sinner's Salvation: Chapter 2 (Ed Warren x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Ed Warren x Female Reader] [Ed Warren x You] You don't believe in the supernatural and superstition. Witchcraft and demonic occurrences are nothing but quackery to you. But when the room starts spinning, days start blurring into each other and shadows start dancing in every corner you wonder what is wrong with you. No doctor can tell you more about your condition - each and every one is insisting that you are fine and perfectly healthy.  Seeking alternative help, you stumble across Ed and Lorraine Warren.  They promise to help you, rid you of the demon that has taken hold of you - to drive it out. But you didn’t know what you signed up for and what an exorcism by Ed Warren entails.  OR: Ed shows you how well he can possess your body - and your cunt

Wordcount: 12055

Chapter: 2/2 (Chapter 1)

Warnings: 18+, fingering, facefucking, unprotected sex, cream pie, breeding, dubious consent, spanking, improper use of catholic rituals, church sex, rough oral sex

A/N: Well, that’s my ticket to hell for defiling church stuff - if my soul can be saved I’d happily let Patrick Wilson exorcise me

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER 2

A weight settles in your chest as you gaze upon the imposing facade of the Warrens’ house. It feels surreal, as if the reality of being here now is a fragile dream.

In the glow of a well-lit yard, your attention is drawn to a chicken coop, complete with a nestled henhouse and a bustling assembly of a dozen or so chickens. The surroundings reveal a sizable and inviting house, adorned with the quaint charm of a small chapel adjacent to the garden.

After a moment’s hesitation, you press the doorbell, the sound resonating through the stillness. A few heartbeats later, Lorraine swings the door open, a beacon of warmth and smiles. A radiant figure framed by the doorway, her eyes alight with a newfound calmness that seems to have settled since the lecture. The weight of the outside world appears to have dissipated, replaced by a sense of ease that only home can bring. Her long brown hair cascades freely around her shoulders, a tangible reflection of the comfort found within these walls.

“Hey there! You made it,” Lorraine exclaims, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it’s... it’s really something,” you reply, still taking in the grandeur of the place as you try to calm your nerves.

Lorraine chuckles, seeing right through you: “Well, come on in, Ed’s waiting inside! I’ve got some fresh tea ready in the kitchen.”

The creaking wooden floor beneath your feet echoes when you step over the threshold. The air carries a timeless quality, and the scent of well-maintained woodwork envelops you, adding to the charm of the old house.

Glancing around, you observe the meticulous care evident in every nook and cranny. The cleanliness of the space speaks of dedicated upkeep, preserving the essence of the dwelling. The walls are adorned with a collection of pictures and paintings.

Upon closer inspection, you discover that the signature on each painting reads Ed Warren.

Lorraine notices your intrigued gaze and smiles, “Ed loves to capture moments and emotions on canvas.”

The images and brushstrokes weave a narrative of the Warrens’ interests, adding depth to the character of the house. Each stroke of the brush tells a story, and within the confines of those well-kept walls, and you can’t help but imagine Ed sitting in his studio, painting for hours. Would his brow furrow in concentration as his big hands paint such delicate things?

Lorraine leads you into the kitchen and you sense Ed’s gaze on you before you actually see him. Turning around, you find him seated at the kitchen table, a newspaper in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. His gaze is studying you intensely, magnified by the large glasses that obscure his eyes.

His eyes, perceptive and playful, travel down the length of your body before meeting your eyes again, a playful smirk gracing his full lips. The gesture leaves you flustered and shortly rendered breathless.

The room seems to grow warmer as you become acutely aware that Lorraine is watching your interaction, her keen eyes capturing the nuances of the unfolding situation.

Lorraine, her face still reflecting worry, chimes in: “We’ve been looking forward to having you here. Is everything all right? You seem a bit off.”

You attempt a reassuring smile: “Just a headache, nothing major. Must be the change in weather.”

But even as the words leave your lips, you sense they see through the facade.

“Well, we can't have our guest in distress. Perhaps a cup of tea will help ease that headache. Come, sit down”, Ed, ever perceptive, raises an eyebrow.

He rises from his seat with a deliberate grace, pulling a chair out with a courteous gesture. As you lower yourself into the seat, he subtly guides it in, his hands lingering on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. Through the thick fabric of your sweater, you feel the warmth of his touch.

“Make yourself comfortable, ” Ed says with a smile and a wink before walking away and sitting down opposite you, next to Lorraine.

Lorraine, with a caring demeanour, inquires further: “Have you experienced anything unusual lately? Dreams, strange occurrences, perhaps?”

You hesitate before answering: “Actually, there have been some strange dreams, and a few odd happenings. That’s partly why I took you up on your offer.”

Ed nods knowingly: “The supernatural has a way of making its presence known. We’re here to help, and we appreciate your trust in us.”

You delve into the details, your words weaving a tapestry of the dream’s vivid imagery.

“I..thought I was awake. I was sitting at my computer when I heard the sound of the front door opening. Given the day I had, I dismissed it as just another product of my imagination. However, curiosity got the better of me, and when I investigated, I saw that the door was open. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and started to search the rooms. There was someone in the living room, I pleaded for them to leave, but... the figure charged at me. Without conscious thought, I stabbed the stranger. I was so disgusted and horrified by what I had done but… “

Lorraine listens intently, her eyes reflecting empathy. “Go on,” she encourages.

“But I reached for the knife lodged in the stranger's stomach and pulled it out. And I stabbed them again. And again. And I couldn’t stop. It was only when I removed the hood that I realised it was me, but not really me.”

As you recount the vivid dream that haunts your thoughts, tears well in your eyes and a heavy silence settles over the kitchen. Ed and Lorraine exchange a glance, their expressions turning serious, mirroring the gravity of your revelation.

Ed leans back, contemplating your words: “Dreams often manifest our internal struggles, the battle between conflicting emotions or aspects of our psyche. This self-inflicted act might be a symbolic attempt to confront and overcome a challenging part of yourself.”

Lorraine, her expression empathetic, adds: “They can be a mirror to our subconscious, reflecting what we might not be fully aware of during waking hours. Understanding their symbolism can be a key to unravelling the mysteries within. What emotions did you experience during the dream?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts: “It was surreal, a mix of fear and confusion and just uncontrollable frenzy. It was as if I wasn’t myself. I feel - feel- so guilty…”

“It isn’t only the dreams, right?”, Lorraine looks at you as if she sees through you, “It’s also the headaches and the feeling of another presence?”

Lorraine's inquiry hangs in the air, and as she mentions the possibility of a lingering presence, a sudden surge of pain grips your head. Shadows dance in your vision, an unsettling display that feels akin to a lightning strike. Instinctively, you close your eyes, attempting to shield yourself from the overwhelming sensations.

Concerned murmurs from Lorraine and Ed surround you, their worry palpable. Ed, quick to respond, rises and kneels before you. His hand rests on your thigh, warmth seeping through, a comforting touch amid the storm within.

Despite the pain, there’s an unexpected allure in the strength of Ed’s presence. His voice, deep and reassuring, coaxes you to open your eyes. As you comply, the pain begins to recede, replaced by a sense of calm emanating from his reassuring presence. The room, once flickering with shadows, gradually steadies.

Ed, still kneeling, his gaze steady, asks gently: “Can you tell us more about this presence? Understanding its nature might be the key to understand these distressing episodes.”

Lorraine, her concern etched on her features, leans in: “We’ve encountered various entities in our work, and understanding their nature is crucial. Can you describe the feeling accompanying this presence? Any specific details or sensations?”

You take a deep breath, attempting to articulate the ineffable: “It’s like a heaviness in the air, a feeling of being watched even when I’m alone. Sometimes, there are fleeting glimpses of shadows, shapes that vanish when I try to focus on them. It’s been escalating, and with each occurrence, this headache intensifies.”

“It sounds like you're attuned to something beyond the ordinary. These manifestations might be a manifestation of psychic sensitivity, and we're here to help you navigate through it”, Ed’s hand still remains on your thigh, a grounding force.

As Ed’s hand gently leaves your leg, the warmth and reassurance it provided dissipated, leaving an emptiness that resonated within you. Rising from his previous position, Ed chooses a spot next to you.

Lorraine, sensing the shift in dynamics, delicately broached the subject, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow.

“Are you feeling alright?”, she inquires, her voice carrying a blend of empathy and curiosity.

You brush off the significance of Ed’s withdrawal with a nonchalant response: “It’s nothing, I'm fine.” Though the unspoken weight lingers in the air.

Undeterred, Lorraine leanes in, her eyes reflecting a genuine care. “We're here to help; you don’t have to face this alone”, she reassures, her words a lifeline in the sea of unspoken emotions.

As Ed subtly adjusts his position, and your thighs make contact in a dance of unspoken connection. In response, you press against him, not just to maintain the touch but to signify a shared sense of comfort and solace.

Turning your gaze towards Lorraine, you confess: “Perhaps you can offer a different kind of help, one that conventional medicine couldn't provide.”

“I wonder what is wrong with me”, you say, your voice carrying the weight of countless bewildering moments, “every day the room starts to spin, days become an indistinct blur, and shadows dance in every corner.”

Ed leans forward, his concern etched on his face. “That sounds disconcerting, to say the least. Have the doctors given any insights into these symptoms?”, he asks, his inquiry a testament to a genuine desire to understand.

A wistful smile flickers across your face as you respond: “Unfortunately, no doctor has been able to shed light on my condition. It’s baffling; they all insist I’m fine, perfectly healthy, while I feel like I'm unravelling.”

The frustration in your voice is palpable, a poignant reminder of the gaping disparity between the reassurances of the medical professionals and the persistent enigma of your symptoms.

Lorraine, sensing the gravity of the situation, speaks softly: “It must be incredibly challenging. But remember, we’re here for you, even if the answers elude conventional medicine.”

The sincerity in her words weaves a thread of comfort into the room, a fragile but genuine support in the face of the mysterious ordeal you're enduring. And for the first time since your headaches started you feel heard and seen.

Lorraine’s gaze holds a mix of understanding and curiosity as she asks: “Is that why you attended our lecture at the university? Searching for answers beyond what conventional medicine could offer?”

A subtle nod confirms Lorraine’s intuition.

As the ache in your head rekindles, Ed’s intuitive response is instant – a gentle press of his thigh against yours. A wave of warmth engulfs you, not just from the unexpected intimacy but from the acknowledgment of shared moments in this intricate dance of connection.

Turning your gaze to Lorraine, you find her eyes locked onto the point where your limbs connect. There’s a flicker of something in her expression, perhaps recognition or empathy, but certainly not discomfort.

“You may have encountered an inhuman spirit that gained possession of you”, Lorraine tells you gently.

Lorraine's revelation about a potential inhuman spirit leaves you perplexed, prompting Ed to provide clarification. His gaze, tinged with a grave seriousness, meets yours as he explains: “An inhuman spirit is something that has never walked the Earth in human form. It's something demonic.”

The weight of his words settles in the air, and a shiver runs down your spine as the gravity of the situation becomes palpable.

With a knot of uncertainty in your stomach, you ask: “What does that mean for me? What should I do?”

Ed's expression remains solemn, his response measured: “We need to investigate further, understand the nature of this entity. It means we’re facing a force that’s not bound by human constraints. Our priority is to help you, to confront and neutralise this inhuman spirit.”

“You’re not alone in this. We've encountered and triumphed over such entities before. Our combined efforts will guide us through this challenge”, Lorraine adds reassuringly.

Ed’s hand returns to your thigh, a gesture of comfort in the face of the unfolding supernatural challenge. The warmth of his touch, coupled with the gravity of the situation, evokes a subtle blush on your cheeks.

His gaze meets Lorraine’s, his hand a grounding presence on your leg as he proposes: “Lorraine, perhaps we should take her to the chapel.”

There’s a subtle acknowledgment in their shared look, an unspoken understanding that transcends the immediate situation.

You catch Lorraine’s eyes briefly flickering down to where Ed’s hand rests on your thigh. It is a short moment, but it doesn't escape your notice. Her agreement, when it comes, carries both assurance and determination.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind, wondering why Lorraine doesn't address the proximity and the tactile comfort Ed provides. It’s a realisation that, under different circumstances, such closeness might prompt a discussion. Yet, amidst the urgency of the supernatural situation, unspoken boundaries seem to blur, and you find yourself navigating a realm where the paranormal takes precedence over the ordinary.

_____

Approaching the small chapel nestled discreetly within the verdant grounds of the Warrens' estate, you find yourself captivated by its unassuming exterior. The façade, adorned with ivy and weathered by the passage of time, hints at the hidden sanctuary within. As you step through the entrance, a hushed awe envelops you.

The door, worn with the touch of countless hands seeking solace, opens into a world of quiet grandeur. The interior, a harmonious blend of history and reverence, embraces you with its inviting warmth. Your gaze is immediately drawn to the mesmerizing stained glass windows that adorn the chapel's walls. Each pane is a work of art, depicting scenes of profound spirituality with meticulous craftsmanship.

“Quite a sight, huh?” Ed remarks, his eyes reflecting the appreciation of someone intimately familiar with the mysteries of the divine.

Lorraine, her presence exuding a calm serenity, adds: “The colours in those windows are said to carry the essence of prayers and hopes over the years.”

The soft, diffused light that filters through these intricate creations casts enchanting patterns on the polished wooden pews below. As you move deeper into the chapel, you become aware of the ethereal dance of colors that paint the space. The sunlight, filtered through the kaleidoscope of stained glass, plays upon the floor, creating an ever-shifting mosaic that seems to breathe with life.

The wooden pews bear witness to the passage of time and whisper stories of shared prayers and quiet contemplation.

“Imagine the tales these pews could tell”, Ed says, running his hand along the polished surface, “Joys, sorrows, and moments of quiet reflection—each one etched into the wood.”

The flickering candles, arranged with deliberate care, add another layer to the sacred tableau. The flames dance in harmony, casting a soft, golden glow that kisses the air with a tranquil warmth. Their rhythmic dance is a silent hymn, echoing the sacred stillness that envelops the chapel.

“These candles”, Lorraine observes, “they’ve witnessed the power of faith. Lighting a candle is like sending a silent prayer into the universe.”

The air itself seems imbued with reverence, carrying the intertwined scents of aged wood and the lingering fragrance of consecrated incense.

You marvel at the intricate details that the chapel holds. The walls, adorned with religious artefacts and delicate carvings, hold a silent narrative of faith and devotion.

“This place is a testament to the enduring power of belief”, Ed comments, his eyes scanning the adorned walls, “Every detail speaks of the profound connection between the human spirit and the divine.”

The ceiling, an architectural marvel, arches gracefully overhead, creating a sense of sacred space that transcends the confines of the physical realm.

In this intimate haven, the union of soft light, vibrant colours, and evocative scents creates a sanctuary where your soul finds reprieve.

“It’s a place where the heart finds peace”, Lorraine says softly, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of a life devoted to the mystical, “A refuge for the weary soul, a haven for those seeking a moment of serenity in the tumult of life.”

Ed and Lorraine share a knowing glance, and with a gentle nod, they invite you to join them as they make their way towards the altar. The polished wooden floor echoes with a soft whisper as you follow in their footsteps.

As you approach the altar, the atmosphere seems to shift. The open space surrounding it exudes a sense of sacred gravity. The stained glass windows cast their intricate patterns of light on the altar, creating a celestial backdrop for the ornate religious artifacts that grace the sacred space.

Ed gestures toward a beautifully crafted lectern, its intricate carvings catching the flickering candlelight.

“This is a place where many have stood to share words of solace and wisdom”, he notes, his eyes reflecting a deep respect for the sanctity of the spot.

Lorraine, with a gentle smile, approaches a small arrangement of flowers near the altar: “Sometimes, a simple offering of nature speaks volumes in this sacred space. It’s a reminder of the beauty that exists even in moments of reflection and prayer.”

The altar, adorned with sacred symbols and with candles, becomes a focal point where the convergence of faith and tranquillity is palpable. It's as if the very air around it carries the whispers of countless prayers and the energy of contemplative moments.

“We find solace in these quiet moments”, Ed says, his voice a low murmur that resonates with reverence, “It's a place to connect with something beyond ourselves, to find answers or simply to be in the presence of something greater.”

With a subtle gesture, Lorraine invites you to stand beside them, facing the open space near the altar. The three of you share a moment of silent contemplation, enveloped in the sacred stillness of the chapel. The colors from the stained glass dance on the floor, the candles flicker in harmony, and the air carries the essence of aged wood and incense.

“It’s a sanctuary”, Lorraine whispers, breaking the silence, “A place where the soul can find peace and where the mysteries of the heart can unfold.”

Ed nods in agreement: “Sometimes, in the quiet of this chapel, people discover answers within themselves. It's a journey of the soul, a communion with the divine that transcends words.”

The timeless serenity of the chapel lingers as Ed and Lorraine turn to you, their expressions a blend of reassurance and understanding. Ed’s eyes reflect a genuine warmth, while Lorraine’s serene gaze seems to hold a depth of insight into the unseen.

“Are you ready?”, Ed asks, his voice carrying a comforting weight.

You meet their gazes and, with a nod, convey your readiness to partake in whatever profound experience they have in store. There’s an unspoken trust that bridges the ordinary and the extraordinary, connecting your presence in the chapel to something larger than the moment.

“Good”, Ed says, his voice a steady guide and his eyes locked on yours, “Kneel.”

You swallow dryly, shortly wondering if you understood him correctly. Ed, sensing your confusion just raises one eyebrow, a silent prompt urging you to comply with the task.

With a deep breath, you lower yourself to your knees on the polished chapel floor. The cool surface beneath you grounds you in the physicality of the chapel even as the atmosphere vibrates with unseen currents.

“Now”, Ed continues, his tone carrying a sense of purpose, “close your eyes and let the stillness of this place envelop you. Focus on your breath, on the quiet rhythm of your heartbeat.”

As you comply, the air around you seems to thicken with an almost palpable energy. The flickering candles cast a warm glow through closed eyelids, creating an inner landscape where the boundaries between the material world and the mystical blur.

Lorraine’s voice joins the symphony of the chapel’s sacred silence: “Imagine a connection between your heart and the energy of this place. Feel the threads of the unseen weaving through the fabric of your being.”

Ed’s voice follows, a soothing guide through this meditative journey: “In this sacred space, let your thoughts flow. Allow the chapel to become a vessel, a conduit for the energies that seek to guide and comfort.”

As you delve deeper into the meditative state, a profound sense of tranquility envelops you. The chapel, once a physical space, now feels like a bridge to the spiritual, a conduit for energies that transcend the ordinary.

“Open yourself to any sensations or insights that may come”, Lorraine encourages, her words a gentle prompting.

In the quiet of the chapel, with closed eyes and a receptive heart, you become attuned to the subtle shifts in the environment. The colors behind your eyelids seem to dance in response to energies unseen, and the air carries a charge that resonates with the sacredness of the moment.

As you open your eyes, the vibrant colors of the stained glass windows and the flickering candles greet you with renewed clarity.

“Pray the Pater Noster”, Ed instructs, his voice carrying a weight that transcends the confines of the chapel.

You take a deep breath before you start speaking, in an attempt to collect yourself. It occurs to you that you cannot recall the last time you had to recite the Lord's Prayer and you try your hardest to recall the correct wording from your memory.

As you commence the prayer, your voice resounds in the sacred halls of the chapel: “Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come…thy.”

The unfamiliarity of the setting causes the recitation to stumble, and you find it challenging to regain the rhythm.

“Start again, focus on the words. Let the prayer guide your thoughts”, Ed, patient yet resolute, interjects.

You take a steadying breath and begin anew, the rhythm of the prayer echoing in the chapel’s confines. The flickering candles and the colored hues from the stained glass seem to respond to the spiritual endeavor.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

Completing the initial lines, you prepare to resume, but cast your gaze towards Ed.

You notice how his broad silhouette is bathed in the chapel’s ambient light, casting a soft glow on him and accentuating the contours of his features. A breath catches in your throat as you observe the ethereal quality that surrounds him. Mesmerized, you find yourself marveling at how the light plays upon his brown hair, creating an almost transcendent aura.

You open your mouth again to continue praying: “Give us this day our… Give us this day our”

The distraction broke your concentration and your words tumble once again, and Ed intervenes once more.

“Concentrate. Let the prayer flow through you”, he encourages, his voice a calming presence amid the challenge.

As you attempt the Pater Noster once more, the words still elude you, stumbling over your lips like an unfamiliar language. There’s a growing impatience in the air, and you sense Ed’s frustration.

“Start again”, Lorraine interjects, her tone tinged with impatience and a hint of anger at your perceived inability to concentrate. The pressure intensifies, and the chapel, once a sanctuary, becomes a stage for the inner struggle between the earthly and the supernatural.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, thy…”

The failure to recite the prayer triggers a sudden escalation in tension. Without warning, Lorraine steps forward, her frustration boiling over. A sharp, echoing slap reverberates through the chapel as her hand connects with your face.

Stunned silence hangs in the air, the lingering sound of the slap contrasting sharply with the sacred stillness of the chapel. The unexpected act leaves a mark, both physically and metaphorically, in the unfolding drama of supernatural confrontation.

Stunned and cradling your cheek, you feel a wave of fear washing over you. The unexpected slap has left you speechless, grappling with the sudden turn of events.

Lorraine’s voice, now cold and impatient, cuts through the chapel's stillness: “Ed, it seems she has never been properly educated in the way of the Lord.”

The frustration in the chapel intensifies, and Ed’s resolve hardens.

“I’m gonna give you a proper lesson”, he declares, and Lorraine, in agreement, adds an air of authority to the unfolding scene.

Ed instructs you to get up, his demeanour leaving little room for hesitation. The chapel, once a sanctuary, now feels charged with an unsettling tension.

Ed's voice, though firm, holds an edge of frustration.

“This lesson is necessary”, he asserts.

Lorraine, her impatience palpable, adds: “We were hoping for cooperation, not resistance.”

He guides you up to the altar and positions you with a subtle push.

As you bend over the altar, the cold surface presses against your hands, and the weight of the situation becomes tangible. The shift from the warmth and camaraderie earlier to this stern lesson feels disorienting, leaving you questioning the motives behind this abrupt turn.

Despite the overwhelming tension and unease, a fleeting and disconcerting thought crosses your mind. In the midst of this unexpected turn of events, you find yourself reflecting on how, under different circumstances, you might have appreciated being in a situation with someone like Ed.

The complexities of the situation—his firm demeanor, the unexpected discipline, and the palpable energy in the chapel—leave you grappling not only with the supernatural but with a disconcerting undercurrent of conflicting emotions. The boundaries between the earthly and the metaphysical blur in this unsettling chapter of your encounter with the Warrens.

Surprised you let out a gasp when Ed hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants and just pulls them down, leaving you in your panties.

“What-?”, confusion taints your voice as you attempt to push yourself up, palms pressing against the smooth surface of the altar. Before you can fully rise, Ed’s strong grip seizes your neck, compelling you back down and firmly holding you in place.

Panic flickers in your mind, a whirlwind of thoughts racing to make sense of this unexpected turn. The cool surface beneath your trembling hands becomes a stark reminder of your vulnerability. Images of the chapel, once a haven, now feel tinged with an unsettling uncertainty. The rhythmic prayer that once echoed in the sacred space is replaced by a disquieting silence.

As you struggle to process the abrupt change, the grip on your neck tightens forcing you to lay completely flat.

Ed bows down, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. Goosebumps rise on your arms as his proximity sends a shiver down your spine. The unexpected closeness heightens the intensity of the moment, leaving you momentarily breathless.

“Let this be a lesson to know your prayers”, Ed’s voice, low and commanding, echoes in the hallowed space.

As Ed speaks, you catch a familiar scent—his cologne, a subtle and intoxicating fragrance that lingers in the air. The scent envelops you, and for a moment, you're intoxicated by its familiarity. Somehow the combination of his nearness, commanding voice, and the alluring aroma arouses you. That whole scenario should not be that hot, you figure, but you can’t help feeling that way so you accept your fate and stop struggling.

Ed pulls back and loosens the grip on your neck, sensing your lack of resistance. As you catch your breath, you instinctively glance toward Lorraine, anticipating disapproval or concern in her eyes. To your surprise, her gaze meets yours, and you find something unexpected—approval and support.

Lorraine opens her mouth, breaking the charged silence, and says: “Start again.”

Her voice, though calm, carries a directive force that commands your attention.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name”, you start, but panic begins to set in your bones as you speak. Your head starts pounding again, the weight of the situation pressing down on you.

Unable to ignore the rising distress, you stop mid-prayer and say: “Look, can I just go, please?”

In the charged silence that follows, you sense the disappointment radiating off Ed behind you before you hear the sound of his disapproval, a quiet clinking of the tongue.

Your heart pounds in your ears as you wait, the seconds stretching into an uneasy silence.

Just as you muster the courage to say something again, you feel Ed’s big palm connecting with your ass. The unexpected impact resonates through the stillness of the chapel.

Surprised you let out a loud yelp as you feel your ass burning from the slap. You cannot believe that Ed just spanked you for messing up the Pater Noster. Arousal pools low in your belly as you feel the warmth radiating of him behind you.

You notice Ed’s strong hand caressing over the just-hit place to soothe the pain. Part of you wants to say something, but you are completely overwhelmed by the unusual sequence of events.

“Start again”, Lorraine’s voice sounds clear through the chapel, and your head snaps up to look at her form. Lorraine looks at you expectantly, her gaze carrying an unspoken command. Overwhelmed and reluctant to face the potential repercussions, you submit.

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven”, you gulp nervously before continuing, “Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses…as… as”

As the words falter once more, Ed’s hand makes contact with your ass once again and you cannot fully surpress the whine that escapes your mouth. This time it feels like his fingers linger longer on the globes of your behind leaving a hot trace that makes you squirm involuntarily.

“Again”, Ed’s order cuts through your thoughts, his voice sounding more gravely and deeper as it resonates through the chapel and his hand still ghosts over your ass.

That should not be that hot you think, trying to rationalize the conflicting emotions. But you cannot ignore the warmth and dominance that Ed radiates behind you. You cannot ignore the way his hand softly kneeds the skin of your ass while he waits for you to continue.

The entire situation strikes you as bizarre, and you find yourself questioning the authenticity of the footage they showed at the university. No one explicitly mentioned an exorcism, but the proximity and personal nature of Ed’s actions leave you wondering about the true nature of the spiritual encounter.

Under any other circumstances you’d be very willing - downright happy - to fall to your knees for him, but here in a chapel that just feels wrong and out of place. And not to mention that he is married and Lorraine is watching you.

Ed withdraws the hand on your ass and steps back a bit, only keeping control over you by his other hand on your back. He denies you any further physical contact and a plaintive whine espaces you, yearning for more touch as you lie bent over the altar in the dimly lit chapel.

Your senses are dulled and shrouded by a curtain of pleasure as your head and mind are in a blissful silence.

Lorraine says something to Ed but her words become distant echos, lost amid the overwhelming sensations. You watch through a haze as she steps forward towards her husband, handing him a big, leather clad bible. Mesmerised you marvel at the way his arm and back flexes when takes the book.

In a tense moment, Lorraine’s voice cuts through the sacred air and you hear the words but cannot make sense of them: “Ed, it's time she learns her place. Give her ten, one for every commandment.”

He steps back behind you, and you feel him—the warmth and dominance his body radiates. And you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“I want you to count and thank the Lord”, Eds deep and gravely voice sounds behind you as his hand caresses the skin of your ass.

Before you have time to properly process the words the cool leather of the Bibles makes contact with you ass. The force of the hit catches you off guard, a surprising jolt that resonates through your being. This was definitely the hardest he had hit you so far you think as you catch your breath.

Ed’s hand digs into you hip sharply and you remember his command from before: “One. Thank you, Lord”.

He makes a pleased low hum in his throat and smoothes over the hot skin before hitting you again.

“Shit… I mean: Two. Thank you, Lord.”

Ed continues to bring the bible down on your ass and you can’t help but imagine how he looks right now. You wonder if his carefully groomed hair has fallen out of place, becoming slightly tousled with single strands brushing his forehead. You wonder if he had to roll the sleeves of his arms up, fuck you’d do a lot of things to see the way his muscles tense whenever he brings the leather-bound book down.

Shamefully you admit to yourself that it turns you on immensely, arousal pools low in your belly and with every hit you feel yourself getting wetter.

After the sixth time Ed spanked you with the bible, you cannot help but squirm involved when his hand caresses the hot, raw and burning skin of your ass.

But rather than pulling away from his touch you lean into it, desperate for friction.

You hear Ed chuckle silently as his long fingers continue to stroke over your skin, causing goosebumps to form all over your body. When his hand ventures lower you suck in a breath and stop moving.

Painfully slow Ed lets his fingers wander lower until he reaches your clothed pussy. You are pretty sure that he can feel how wet you are, that you must have drenched the thin material of your panties.

It almost feels like humiliation to you when his hand ghosts over your pussy for a second before he drags one long, thick finger through your slit. The whine, you were not able to suppress sounds loud in the chapel walls as you push back against Ed, desperate to feel his hand on your cunt again.

“Maybe she's even further gone than we thought”, Ed's voice is rough and stained with something that you cannot place when he speaks to Lorraine, “she really seems to enjoy her lesson too much…”

A wave of humiliation surges through you, shame crashing through your veins and igniting a bright blush on your cheeks. Each word from Ed feels like he’s cast a spotlight on you, exposing your vulnerabilities to Lorraine.

But Ed interrupts any chance for you to dwell on your feelings, his hand tracing a path over your skin and returning to your cunt. He drags his finger roughly through your clothed slit, tracing the shape of your pussy before applying pressure to your clit.

You feel a hot throb inside you, spreading all through your veins as you involuntarily buck your hips into his hand and moan quietly before biting your lip to avoid making any more sound.

Ed leans in, bending over you, so his warmth is enveloping your back and the subtle pressure of his presence against your skin sends a wave of arousal through your veins. His hot breath grazes your ear as he speaks roughly: “Don’t you, slut?”

Your only response is to push back against him and whine as you hide your head in your hands. Contrary to your previous thoughts that he was completely unaffected you feel his hard cock straining against his pants on your raw ass. But the contact is only short lived because Ed pulls back from you.

“Try to cleanse her, Ed”, you hear Lorraine’s voice through the aroused haze that swirls around your mind.

Before you can wonder what exactly she means, Ed’s fingers have hooked on the waistband of your underwear, ripping the flimsy material off, making you gasp. The cold air of the chapel hits your wet cunt but instead of cooling you down it riles you up even more since you remember where you are - a holy place.

But there is nothing holy about you bending over the altar with your cunt and ass bare and yet it feels absolutely divine when you feel Ed’s fingers on your cunt without a barrier for the first time.

You feel the palm of his hand against your ass as he forms a V with his middle- and forefinger to enclose the other sides of your cunt. Ed rests his hand there for a moment, making your stomach flutter in anticipation before he closes them slowly and pulling back to the edge of your cunt.

Your clit throbs and you squirm on the altar, desperate for Ed to continue.

A strangled moan escapes your lips when he pushes his thick fingers between the lips of your pussy and spreads them, effectively opening you up. You are pretty sure that he can not only feel but also see your wetness glistening in the dim light of the chapel.

Ed’s thumb brushes against your neglected clit and you groan loudly as electricity shoots through you, making you arch your back into his hand.

All the desperate sounds you make and the way you buck against him does not make him go faster and you really want to curse him out - you want to be filled by him, you want his fingers and his cock. So when he finally pushes his middle finger in your cunt a loud moan along with a please escapes you.

The haze in your mind thickens, rendering you blissfully obvious to your surroundings. The only reality matters right now is Ed. His presence dominates your consciousness, eclipsing everything else, as if the world beyond him and his hands on you has faded into insignificance.

“So good for us, sweetheart. You’re doing so good, taking what I give you so well”, Ed rasps behind you, his voice strained with satisfaction and barely constrained self restraint.

He curls his fingers inside you and starts shallowly and slowly thrusting before he adds a second finger.

You whine at the stretch of his long fingers when he pushes them all the way inside your pussy and grinds his palm against your clit.

Ed’s fingertips graze over the sweet spot on the wall of your cunt and your knees buckle under you as a wave of pleasure washes over you. With a dark chuckle he repeats this motion again and again while his palm steadily rubs your clit.

The distant echoes of Lorraine’s footsteps lingers off the edges of the fog in your mind as she approaches her husband. Yet, your concentration remained unwaveringly fixed on Ed and his long, thick fingers that are buried in your wet cunt.

A subtle jump courses through you as you feel something small with delicate round beads on your clit. Ed rubs it around the nub and you feel every cool and smooth ridge touching you as his fingers continue to thrust and rub deep inside your pussy.

“Shit Ed, please”, the words escape as a desperate plea, your voice raw.

Your cunt throbs and pulses to the rhythm of his hands on you and inside you as wave after wave of pleasure slowly builds up your orgasm.

“Be good and cum all over my fingers and Lorrain’s rosary. Let us cleanse you”, Ed’s warm breath against your sensitive skin sends shivers down your spine.

When the wave of pleasure shatters and courses through you, you cum for him with a loud moan that echoes off the chapel walls. Your back arches into Ed, who keeps finger-fucking you through your high, your hips grinding frantically against his hand, desperate for him.

Your breathing is ragged and loud when you come down from your high and your senses slowly come back to life, your cunt still tingling with the warm aftermath of your intense orgasm.

“Good girl, you did so well”, Ed praises you and pulls his fingers out with a wet noise before wiping them against your inner thigh.

Ed presses himself against you from behind, his closeness is palpable as the warmth of his body surrounds you and you feel the hard outline of his dick on your ass again. Instinctively you press back against his bulge, making him groan and suck in a breath.

He digs his fingers into the soft skin of your hip, a hidden warning for you to behave when he dangles the rosary in front of you. A belated realisation dawns in your mind - this is Lorraine’s rosary, this is what you felt dragging around your clit and wet cunt just minutes before.

A pang of shame courses through you as your eyes catch the sight of the rosary beads glistening with your wetness in the chapel’s light.

“Clean them”, Ed commands, his voice a low murmur that echoes through the church, laden with a mixture of authority and desire.

Without a hint of resistance, you comply with Ed’s command, opening your mouth and letting him guide the beads between your lips. Your tongue traces a path along the wet rosary beads as you taste yourself on them. The whole act feels positively sinful and you can’t help but feel more aroused, involuntarily you clench around nothing.

When you accidentally lock eyes with Lorraine, you freeze for a short moment. You had almost forgotten that it was not only Ed and you in the chapel but that his wife was also there. Your entire focus had been consumed by Ed and his commands and presence.

But contrary to what you would have expected Lorraine does not look angry, her emotions are unreadable but undeniably intense as she cocks an eyebrow, prompting you to continue your work.

A blush of humiliation sears through you and the burning sensation in your cheeks intensifies as you start cleaning the rosary beads again under Lorraine’s watchful gaze.

“Ed”, Lorraine starts, her eyes still locked on yours, “I don’t think it worked. Something still grips her.”

Ed withdraws, but he trails his hands and the rosary over your back, making sure to touch as much as possible before he straightens. Still bent over the altar, your legs wobble and feel unsure, making it impossible for you to get up. Yet, you don’t want to leave.

There is only one thing that you are currently sure of wanting and that is Ed.

“I think you’re right, hon”, Ed’s gravelly voice acknowledges, heavy with desire.

Lorraine walks over to her husband and you turn your head to look at them. As they stand together in the muted ambiance of the chapel, you catch glimpses of their exchange. She leans into Ed’s direction and speaks to him, her hushed words elude you.

Uncertain of the decisions the Warrens’ made in their whispered exchange you find yourself indifferent when Ed seizes your hair and pulls you to your feet from the position over the altar. He places his other hand on your hip, gripping in firmly to stabilise you as his thumb traces calming circles on your skin.

After a few moments you find your footing and Ed’s hold on your hair eases, allowing you to turn around and face him.

Purely on instinct, you suck your bottom lip between your teeth, an unconscious response as your gaze locks onto Ed. He embodies what you imagined - but the reality is so much better.

His short hair is slightly dishevelled and frames his face. A lone strand has fallen onto his forehead, resting there. A subtle blush tinges his neck, visible where the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone, exposing a glimpse of his chest. The soft blue of his eyes is almost entirely engulfed by blackness, revealing the depth of his desire.

Your attention descends to his arms, where you notice he’s pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, unveiling toned forearms.

His gaze locks onto yours and you notice the hunger and intensity burning in his eyes. Ed’s hands, strong and confident, cradle your face, their warmth seeping into your skin. As his lips descend, the initial softness gives way to a fervent kiss that depends, exploring the contours of your mouth with a tender yet insistent dance.

The kiss deepens and you instinctively wrap your arms around Ed, drawing him closer. Your hands find their places, one resting at the small of his lower back, while the other rests on his shoulder. You feel a canvas of strength beneath your fingertips, his muscles firm and well-defined. He pushes his clothed erection into your bare cunt, grinding against you. You whine into the kiss when the rough fabric of his pants scrapes over your clit.

As you part, you are breathless, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Ed’s kiss and in a quiet and almost intimate gesture, your fingers trail over to gently push back the strand of hair that had fallen onto Ed’s face.

Ed’s face lights up with a radiant, toothy smile that seems to melt away any of your worries. In that moment, the intensity gives way to a genuine warmth that spreads through your veins.

When he leans in again, he places a kiss on your nose, causing a subtle fluttering in your chest to blend with a quiet contentment.

“Ed”, Lorraine’s voice cuts through the intimacy with a sharp edge, “Remember why we are here.”

His gaze shifts, the warmth fading as the reminder settles in.

“We can’t lose sight of our purpose”, he says, his tone carrying acknowledgement.

Despite Lorraine’s reminder Ed pulls you in one more for another linger kiss. The intensity of it feels like it has a direct line to your cunt. Pleasure that had been simmering is once again ignited into a full fire.

As the kiss concludes, Ed speaks again: “We should get back to work”.

Ed steps back from you, his words carrying a command that intertwines his authority and desire.

“Kneel again, be good for us”, he instructs, the request echoing through the chapel’s sacred space.

Without a hint of hesitation, you step out of your pants and sink to your knees, a swift and obedient response to Ed’s command. Your reaction is just automatic, there is no coherent thought in your mind as you follow his orders.

The coldness of the stone floor beneath your bare knees serves as a start reminder of the reality and you wince as the cold spreads through you.

Looking up to Ed through your lowered lashes, you see him visibly swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbing upon having you on your knees before him. While you want to reach out and take his cock from his pants, free him of his prison, you don’t dare, sensing that it would displease him and Lorraine.

“We will try something different now”, Lorraine declares with a gentle voice, prompting your eyes to snap from Ed to her. In her hand she holds the rosary once again, and a blush raises to your cheeks as your clit throbs in remembrance of what Ed did to you with it.

Lorraine continues: “Take him wholly and accept him into your mouth. That he may drive the evil out”

You divert your attention from Lorraine back to Ed. His eyes meet yours, and in that moment, he winks at you playfully before reaching down to grab the hem of your shirt. In one fluid motion he pulls it off you, leaving you kneeling naked in the chapel.

His gaze lingers on you, a slow and deliberate appraisal as he looks you up and down, taking in every nuance of your form, making you squirm under the intensity.

Mesmerised, you watch as his hands find the front of his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down so his cock and balls are exposed. His dick obscenely framed by his pants and underwear that is pushed mid thigh as well as his shirt that has the last few buttons undone. He is big, slightly curved, with a protruding vein on the underside and the head is already glistening with a drop of pre-cum. Your mouth waters at the sight of him and you lick your lips in anticipation.

Ed steps up to you, burying his fingers in your hair and pulls your head against his exposed cock, rubbing against your face. So you open your mouth and flick your tongue towards his dick to lick the drop of pre-cum away.

Both Ed and you let out a groan simultaneously - you at the salty, musky taste of him that settles in your mouth and him at the feeling of your tongue on his hard cock.

When you open your mouth again he slides the head of his dick in, it’s heavy on your tongue as he just looks at you in wonder. You keep your eyes trailed on his and watch him swallow heavily before pushing himself deeper into your mouth with in a single, swift stroke.

The sound of surprise is muffled by the cock in your mouth that already feels too deep.

Ed tightens his grip on your head and he pushes his dick further in until the head hits the back of your throat.

Almost instantly, tear well up in your eyes, an involuntary response to the deep intrusion of his cock. Your hand instinctively finds his muscular thighs as you attempt to push him away or prompt a retreat.

Despite your efforts, Ed’s strength prevails, the grip on your head and hair remains firm and unyielding.

“Be a good girl and take it”, Ed’s commanding voice cuts through the air, his words heavy with desire as he groans above you.

You swallow around his cock and try to breathe through your nose but it doesn’t feel enough. Drool starts to collect in the corner of your mouth and around his dick before it drips down.

For a few seconds, Ed just holds your head in place with his cock buried to the hilt in your throat and balls pressed against your chin. Black spots start appearing in the corners of your vision and soon they morph into shadows that encroach your field of view as you struggle to breath.

Mercifully he pulls you off his cock ending your struggle.

You greedily inhale, the sudden rush of oxygen burning in your lungs, eliciting a cough. As you gasp for air your tear-stained eyes fixate on Ed.

The chapel light embraces him, casting a radiant glow that accentuates the contours of his form. Ed’s chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his laboured breaths, the play of light illuminates his muscular form. Dishevelled strands of brown hair frame his face, catching the light in a cascade of radiant highlights. Each lock seemed to shimmer with its own luminescence, creating an almost halo-like effect.

As he continues to stroke his hard cock the light also casts shadows on his hand as if intensifying the nuances of each movement.

“It’s no use, hon”, Ed says to Lorraine without averting his gaze from you, still stroking his cock.

Your eyes flicker over to Lorraine. She appears completely composed and unbothered by the recent interaction between you and her husband. With a calm nod she signals her agreement to Ed’s statement.

He exerts a gentle but firm pull with his hand that is still entangled in your hair as he guides you up from your kneeling position until you are standing. In a swift motion, Ed brings you into a tight hug, bringing you flush against him, his erect dick pushing against your stomach.

With that hand in your hair, Ed gently tilts your head upwards, locking eyes with you before bringing his mouth down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Arousal pumps through your veins when you return it with the same fervour and grind your hips against his cock.

You part, both breathless and Ed steps back from the embrace, creating a sligh distance to gaze at you. His eyes are clouded by pleasure and linger on your breasts.

Under the scrutiny of his gaze you swallow dryly and feel your nipples involuntarily harden.

Ed’s hand, once entwined in your hair, delicately withdraws and he speaks with a raspy tenderness: “You’re something else, you know?”

He strokes along your cheek, a featherlight touch of his long fingers against your heated skin before he cups your chin.

“I think we’re gonna have to try something different”, he says to Lorraine as he runs his thumb over your lower lip, keeping his gaze firmly on you.

You can’t suppress a moan when he places his hands on your bare waist and drags his palms up until he reaches your breasts, cupping them. Ed gives them a slow, leisurely, appreciative squeeze and lifts them slightly, feeling their weight before stroking his thumb over your nipples. A jolt of electricity courses through you at his soft ministrations and you feel his cock throbbing.

The intense connection breaks abruptly when you feel a small, warm hand on your bare shoulder, causing you to jump slightly.

“Jesus”, the exclamation slips from your lips.

Ed cocks an eyebrow and a subtle amusement etches into his features, as his lip twitches: “That is indeed what you need. But don’t worry, we will take care of it - of you.”

With those words, he steps away, leaving you with Lorraine who’s hand tugs at your shoulder again, prompting you to turn and face her. She looks at you with a faint smile, her head tilted slightly to the one side. She motions for you to follow with a graceful gesture of her hand, leading you back to the altar.

“He’ll be right back, dear. He is just getting what is necessary for us to help you”, Lorraine speaks in a gentle, quiet and soothing tone while rubbing small circles over your bare arm as you stand there.

Ed’s heavy footsteps resonate in the quiet of the chapel when he returns only minutes later. The candles placed in the chapel that surrounded him flicker in response, their flames dancing. The play of light and shadows creates an ethereal aura around him.

As he strides back towards the altar purposefully you see his cock bobbing with each of his step, the head coated in presumed glistens in the light. You notice that he has completely unbuttoned his shirt by now, the two halves falling open to reveal his strong chest.

A look of fierce determination is etched across Ed’s face as he carries a small leather bundle under his arm.

“Get on the altar”, he declares, his voice a low rumble that reverberates in the quiet of the chapel. The flickering of candles cast dynamic shadows on his face, enhancing his determined expression.

The edge in Ed’s voice sends a surge of arousal through your veins.

Without clear instructions, you instinctively use your hand to push yourself to sit on the altar. A hiss escapes your lips as he cold stone makes contact with your bare skin,

You hear Ed hum in approval as he notices your compliance. Placing the bundle on the altar next to you, your curiosity piques, and you watch intently, wondering what he brought with him.

He hands Lorraine the big leather-bound Bible - the same one he used to spank you earlier. The memory makes you squirm lightly as you recall how it all felt, feeling yourself getting wetter again.

She takes the book from Ed’s hands and tenderly touches his cheek. The delicate gesture lasts a few moments before Lorraine removes her palm from his face, and as if in silent agreement, Ed returns his attention to the bundle on the altar.

Ed unrolls the bundle with a practised motion of his hands, and your eyes remain glued to the mesmerising movement. Watching his hands, you marvel at their appeal. They are undeniably handsome - strong, adorned with veins that trace a map of strength and boasting long, thick fingers. You clench around nothing when you remember how perfect they felt inside you.

As Ed unveils the contents, a myriad of items come into view, each carrying its own significance. Various crosses, some made of metal and some of wood but all different in size, catch the ambient light of the chapel. Candles, meticulously arranged, follow suit. A lighter is poised beside them.

Transparent bottles filled with clear liquid stand out. You can only speculate, but the faint scent in the air and the placement of the bottles hint at the possibility of holy water.

Furrowing your brow, you watch his hands move with purpose as he arranges these items in a precise order. The answer as to why he needs these items eludes you for now.

Finally, Ed shifts his attention to you, stepping in front of you. Almost on instinct you open your legs and he positions himself between them.

Your attention remains fixed on Ed as the rhythmic clicking of the lighter echose in the background. The ambient sound suggests that Lorraine must be lighting the candles.

But that soon fades again, you cannot concentrate on anything other than the handsome man in front of you.

You tangle your fingers in his short hair to tuck him down and kiss you. When your lips meet you let out a soft moan that is swallowed by him. He returns the kiss with fervour and grips the back of your head with one hand. He uses the other hand to rub the head of his cock against your cunt.

You buck against him in response to finally feeling him there and moan into the kiss again. Ed rubs himself against you, massaging your clit with the smooth head of his dick and coating it in your wetness.

He keeps up with this slow, steady and careful rhythm - and it’s driving you mad. Each thrust causes a small spark of pleasant sensation to course through you.

When Ed breaks the kiss to nod at Lorraine you whine at the loss of contact. Currently, you don’t care about her, the only thing you care about is him and his big cock.

Through the blissful haze in your mind you hear Ed speak: “My Lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are our Father”.

The words puzzle you but every thought is banished from your mind when you feel the warm, bulbous head of his cock entering your cunt. Slowly but steadily he fills you until he is nearly completely buried in you.

He grabs hold of your hair, tugging it backwards as you groan, the pain almost forcing more pleasure upon you, making you look at him.

Ecce crucem domini, fugite partes adversae

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin as Ed begins to speak in Latin, the words resonating within the sacred surroundings.

What?

Before you can fully grasp the significance of the Latin words, Ed seals your lips with another kiss, momentarily grounding you in the sensation of his touch. He begins sliding in and out of your pussy before he breaks the kiss and gently pushes you down until you lay flat on the altar. The stone is cold beneath you.

Exsurgat Deus et dissipentur inimici ejus: et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie ejus

Lorraine's voice, though quiet, possesses a commanding presence as it weaves through the chapel. Each word is delivered with a deliberate cadence, the measured tones resonating in the hallowed silence. There's a certain grace in the way she speaks, a calm assurance that adds an ethereal quality to the unfolding ritual. Her words, like tendrils of incense, linger in the air, filling the sacred space with a sense of purpose and reverence.

But you don’t have time to think about that because Ed starts thrusting inside you, emphasising each sentence with a stroke of his hips. He pulls out until only the head is inside you before pushing in again and stretching your walls to accommodate him. You whimper beneath him whenever he fills you completely.

Sicut deficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a facie ígnis, sic pereant peccatores a facie Dei

Ed's hand is back to rub your clit in circles following the rhythm of his cock. You moan loudly as a slow sensation starts in your clit, growing more intense with each thrust of his dick and every movement of his fingers.

Princeps gloriosissime coelestis milítiae, sancte Míchael Archangele, defende nos in proelio

He gives his hips an extra hard push when he is fully sheathed inside your wet cunt and you feel his balls slapping against you. Waves of heavy and delightful pleasure and sensation course wash through you as you fail to comprehend what they do to you.

Et colluctatione, quae nobis est adversus principes et potestates, adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum, contra spiritualia nequitiae, in coelestibus

The pressure inside you rises as Ed keeps fucking you and rubbing circles around your clit. You feel yourself tightening as pure and unfiltered pleasure courses through your veins. His dick seems to hit all the right places inside you, the wide shaft stretching you deliciously and the sensations radiating from your clit, making you balance on the edge of an orgasm.

Veni in auxilium hominum; quos Deus creavit inexterminabiles, et ad imaginem similitudinis suae fecit, et a tyrannide diaboli emit pretio magno

Ed uses your body like a drum, everything he does vibrating through you like a steady beat as you feel the prickling sensation of need pulling at you, filling your veins.

You watch him through hooded eyes and you clench around his cock upon his sight. His brow is furrowed in determination as the muscles in his chest and arms ripple with every thrust.

You feel the pleasure cresting, the wave of sensations stacking higher and higher, but just then, just when you’re about to reach your peak, something wet and cold hits you.

Exorcizamos te, omnis immunde spiritus, omnis satanic potestas, omnis infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute Domini nostri Jesu

The unexpected sensation interrupts the rising tide of intensity, making you hiss. You smell a faint scent of holy water lingering in the air.

Turning your head slightly, you search for Lorraine, attempting to make sense of what just happened. You see her standing near you, the bible open as he holds a veil of what you guess is holy water.

Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis

Lorraine continues to sprinkle holy water onto you, the rhythmic pattern synchronised with the cadence of her words and Ed’s smooth thrusts.

The holy water feels cold on your overheated skin, a stark contrast that intensifies the sensory experience. The dichotomy of warmth and cold adds a layer of complexity to the unfolding ritual, leaving you caught in a paradox of sensations.

Non ultra audeas, serpens callidissime, decipere humanum genus, Dei Ecclesiam persequi, ac Dei electos excutere et cribrare sicut triticum

As your attention remains captivated by Lorraine, you're caught off guard by Ed's discreet move. Unseen, he seizes a burning candle, and the sudden cascade of hot wax onto your stomach elicits a sharp gasp from your lips. The contrasting elements of the cold water and the hot wax introduce a surprising twist, the unexpected sensation intertwining with the ambiance of the chapel.

The candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows on Ed's face as he continues to drizzle the wax. Each drop leaves a transient mark on your skin, tainting it red.

Imperat tibi Deus altissimus, Imperat tibi Deus Pater; imperat tibi Deus Filius; imperat tibi Deus Spiritus Sanctus

The tension inside you breaks and waves crash and cascade over you as you cum almost unexpectedly. You clamp down around Ed's cock, clenching your cunt and bucking your hips. You arch your back when the orgasm courses through your body, riding out every single way as he continues to massage your clit and drive his hard dick into you.

Your scream echoes off the chapel walls, the sound resonating in the sacred silence, marking a moment of raw intensity. The juxtaposition of pleasure and the unexpected pain manifests in the resonance of your cry, creating a haunting echo that lingers in the hallowed atmosphere.

Vade satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis

Part of you is sure that you will go mad with all the sensations filling your mind, tending to overwhelm you.

Ed’s fingers playing with your clit, rubbing patterns you don’t understand.

His cock fills you up and hitting that spot makes your nerves sing so beautifully.

The mix of holy water and candle wax that assaults every fibre of your being, keeping you finely balanced between pain and pleasure.

You’re grateful you don’t have to stand because you feel your knees buckle under the onslaught.

Lorraine and Ed work in perfect harmony, alternating between hot and cold in such a way that you don’t know what will come next.

Da locum Christo, in quo nihil invenisti de operibus tuis

Every touch on your clit makes it throb, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body and building up to your next orgasm. As Ed continues to slam into your cunt with a force that would drive you up the altar had he not been holding you down.

Whenever another drop of the cold holy water or the hot candle wax hits your bare skin you moan loudly at the sensation - you may as well be screaming you would not be able to discern it.

Da locum Ecclesia Uni, Sanctae, Catholicae, et Apostolicae, quam Christus ipse acquisivit sanguine suo

Ed buries his cock to the hilt, rotating his hips as if he could push it even further inside, making you arch your back against him.

“Beg for forgiveness”, his voice is deep and laced with arousal as he fucks into you in short, hard, deep stabs, “Beg for forgiveness from our God. Beg that He may allow us to cleanse you from your evil by my seed.”

“Please - please”, you start to beg desperately just as Ed had asked from you, “Please, Ed, please.”

Nos eriperes de potestate diaboli

You stammer incoherent words and sentences, the intensity rendering your attempts at communication fractured and disoriented. The echoes of your disjointed utterances sound throughout the chapel, as Ed quickens his pace again, hitting that spot deep inside you.

Ab omni hoste visibili et invisibili et ubique in hoc saeculo liberetur

Lorraine’s words grow louder, ascending to a crescendo that reverberates through the chapel. The rhythmic cadence of her speech becomes a pulsating backdrop as you come again, the explosive pleasure hitting you all at once. Your vision goes black and you shudder against Ed violently.

With a loud groan Ed comes inside you as your cunt contracts around him, your high having him brought to the peak too. You feel his dick twitching and pulsing as he keeps his hips flush against yours.

The waves of your orgasm keep washing over you as he keeps pumping you full of his cum.

Slowly your vision and senses return to you and Ed slides his slowly softening cock out of your cunt with a satisfied sigh.

You feel a drizzle of his sticky cum oozing from your pussy and dripping down on the altar.

Your eyes meet Ed's, and he graces you with a wide, warm smile that transforms his dishevelled appearance into a moment of genuine warmth as he tucks his dick into his pants.

Ed looks thoroughly fucked out, a layer of sweat covering his bare chest that glistens whenever he moves in the dim light. His hair points in all directions, some strands sticking to his forehead. Yet, in this vulnerable state, you find him more attractive than ever.

“I think that did it”, Ed remarks to Lorraine, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. As the surroundings gradually come back into focus, you look at Lorraine.

In contrast to you or Ed, she has maintained her composed demeanour, her clothes and hair still neatly in place.

She nods at his words as a subtle acknowledgment, then her gaze shifts from Ed to you and back at him.

“I’ll head back to the house, hon. You both should join me when you’ve cleaned yourselves up.”

Before she leaves, Lorraine steps over to you, her touch gentle as she cradles your face in the palm of her hand.

“You did well”, she says softly, warmth evident in her voice.

With that, she turns to leave, her steps echoing through the silent air as she heads towards the exits leaving you alone in the chapel with Ed, who in the meantime picked up your discarded clothes.

Ed places the clothes next to you on the altar and with a tender gesture he smooths your sweaty hair out of your forehead before leaning in and kissing you in a lingering, sweet kiss.

He starts picking the dried wax from your skin with a careful touch, his fingers tracing over the sore skin softly.

“You did so good”, he murmurs, his words carrying a mixture of pride and tenderness.

As continues to remove the wax he whispers words of affirmation, telling you what a good girl you are, how strong you are and that he is proud of you.

When he reaches your cunt he gives you a cheeky wink before gathering the cum that dripped out of your puffy cunt on his fingers and pushing it back in. You moan when you feel his thick fingers in your sore pussy: “Shit, Ed!”

“I know, sweetheart. Just cleaning you up… And wouldn’t want to waste my cum, right? It has to go where it belongs”, Ed slushes you softly and pumps his fingers into you a few times before he pulls back, satisfied with his work.

Ed helps you down from the altar, his arms enveloping you in a tight hug. You sigh softly, when the warmth he radiates seeps into your bare skin. As you hug, you feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating against your chest. Softly, you stroke his shoulders and back, letting your hands wander over his broad frame.

“Thank you”, you mumble, “for helping.”

You really are grateful for them to try their unorthodox methods on you. Judging by the soreness that inhabits your whole body, you enjoyed it immensely and even if it didn’t help, you’d be more than happy to return for a second session.

He parts from you with a soft kiss to your forehead: “Not for that, sweetheart. It was my pleasure… Just say the word, I’d be more than willing to help you again”.

Blushing at his words, you meet his toothy grin that reflects the genuine warmth when he hands you your clothes. His touch is gentle as he helps you to dress again. Wanting to return the favour, you take the initiative to button up Ed’s shirt.

His voice is soft when he thanks you before he grabs all the things on the altar and stores them in the leather bundle again.

Ed leads you out of the chapel with a hand on your back and you appreciate the soft gesture as you walk away from the stone altar. He opens the door for you and motions you outside with a gentle gesture of his hand before stepping next to you again.

Blinking against the light, you notice that while it is a bit darker than before, it is still brighter than in the chapel. The first thing that strikes you is that the shifting of light does not trigger your headaches - you are blissfully pain free.

[skz-haven]

© Stray Kids Japan

[yangjeongin]

HYUNIN | JAPAN SEASON’S GREETINGS 2024 "AIR-FUL" TEASER MOVIE

[insanityclause]

The Night Manager will be returning for two more seasons with Tom Hiddleston at the helm once again, it has been reported.

The renewal of the hit adaptation of John le Carré’s 1993 novel, which aired to great fanfare eight years ago, has been greenlit by Amazon Prime and the BBC, according to Deadline.

It is understood that the new seasons about the hotel-manager-turned-spy will be filmed later this year in London and South America.

According to reports, David Farr – who wrote the original series – has been brought back to write season two.

The first series, which won two Emmys and three Golden Globes, featured an impressive cast including Olivia Colman, Elizabeth Debicki, Tom Hollander and David Harewood.

It followed Hiddleston as Jonathan Pine, the former British soldier who is recruited by the manager of a Foreign Office taskforce to infiltrate an arms dealer’s inner circle while he is the night manager of a luxury Cairo hotel.

The series quickly became one of the top-rated UK dramas of 2016 and spawned a number of subsequent le Carré adaptations from The Ink Factory, the production company run by le Carré’s sons Simon and Stephen Cornwell.

The new adaptation will be set in the present day, according to Deadline, and will follow Hiddleston’s Pine facing a new and more deadly challenge after being informed that arms dealer Richard Roper – played by Hugh Laurie – is dead.

Laurie, Colman and Hiddleston all won Golden Globes for their performances in the 2016 spy thriller, which became an international success and even led to rumours at the time that Hiddleston, 43, could be the next James Bond.

While the Bond rumours may have been put to bed, it remains to be seen where the plot may take Pine, seeing as Le Carré‘s novel has no sequel.

When Laurie was asked in 2016 whether the series would return, he said: “It’s based on a novel, we’ve got to the end of the novel and John le Carré has yet to write another novel. So in cold practical terms, no, we’re done.”

Le Carré, who died in 2020, took a very hands-off approach to the first series, but was said to be pleasantly surprised by the alterations Farr made to his novel for the script.

Charlotte Moore, the BBC TV chief, told The Telegraph in 2017 that “Le Carré is very involved” in discussions about the next series, saying: “We wouldn’t be talking with them if he didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Announcing the new series, Ms Moore said: “After years of fervent speculation I’m incredibly excited to confirm that The Night Manager is returning to the BBC for two more series.”

“Of course he wants to take part in it, it’s his work. He will definitely be involved in what we do next,” she added.

The Telegraph has contacted Le Carré’s estate for comment on the announcement of the new seasons.

Previously, Susanne Bier, who won an Emmy for directing the first series, revealed that scripts for a second instalment were “slowly being developed”, but she said writers were wary about being able to create the same hit again.

Elizabeth Debicki, Tom Hiddleston, Susanne Bier and Hugh Laurie at the premiere of the first season

Elizabeth Debicki, Tom Hiddleston, Susanne Bier and Hugh Laurie at the premiere of the first season Credit: Michael Tran/FilmMagic

Farr agreed with this sentiment at the time, telling Variety in 2016 that he was “not keen” to do a second series, adding: “I liked the fact that the story ended where the story ended.

“But that’s entirely personal. Given the characters, there is a potential for something more to happen, and I’m sure someone could find the right idea. But for me it’s done. My simple feeling is that I wouldn’t be able to make the next one as good.”

Hiddleston, 43, will be returning to executive produce the new seasons as well as play Pine.

The British actor said: “The first series of The Night Manager was one of the most creatively fulfilling projects I have ever worked on. The depth, range and complexity of Jonathan Pine was, and remains, a thrilling prospect.”

Simon and Stephen Cornwell said season one proved “a landmark moment for the golden era of television – uniting on-screen and behind-the-camera talent at the top of their game – and an audience reception which was beyond our wildest imagining”.

“Revisiting the story of Pine also means going beyond the events of John le Carré’s original work: that is a decision we have not taken lightly, but his compelling characters and the vision David [Farr] has for their next chapter were irresistible,” they added.

Vernon Sanders, the Amazon MGM Studios head of television, added: “We are elated to bring additional seasons of The Night Manager to our Prime Video customers.

“The combination of terrific source material, the wonderful team at The Ink Factory, a great writer in David Farr, an award-winning director in Georgi Banks-Davies, as well as the talented cast truly make the series the full package.”

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 12

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  canon-typical violence, mentions of sex

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2206

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 12

Things had shifted between Rose and Steve.  He’d started letting her feed from him more often.  Not every day, but sometimes twice a week.  It had quickly turned into a strange almost symbiotic relationship.  Steve wanted it, and with his unusually fast healing and metabolism, it meant he recovered soon after she drank from him, and while for one day he might be slightly more sluggish than normal, by the second, he had no ill effects at all.  If he took an iron supplement after she drank from him, even that first day of sluggishness was negated.

Rose had long known of the feeling of sexual euphoria that her victims experienced.  She had thought that Steve might be resistant to it given how long it had taken for him to show any sexual interest in her in the first place.  He proved her very wrong.  He loved the feeling of her fangs breaking his skin.  The way it heightened the feelings of pleasure sweeping through him. The way it made him feel lightheaded and high.  The rush of adrenalin he got.  The way it intensified everything else.  He even loved the fact that afterward, he always slept deeply and for a long time.  He described it as similar to the feeling he had when he stepped out of the machine that turned him into a super-soldier.  Colors were brighter.  The air felt better in his lungs. It was like he was experiencing a drug high.

As much as he was getting out of it, Rose was getting more.  Drinking directly from a real human body was always better than drinking cold, bagged blood.  It wasn’t just that it tasted better or that it felt better doing it, it was more vitalizing. It was as if the life force the blood carried faded the longer it had been away from the source.  The serum in Steve’s blood had special properties as well.  It enhanced her already preternatural strength and speed.  It also gave her the ability to stay up longer and even survive the sunlight.  She was starting to stay out on the roof and watch the beginning of sunrise.  Being able to experience the brief warmth of the sun on her skin again was a gift and even a month after starting to drink from Steve she would still cry.

The one thing that she hadn’t been able to predict, was how good it felt feeding from someone you cared about.  She was so completely in love with Steve and when she fed from him, he heated her from the inside out through his own life force.  It was like completing a circuit.  Two people truly merging in a physical sense.

It was like sharing a heartbeat.

Steve felt it too and they had to be very careful about going too far.  They had both become addicted to it.

For so long she had felt alone and angry and now, for the first time since she had been turned, she had friends, a purpose, someone who loved her, and the sun on her skin.

One of her favorite things was still to race Steve home over the rooftops when they were done with training.  Now with his blood fueling her, she loved it even more.  She moved like a blur, the cool night air whipping her face, and even with the noise of the city below, she could hear the beat of Steve’s heart as he tried to keep up.

“Rose!  Watch out!”

It took her a moment to register what Steve yelled, and another to register what it meant.  As she processed what was happening a blur careened toward her from the side and as she realized what was happening, she dodged and it threw something at her full force.  She managed to catch it and as she wheeled around, tracking the thing that had attacked her, she realized that she was holding a stake.

Steve caught up to her and put up his shield in front of her. “What the fuck is that?” he cursed as the blur started running for them again.

There were a couple of things that hunted her kind that could move that fast, and as she couldn’t smell dog, the answer was simple.  “Dhampir,” she hissed.

Steve threw his shield at the shape, but it dodged easily.  Rose charged at it, colliding mid-air so they both went rolling along the top of the building.  They scrambled at each other, clawing and biting at each other.  “Blade!” she hissed.

He kicked her away and rolled back into a defensive stance and she got up into one as well.  Steve quickly took the spot beside her, the shield held out.  She had never felt more relieved for it being there.  It still repelled her, but she’d become more used to it, and right now the fact it was between her and the dhampir was a blessing.

“Why are you hunting me?” Rose hissed.  “I’ve done nothing to you.” 

“You’re a vampire.  That’s enough,” Blade hissed back, pulling two swords out of sheaths he kept on his back.

Blade charged at them, and this time Steve hammered him back, hitting him head-on with the shield and smashing it into the side of his face, sending him flying.  Blade rolled to his feet again and bared his fangs.  “You’d protect a vampire?” he growled.  “I thought you were supposed to be a hero.”

“Which is exactly why I’m protecting her,” he shouted.  “She’s done nothing to warrant this.”

“She’s a monster,” he shouted and charged again.  They came together in a clash of metal on metal.  Rose watched on, mesmerized at their smooth, practiced movement.  She saw a gap and charged in full force, slamming into Blade's side and sending him flying.  He landed, skidding over the rooftop, and nearly tumbling right over the side.  He slammed his blade into the ground to keep him from going over.  Steve pounced on him wrapping his arm around Blade’s neck and pulling him back as he pinned the hand still holding a sword to his side.

“This isn’t your fight,” Blade cursed, his fangs extended.

“Why are you trying to kill one of your own?” Steve asked in confusion. 

“She’s not what I am.  She’s why I am what I am, and I won’t rest until her kind are all dead.”

“I heard talk like that in Nazi Germany,” Steve said.  “I didn’t let that happen either.”

Blade slammed his head back, connecting with Steve’s nose.  Blood sprayed out, the scent calling to Rose.  If her fangs weren’t already extended they would have been from that alone.

Blade charged at her and she ducked away, kicking out as she did to swipe his legs out from under him.  “Blade, stop!” she shouted as he wheeled back toward her.  He slammed into her.  She grabbed his hand holding the sword and she wrenched it back, and rolled, pinning him under her, her hand holding him down by the throat.

“How are you this strong?” he panted.  “You aren’t that old.”

Her eyes flicked over to Steve and Blade’s mouth fell agape.  “You let her feed from you?!  With your super-serum?”  He spat the words super-serum like they were poison and struggled under her.

“I don’t kill,” she hissed.  “You are fighting me for nothing!”

His eyebrows knitted together.  “Why should I believe you, blood-sucker?”

She scoffed at the hypocrisy of him using the term blood-sucker on her.  He might not have the same weaknesses as she did, but he still needed to feed.  “Do you think I became this by choice?  I was turned and I have been fighting what I am ever since.  I’m an Avenger!  That should tell you something!  I’m assuming that’s how you found me.”

Blade didn’t answer, he just scowled looking between Rose and Steve.  Rose glanced over at Steve.  Thanks to the serum she was much stronger than Blade.  She was confident he would be able to get out of the hold she had on him, but they couldn’t just sit up here forever, and she couldn’t kill him.

She dug her fingers into his wrist and began to force his arm back.  He hissed, trying to fight her.  “Do you believe I could tear your arm off right now?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Then remember that.  Let the sword go and I’ll let you go and we can talk,” she said. 

He looked at her like he’d rather have her tear his arm off, but then nodded, releasing the sword with a clatter.  Steve came and took it and Rose released Blade, backing away from him.

“I’m not a killer,” she said as he stood up.  “I have killed, yes.  But I know your hands aren’t clean either.  I haven’t killed anyone who wasn’t a threat to the safety of others - humans - for a long time.  I also have never turned anyone.  I’m trying to use this - this curse, to do some good.  I know why you hate us.  I hate us.  But I’m trying.  Whatever your vendetta is for, I’m not a threat.”

“Who turned you?” Blade asked.

“Marcellus Lakatos.  Have you heard of him?”

Blade bared his fangs, clearly not pleased by the answer.  “He's one of Dracula's progeny.”  He turned his head glaring at Steve.  “And you let her feed from you?  Do you know how strong you are making her?”

“I do,” Steve said.  “And I trust her.”

Blade rolled his eyes.  “What did you do?  Glamour him?”

“No.”  It was true, he wasn't glamoured, but she conveniently left out the fact she had tried.  “Check him if you don't believe me.”

Blade approached Steve who held up the shield, ready to defend himself.  The dhampir took Steve’s chin and looked him in the eyes.  After only a few beats he pushed him away in disgust.

“You weren’t turned by choice?” he asked.

“No.  But you and I both know that doesn’t mean anything.  I’d either give in to my instincts or I wouldn’t,” she said. “I haven’t.  He turned me because he wanted a little plaything.  I have fought what he did to me ever since.”

“Can someone please explain to me what's going on?” Steve shouted.  “I’m trying to be calm and not escalate things, but I have no idea what’s going on right now.”

Rose moved to him, putting her hand on his arm.  “This is Blade.  He’s a dhampir and a very successful monster hunter.  Vampires in particular.”

Steve raised his shield.  “So we can assume that other hunters will come for you?”

“I don’t work with any of the groups,” Blade said.  “This isn’t a sport for me.  Vampires took everything from me.  They’re a plague on humanity.  If they found out, they did it on their own and it has nothing to do with me.”

Rose hissed, baring her fangs at him. “We aren’t all the same.”

“Most of you are though,” he growled back.

“What’s a dhampir?” Steve asked.

“I was born this way.  Not turned.  So I never died.  I have all the Vampire attributes and none of the weaknesses.  My mother was killed by these - things while she was giving birth to me,” he explained. 

“She isn’t like that,” he said.  “She’s been helping us.  She primarily drinks bagged blood that people donate specifically to feed her.  Whatever you have against Vampires, taking it out on her makes you just as bad as they are.”

Blade took a few steps closer to them, his eyes flicking up and down her body.  “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.  I’d suggest you be more careful.  In fact…”

Rose tilted her head, wondering where he was going.  “In fact?”

Blade bared his fangs and huffed.  “I’m putting my neck on the line here.  I’m trusting you’re what you say you are,” he said.  “I’ve heard there’s an amulet.  The light bender amulet.  It takes away the need to sleep during the day and weakens to sunlight.  It’ll mean you show up on film too.  You’ll still need to drink blood, but those blood frenzies your kind can get into will be negated.”

“Where can I find it?” Rose said.

Blade shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  Last I heard the Priest of Khonshu had it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess that’s where it’s saying.”

“If I find you, the Bloodstones will be next,” Blade warned.

“If I go rolling up to Moon Knight, he’ll cut off my head,” she argued. “At least I stand a chance if I don’t go looking for trouble.”

“So take a friend,” Blade said, nodding to Steve. “Or a couple of friends.  But you know, if you don’t go find him if he figures out what I figured out, he’ll come for you anyway.” 

Blade was already running away before he had finished speaking and when he finished speaking, he jumped over the edge of the building.  Rose and Steve ran to the edge of the building and looked over the side.  There was no sign of the Vampire hunter anywhere.

Steve turned to look at Rose, his eyebrows raised. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

// NEXT

[hotdfic]

A Daughter of Towers

Summary: The birthing chamber was filled with the sound of labored breaths and cries, tension thick in the air as the storm outside raged on. But after long minutes of pain and struggle, Alicent finally held a beautiful baby girl in her arms, her tiny body wrapped in soft linens. With a soft, proud smile, Alicent looked down at her newborn daughter and whispered her name for the first time—Lyanna.

Warnings: Birth ( does that even count? )

PART 1 OF MY NEW FAN FICTION!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The night Lyanna was born, the skies above Kings Landing churned with storm clouds, thick and ominous. A cold wind howled through the castle halls, rattling windows and sending servants scurrying through the dimly lit corridors. In the birthing chamber, the tension was palpable, but amidst the anxious murmurs and flickering candlelight, Alicent Hightower’s cries pierced the air.

Lady Alicent Hightower had given birth to many children, but nothing prepared her for this. Lyanna’s birth was difficult, and when the maester finally placed the tiny babe into her mother’s trembling arms, the room fell silent. The storm outside seemed to soften, as if the gods themselves were listening. Lyanna, her skin as pale as the moonlight that filtered in through the stormy clouds, had her father’s silver hair, already curling in soft wisps across her brow.

Her eyes, however, were something altogether different. As they fluttered open for the first time, revealing a soft, gentle green, Alicent knew she had to protect her sweet girl.

Alicent, exhausted but full of wonder, cradled her daughter close. "She’s going to be strong, just like her father,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Aemond and Aegon, still boys themselves, peered curiously from the doorway. They had been raised among dragons, steeped in the fire and blood of their family name, yet there was something about Lyanna that felt different.

The first months of Lyanna’s life were filled with quiet moments, though the storm of her birth seemed to leave a mark on her. She was a restless child, often awake at odd hours, her wide, curious eyes following the flickering flames in the hearth, or the shadows cast by her brothers as they trained with wooden swords in the courtyard below her nursery.

By the time she could crawl, Lyanna was already exploring every corner of her chambers, as if the confines of her crib were not enough to hold her curiosity. She’d pull herself up on the edge of the large windowsill, gazing out over the rocky cliffs of Dragonstone and the endless sea beyond. The winds carried the distant roars of dragons—her future dragon—and though she was only a babe, it seemed as if she understood their power.

Alicent often sat by her daughter’s side, marveling at her quietness. Unlike Aegon, who had been bold and demanding from the start, or Aemond, who always wore a thoughtful, contemplative expression, Lyanna had a steady calmness about her.

As she grew, her bond with her brothers deepened. Aegon, ever the protector, would scoop her up in his arms, cradling her tiny form as she tugged at his silver hair, giggling when he’d tickle her cheeks. Aemond, though quieter, often found himself watching over her with a more solemn, careful gaze. He would sit by her cradle, telling her stories of dragons and kings, even though she was far too young to understand his words. But she’d listen, her soft green eyes focused intently on his face, as if absorbing every word.

It was clear to everyone that Lyanna would grow into something remarkable. Though still young, there was an unspoken weight to her presence—a spark, a flame that could one day burn as fiercely as any of her ancestors.

One afternoon, when Lyanna was barely a year old, the family gathered in the courtyard. Aegon and Aemond were deep in a sparring match, their wooden swords clashing with a satisfying thwack. Lyanna sat on the grass, her tiny fists full of wildflowers, watching the display with wide eyes.

Alicent knelt beside one-year-old Lyanna, gently brushing a strand of silver hair from her daughter’s face. Lyanna’s soft green eyes, still wide with curiosity, gazed up at her mother, oblivious to the meaning of the words spoken in such a soft, loving voice.

"Lyanna, my sweet girl," Alicent whispered, a faint smile touching her lips, "blood runs thicker than water." Her fingers lightly traced the tiny hand that clutched her own. "One day, you’ll understand. Family is everything, and no matter what happens, we protect our own."

From the corner, Aegon chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Mother, she’s barely a year old! She has no idea what you’re saying!" He scoffed, wooden sword in hand. "You’re wasting your breath."

Aemond, standing near the group, his wooden sword also in hand, shot Aegon a sharp glare. "Just because you don’t understand the meaning doesn’t mean Lyanna won’t," he replied, his voice cool and composed. "She’ll come to know the weight of those words, even if you never do."

Alicent smiled softly at Aemond’s words, her gaze returning to Lyanna, who had begun to tug gently at her mother’s sleeve, her tiny lips forming an innocent smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[chanstopher]

Bang Chan | JAPAN SEASON’S GREETINGS 2024 "Air-ful"

[gettingfrilly]

Out Chapter 5

Read it here or on ao3

Hole in the Ed

‘ Least the rain finally let up,’ Eddy thinks to himself, needing to shed some sort of positive light on the situation if he’s gonna be able to face what’s on the other side of his front door. He had considered entering his bedroom through the back door to hide out a bit longer, but that would just be delaying the inedible, as Double D would put it. Besides, he can’t keep being a bitch about this; showing weakness in front of Chuck is never a good idea. After taking a final deep breath of soupy, post summer rain air, he wraps his stubby digits around the door knob and lets himself in.

“Eddy!” He startles, hand frozen on the knob at the sudden approach of his mom. Once he relaxes and lets the breath he’d been holding out, he closes the door fully behind him and opens his arms, his mom’s thick and hairy arms already open for a hug. He receives her easily, standing on his tiptoes so he can hook his chin over her shoulder instead of losing his face in her chest. The always present smell of cigarette smoke in her curled and towering hair and the hint of garlic on her breath starts smoothing over his frazzled nerves, same as how her hand smoothes the wrinkles out of the back of his shirt.

“Your brother’s here.” She whispers in his ear after giving him a tight squeeze, slowly departing from the hug to rest her hands on his shoulders. The look she gives him makes Eddy frown, loathe to see his mom worrying over him. It’s not surprising, though; he ended up having more than a few tearful conversations with her after he ran away to Chuck's trailer all those summers ago. Things were pretty touch and go for a while there once the pedestal he held his older brother up on had been thoroughly desecrated. 

“I figured.” He murmurs back, patting his mom’s hand before she backs away fully.

“You’re just in time for dinner.” She says as she starts walking towards the kitchen, gravelly voice louder than before. He follows her through the pink halls of his house, past the garish crosses hanging on the walls, side eyeing one of the tiny, pinned down Jesuses.

‘ You’ve never done shit for me before. Maybe do me a solid this time and I’ll pay attention in church next Sunday.’

After steeling his nerves and attempting to wipe all emotion from his face, he turns the corner into the kitchen, shoulders square and jaw set. The table is set with all sorts of foodstuffs, a large plate full of chicken cutlets in the middle of it all. It’s way more food than his mom would normally make on a Wednesday night, but it is her typical tactic of peace keeping. The smell of frying grease makes him more nauseous than anything else right now. At one end of the dinner table, with a deep scowl etched into his weathered face, sits his father. Disgruntlement and disapproval roll off him in waves, knuckles white where he grips his bottle of beer.

On the other end sits his brother, sending Eddy a smirk that makes his stomach flip and his pits sweat.

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

🝮

Eddy had kept his eyes on his plate throughout the entire meal, only just barely listening to his mom explain the situation. Something something financial difficulties, something something getting back on his feet. He can read between the lines of his mother’s vague niceties; Chuck got fired, again, for showing up to work drunk, again, and is broke, again. His brother must really be in the shitter this time for his parents to let him move back home, especially if his dad is allowing Chuck in his presence at all. The news that his brother is staying, not visiting, felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

‘Thanks for nothing, Jeezy Creezy,’ he thinks to himself as he pushes the scraps of dinner’s remains around his plate, only just barely listening to his mom and brother talk about having coffee for dessert.

“Oh shoot.” His mom mutters from the fridge, frowning into it. “Outta cream.”

“I’ll go get it.” He answers before shooting out of his seat like a bullet from a fully cocked gun, wooden chair legs scraping harshly against the old linoleum. Him and his brother haven’t said a single word to each other since his initial greeting and he already can't bear to spend another moment around him.

“Take your brother with you. Me and your mother need to talk.”

Eddy swivels his head in alarm at the direction of his dad’s deep voice. It’s the first time he’s spoken since Eddy came home, and judging by the look on his brother’s face, possibly the first time he’s spoken since Chuck arrived. It’s a tone of voice that makes both him and Chuck flinch. Eddy admires the way his mom squares up in response, brows lowered in disapproval with her hands on her hips. After a beat of awkward silence, Chuck lets out a long, low whistle, looking between their mother and father with an unimpressed glare.

“A’ight. You're the boss, pops.” He places his hands on the table to leverage himself up to his full height, grabbing his flat cap from next to his plate and fitting it snugly around his thick skull. Eddy’s eyes follow him around the table carefully, still trying to keep his expression neutral, but he can't help the slight sneer that forms on his lips. Chuck passes close enough to bump his elbow against Eddy’s shoulder, smirking down at him under the shadow of his cap brim before passing by completely and out of the kitchen. Once he’s out of sight, Eddy untenses a bit and brings his plate over to the kitchen sink, grabbing Chuck's on his way as well. His mom turns away from his dad’s glaring to shoot him a frown and reach out to touch his arm. Eddy stops her before she makes contact, giving her hand a quick squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll be alright, Ma.”

She doesn’t seem to have heard him, eyes now laser focused on the bandage wrapped around his hand. “Eddy, baby, what happened?”

“Oh, uh—”

“What’s takin’ ya?” Chuck calls out from the front door, voice painted with irritation.

“Keep your pants on!” He calls back before stomping his way.

“Oh, Charlie, grab me some smokes, too!”

“Okay, Ma!”

“Why’s everyone in this family gotta yell so goddamn much!?”

“Look who’s talkin’!”

Eddy grabs his keys from the glass bowl on the table next to the door, breezing his way past Chuck and outside to get as far away from his parents’ bickering as quickly as he can. His nerves are way too high strung right now for that shit. The rain clouds have finally started to clear, with all the heat and humidity from earlier getting sucked up into the holes of clear sky above. The previously dark gray blanket of clouds is gaining an orange hue, signifying the start of sunset. Puddles are still gathered in the many dips and divots of the cul-de-sac, reflecting back some of that faint, orange glow from above. His neighbor’s porch lights have started coming on, moths gathering at the pinpoints of bright light under the roofs of the squat homes lining the road, driveways and open garages full of cars now that the work day is over. He can already hear the familiar evening sounds of the creek coming to life, the chorus of peepers and droning of crickets audible all the way to the cul-de-sac, mixing with the sound of a mosquito flying by his ear. The neighborhood is quiet other than that, devoid of the squeals and peeling laughter of playing children that used to harmonize with the tune of nature. Peaceful. Pretty. Empty.

“Dad get a new car? Looks like a hunk of junk.” Chuck remarks, kicking one of the tires of his boxy, turd brown Dodge Omni. Eddy wants to be pissed at the insult, but, well… it is a hunk of junk. The odometer had already capped at 99,999 when it ended up on his dad’s lot.

“Dad’s car is in the garage. This is my car.” He mumbles as he unlocks it, grabbing the slightly rusted handle of the driver’s door and getting in. 

“You bought a car?” Chuck asks in a skeptical tone, getting in on the other side.

“It’s from dad’s dealership. I finished paying him back for it so now it’s mine.” It’s a struggle to keep his voice calm and stop his hands from shaking as he tries to buckle up, missing the buckle more than a couple times. His brother scoffs at him.

“‘Course dad gave you a car. Anything for precious Eddy.” He snarks as Eddy catches him pulling a cigarette out of a carton in the front pocket of his shirt in his peripheral.

“Not in the car.” He warns as he pulls out into the street, twisting his body around to make sure he doesn’t hit anything. When he looks back at Chuck, he sees him narrow his eyes at him until they’re nothing but thin slits, defiantly placing the filter between his lips and grabbing his lighter from his jean pocket. With a vicious snarl, Eddy’s arm strikes out like a cobra, snatching the lighter from him and holding it out of reach.

“Not in the car. I don’t want it to smell like an ashtray in here.” He seethes through his grit teeth, heart hammering in his chest. Fuck. Him and his big mouth and short fuse. That’s gotta get him a beating, don’t it? He’s not some helpless kid anymore, though. He’ll fucking square up if he has to. Sure he’s still smaller than Chuck, and more fat than muscle, and has no idea how to fight, but… um… 

‘Ah, shit.’

Chuck glares at him like a mastiff staring down a kitten who just swatted him, more disbelieving than angry. Before Eddy can flinch, or take it back, or beg for mercy, he clicks his tongue and shrugs, placing the cig back in its carton.

“Whatever, pipsqueak. Just gimme back my lighter.”

It takes Eddy a bit to realize that, no, he does not currently have a fist in his eye or foot up his ass. There’s no wedgie, no wet willy, and no loogie dangling over his face, either. After a brief frozen moment, he drops the lighter into his brother’s open palm and puts both hands back on the wheel, driving off towards downtown. Chuck says something about tunes, but Eddy ignores him, letting his brother fiddle with his radio. His frozen body starts to melt, ice cold blood flushing through his veins and making him shiver.

‘ The fuck was that?’ he thinks to himself, staying silent and stock-still with his eyes on the road. Past experience tells him he absolutely should not have gotten away with that scot free. His head’s too clogged up now to come up with an explanation, one painful memory after another playing in his mind’s eye, film stock skipping around and singing at the edges. His palms are sweating again. The road is getting blurry. He can’t drive like this.

‘Breathe, Eddy.’

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, the kind of breathing he used to guide Double D through during his panic attacks. He blinks hard once, again, one last time until the images clear from his head. He braves another look at Chuck, unperturbed with his head resting in his thick hand, elbow propped on the car door. One more breath and Eddy turns back towards the road, finally able to relax his death grip on the wheel.

Panic quelled, he remembers why Chuck is here. The bastard’s S.O.L. and had to come crawling back to the people who booted him from his childhood home. Beating Eddy to a pulp wouldn’t do a whole lot to keep him in their parent’s good graces, especially if he doesn’t want to get his own ass beat by Dad. With his chest lightening and shoulders relaxing, Eddy realizes he has immunity. 

“Look,” he starts, confidence building. “I’ll play nice if you do, alright? All I ask is that you leave me the fuck alone and put our zero contact back in place once you find a new job. Capiche?”

Silence. That’s fine. Eddy doesn’t need an answer. All he needs is for Chuck to follow the rules. His breathing comes to him easily now, rolling down his window to get some fresh air as he pulls up to the traffic light. The sound of his tires slicing through puddles ceases when he presses down on the brake, car stilling under the bright red light. He grunts in frustration, fingers tapping rapidly against the wheel. There’s no damn cars out. With his luck, there is probably a cop lurking around somewhere, so he does his least favorite thing in the world; he waits.

“Can I ask you a favor?”

‘Oh, Christ.’

Back to the death grip. That question from Chuck never preceded anything good.

“What?”

“Can you pull that massive stick out of your ass?” Chuck looks up. “Light’s green.”

Eddy’s mouth hangs open, but before he can say anything, the light changes, and he forces his eyes back on the road as he accelerates into Peach Creek’s dead downtown just as the street lights start to flick on.

“ What?” Eddy repeats himself, voice thin as if his lungs sprung a leak.

“You’ve been acting like a wet cat ever since I got here. Whatsa matter with you? I’m your brother, for chrissakes, not a serial killer.”

‘Oh that’s rich.’

“Oh that’s rich.” Yeah, he’s not even gonna attempt to apply his filter right now. “‘Cause you got the whole vibe down. All you're missing is a big white van with tinted windows.” He’s starting to feel manic, something in him tightening like a dog tugging on its leash.

“Hey, pipsqueak! I’m moving back home for a while. Oh gee, big bro, isn’t that swell. I sure did miss you. Missed you too, Eddy. Let’s go downtown together and catch up.” His brother plays out both roles of the imaginary conversation by himself, using an insultingly high pitched impersonation and plastering a big smile on his face. “See? That would have been the normal way for this to play out. So try being fucking normal.”

The leather on the steering wheel squeaks in Eddy’s tightening grip. “ I need to be normal? Me?”

“Yeah, you. Who the fuck else would I be talking to?” Chuck's blasé tone makes his toes curl, teeth grinding together as the street lights start to pass quicker on either side of them, their light phasing in and out of the scant raindrops still on Eddy’s windshield.

“I think I’m acting pretty damn normal about a dickweed like you showing up at my house!” He argues, unfocused eyes blurring the painted lines in the road together; or maybe it’s the speed Eddy’s picking up that makes them blur.

“Watch it, pipsqueak. I’m still your big brother.” Chuck’s voice gets dangerously low, but Eddy’s too fired up to heed the warning, foot pressing further down on the gas pedal.

“Some big brother! All you ever did was treat me like shit!” He has to yell louder to hear himself over the sound of wind whipping past his open window, the fast food receipts he throws into his back seat starting to swirl around in a frantic dance. It’s enough to make the inside of his car almost down right cold, a random, localized tundra forming in the space between him and his brother. The revving of the engine grinds against his eardrums, store fronts and gas stations blinking in and out of his peripheral like the quickly fading light of fireflies. 

“Whoa, slow the fuck down-” Chuck’s plea falls on deaf ears, the way he suddenly grips the handle above the passenger side door only spurring Eddy on. Chuck should be the one who’s scared for once in their goddamn shitstain of a relationship. Fuck him. Fuck him.

“You really thought everything would be cool between us after what happened that summer? Did you think I’d just forget and keep worshiping you?!” He’s straight up shouting now, hands shaking with how hard they grip the steering wheel. All these streetlights. The guard rails. Sturdy buildings. He could swerve so quickly, make everything crash and burn, snuff it all out.

“What the hell are you talking about?! What summer?!”

The leash snaps and leaves rope burns across his neck.

His tires squeal as he whips into the entrance to the 7/11 parking lot, slamming his foot down on the break and coming to a lurching stop with the back half of his car still in the road. He hears a thunk and a shout, whipping around to see his brother clutching the top of his head and wincing, breath hissing through his teeth. He never put his seat belt on, and now there’s a goddamn crack in Eddy’s windshield.

“What the hell, Eddy?!” Chuck roars, turning to face him with watery eyes and a bright red face.

“The summer I ran away!” Too loud, way too loud now that the car isn’t running and the wind isn’t whooshing in his ears. “The summer I trekked halfway across Erie county to get your help! The summer you beat the crap outta me in front of every kid I knew! THAT SUMMER!”

Confusion seems to distract Chuck from his anger, still rubbing at his head. In the moment of silence, Eddy realizes the radio is still playing.

“ I’m through with it, over it. Not having it, crazy shit. Not feeling this, can't deal, I quit.”

Sugababes’ pop tune is the wrong kinda sound for the tone of the scene. He reaches over and turns the radio knob, silencing it along with everything else in the car.

“That’s what you’re so hung up on?”

“What?” If he has to ask what one more time, he’s gonna freakin’ lose it. “Of course I’m hung up on it! What’d you think I’d be?”

“I dunno, I was just messing around!” Chuck takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his blue-black hair before pulling them back out to inspect them. “We always roughhoused, what’s the big deal? I mean, shit, I’m the one who got knocked out cold in the ordeal. Woke up to those three ugly chicks tryna play house with me. If anything, I’m the real victim here.”

His shoulders start to shake. That’s what his brother thinks about that summer? How fucking infuriating is that? He should be livid. He should be out for blood. He should slam his foot back onto the gas and drive straight through the side wall of the 7/11, hopefully killing them both in the process.

Instead, he finally let’s out the laugh that was making his shoulders shiver, forced out of him as a sharp bark followed by an asthmatic, deflating balloon, thumping his head against the top rim of the steering wheel and staying there. The realization creeps over him like dawn over an old building, spider webs and dust swirls shining bright in the sunlight. His brother won’t—no can’t —understand why that summer was the most goddamn traumatic thing to ever happen to him in his life. 

‘It’s trauma, Eddy. The psychological kind.’ He remembers Double D explaining patiently to him during the first sleepover they were allowed to have after running away, the two of them framed together in the block of moonlight shining through his window. ‘Wounds heal, but sometimes they scar. Scar tissue is damaged, less flexible. I wish I had known what your brutish brother was truly like before this farcical fiasco. It explains so much.’

“It’s Rolf’s fishball all over again.” He mutters back in the present, laughter dying out.

“... Uh.” Chuck sounds uncharacteristically concerned, voice low. “Should I run into the store and call Ma? You got any medications you’re supposed to be on that I don’t know about?”

He can't be pissed off at the slight towards his sanity, not when he just nearly vehicular manslaughtered the both of them before laughing like a mad man and mumbling about fish balls.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” He has to convince himself before convincing Chuck, easing his foot off the brake and onto the gas to slowly roll the car into a parking spot. All the manic energy from before disperses, seeping out of his pores and getting sucked out the open window as he shifts the gear to park. Now he’s just fucking tired, in a rung out and boneless kinda way.

“Do I have a bump?” His brother asks, pulling down the vanity mirror to check the large and flat surface of his dome piece.

“Quit yer belly achin’. C‘mon, they’ll card me if I try to buy mom’s smokes.”

“Yeah, no. If we both get outta the car right now, I’m gonna pound you into the pavement, and I don’t need the fucking drama. Stay put.” He commands, all previous concerns easily forgotten. After putting his hat back on, he gets out, slamming the car door shut behind him.

‘Ah. There’s the Chuck I know and love.’ He internally snarks as he turns in his seat to watch him walk into the fluorescent lit eye sore of a store. Once Chuck’s out of sight, he pulls the handle and shoves the car door open, kicking it shut behind himself as he reaches into his pocket for his camels. He sees the bandage on his hand when he pulls his lit cig up to his mouth, frowning at it as he takes his first puff. What a crazy fucking day. Feels like it’s been going on for eight months. And yet, this is the most normal he’s felt since him and Dee had their big fight. At least he actually has plenty of reason to be a nervous wreck today, instead of the nothing he’s been tying himself in knots over for months now.

Christ, Dee. Did they actually talk today? It feels like a fever dream, just like the whole damn day. He was only over there for about half an hour, and it felt even shorter than that. Sucking on his cig with the desperation of a drowning man sucking in water, he tries to piece together the events of his visit. Almost a year of bitter anger and zero contact, and now they’re just good? Just like that? Here’s a bandage for your boo boo, Eddy, okay, here’s some pasghetti for your tummy, Double D. Now let’s just forget all the bad stuff that happened and we can be best fwiends again forever and ever. Yeah fucking right.

Knowing how messed up it is doesn’t stop the nervous excitement that churns in his stomach when he thinks about messaging Dee tonight. If there’s one thing he’s gonna need after spending time with Chuck, it’s someone to bitch and moan to, and Double D’s always been his favorite target for that. Sure, his concern comes off as fake sometimes, and he lets snide remarks and condescending comments slip through his filter here and there, but when Eddy really needs it, he’s all empathy. Double D knows him, knows what to say, knows how to level him out. He’s been running on high and dipping into dangerous lows for too long now; what he’d give for one evening of getting off the roller coaster and plateauing for once. 

‘ There’s so much more we need to talk about. We can’t just forget what happened. ’

Great. Now the Edd in his head is making more sense than the Edd in real life. That can’t be good. “But what if we can? Can’t we at least try to forget?”

“Forget what?”

Eddy yelps, nearly dropping his cigarette as his free hand rises up to clutch at his shirt over his frantically beating heart. When he turns to yell at whoever just scared the bejeebus out of him, he realizes it’s just Chuck, a plastic bag in one hand and a case of Guinness in the other.

“Nothing, just talking to myself,” is his muttered explanation, stubbing out the butt of his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before flicking it onto the pavement. 

“Yeah, about that,” Chuck starts, a grimace etched deeply into his blocky face, “maybe I should drive this time.”

“I’m fine,” Eddy growls in irritation, swinging his car door open and slamming it once he’s inside. Chuck shrugs and follows suit, putting his purchases in the back seat before getting back into his own. 

True to his word, Eddy drives much more carefully on the way back to the cul-de-sac. He lets one arm hang out the open window, body lax and frown a gentle slope in opposition to the tension and fury he felt on the way here. The crisp evening breeze from the darkening woods and freshly rain filled creek further cools and dries the summer air, the gentle caress of it over his arm and face helping him unwind. The orange and pink sky above reflects in the puddles below, the whole world seeming muted and pastel. Bro makes no moves for the radio this time, and Eddy is grateful for the silence, listening to nothing but the peepers, his engine, and his wheels bisecting puddles. The road is largely empty, long past the afternoon rush hour. Usually Eddy is bored to tears by the peaceful living of the suburbs, but today, it’s more welcome than it’s ever been.

He manages to not even startle too bad when Chuck interrupts it.

“Hey, take a left at the cul-de-sac.”

“What? Why?” He side eyes his brother, hands starting to tighten on the wheel.

“‘Cuz I wanna stop somewhere to drink this beer before Dad gets his hands on it. This left, here.”

Eddy looks towards where he’s pointing and slows down, considering his options. Option A, he turns left. Possible outcomes: getting lured into seclusion and murdered, or drinking beer. Option B, he heads straight home. Guaranteed outcome: he can get the fuck away from Chuck, but then be faced with either his Mom’s worrying, his Dad’s piss poor mood, or both. The prospect of drinking beer in the summer evening peace and staying out of his house a little longer wins him over, letting out a resigned sigh as he turns left towards the junior high and high schools. There’s not much down this road other than the schools so he heads straight there, passing the ‘Go Cobblers!’ sign, the old wood cracked by years of rain and snow making the wood posts swell. It’s not long until the baseball field comes into view, followed by the soccer field, then the football field, the empty and silent stands evoking a sense of peace in Eddy. The parking lot shared between the schools is just as empty, and seeing as there’s nowhere else to go, he turns into it and parks. Chuck doesn’t say a word, just gets out of the car with the case of beer in hand and starts making his way towards the high school. Eddy grumbles at the assumption that he’ll just follow, but does so anyway, hands in his pockets as he side steps the school’s many rain filled potholes. His curiosity grows the closer they get to the main building, unsure this is really the best spot for public drinking, even if school’s out for the summer. It’s a squat brick building, only one story high and smaller than the junior high, which houses the kindergarten and elementary students’ as well. Small ass, crap ass town.

There’s no fence to keep them out, and Chuck shows no signs of stopping, making his way along the wall with purpose. The back of the building is in need of some serious tlc, brick walls coated in graffiti and covered with climbing vines and weeds. The tall grass is making him paranoid of ticks, a familiar sounding nasally voice in his head reminding him to check his legs later. When Chuck does finally stop, Eddy nearly walks right into him, having been too focused on looking at the ground and on the look out for blood sucking insects. He keeps his mouth shut as he watches Chuck inspect the wall, reaching out to wiggle a loose brick sticking halfway out of the wall. Which… okay? What, is he gonna pull a brick loose and open up a secret passageway? Before he can ask, Chuck shoves the case of beer into Eddy’s hands, then hoists himself upwards, feet and hands each finding their own loose brick to get purchase on. Eddy backs up with raised eyebrows, not wanting to get crushed by his brick shit house of a brother if the guy falls. Chuck continues his ascent with what looks like practiced ease, and Eddy realizes that the pattern of loose, half sticking out bricks looks purposeful, and not just like random effects of aging. Another old secret hang out spot, then. Chuck has so many of those damn things, Eddy knows that he hasn’t seen all of them. He scowls when Chuck reaches the roof and disappears from sight, beers heavy in his hands.

“How the hell am I supposed to climb up there with the beer?”

His answer comes from the heavens, an ancient looking milk crate crashing down to the ground with a dull thud. There’s a rope attached to it, and Eddy’s eyes follow it up to find Chuck on the other end, smirking down at him. As if his past method of getting drunk during the school day is something to be smug about. With an eye roll, Eddy places the beer in the milk crate and starts his ascent, reminding himself repeatedly that it’s a short way down if a brick gives way. Thankfully, he makes it up without incident, as does the beer, which was clearly Chuck’s priority since he doesn't reach a hand to help Eddy up over the lip of the roof. Whatever. Asshole.

Other than some random open pipes, something covered in a tarp, and small scattered chimneys, the roof is flat and empty, giving a 360 view of the surrounding area and a clear look at the sky above. The sunset is fully underway, a sherbert-esque mix of colors giving the world a dream-like appearance. He may as well be in a dream, this excursion with Chuck feeling more unreal by the second. Him even being here is unreal enough as it is. Maybe he’ll wake up soon, with no Chuck, not cut on his hand, and no bandage wrapped around it with care.

He turns when he hears rustling, watching in amazement as Chuck grabs the tarp to reveal a beat up old couch underneath. Even four years of his brother’s fat ass shouldn’t be enough to make it look that shit, so he assumes it originally came from the dump. More importantly, though, he scans the roof for a door and staircase he may have missed, confusion growing when he finds none.

“How—”

“Genius and ingenuity.” Chuck cuts him off before plopping down on the couch and getting comfortable, unfazed by the cloud of god knows what that shoots up from the cushion under his ass.

‘ Please don’t sit on that filthy, infested upholstery .’

Eddy does it anyway, ass perched on the arm and feet planted on the cushion, body facing his brother and the sunset, half of the sun still peeking up over the horizon. Chuck’s body is faced towards the parking lot, bending down to grab a beer and pull the clip on bottle opener loose from his wallet chain.

“Dad give you your first beer yet?” he asks as he hands the first bottle to Eddy along with the  bottle opener.

He huffs through his nose and gives his brother a tired look before taking the offered items. “You gave me my first beer. I was five.”

He narrows his eyes at Eddy before turning them up towards the sky, features twisted in concentration. Eventually, a smile spreads over his face. “Ooooh yeah. Ha, Ma and Dad were so pissed at me when you upchucked all over that white rug.”

“I think they were more pissed about the beer part, not so much the upchucking part,” he corrects him dryly, bottle hissing at him once he pops the cap off.

“Eh, it was a bit of both. Don’t know why they overreacted so much. I was only a couple years older than you when Dad gave me my first beer.”

‘ That’s exactly why they reacted the way they did.’

“Just asking so I know if you’ve started drinking yet. I don’t want you upchucking this beer, too. Be a waste of my money.”

Eddy scowls at him, handing him back the bottle opener. “I ain’t gonna, don’t worry.”

It’s not until Eddy takes his first sip that Chuck looks away with a satisfied nod, uncapping his own beer and chugging almost half of it in one go. Silence falls after that, awkward and uncomfortable. Well, it is on Eddy’s end, anyway. Chuck doesn’t seem to mind it, expression and body lax as he sinks further into the couch. It makes Eddy squirm, apprehensive of what could be bouncing around in that hollow skull of his.

“So pipsqueak, what have you been up to? Where you getting that paycheck from?”

It’s a friendly enough question, asked in a friendly enough tone. Finding no reason to be cagey about it, Eddy answers honestly.

“Getting that paycheck is pretty much the only thing I’ve been up to. I work at the candy store.”

Chuck barks out a sharp laugh. “No shit? Man, you used to beg me to take you there. I guess it was only fair, seeing as you were always helping me pawn allowances off of the ankle biters in the neighborhood. Pigeons.”

“I don’t know if I’d call your bullying pawning. You were the oldest and biggest kid in the cul-de-sac by a lot. Didn’t take much to get the chin wonder and slim to fork over the dough.” Eddy used to miss those days, the way the older kids feared his brother, and him by extension. Now thinking back to how Rolf and Kevin used to squirm makes him feel sick.

“Eh, whatever. I wasn’t hurtin’ nobody. Just scaring ‘em. Well, I might have hurt that foreign kids' chickens some. Or a lot. Hah.”

“You’re all heart, Chuck.” Eddy mumbles, sipping more of his beer. He’d be slamming them back if he didn’t still have to drive them home. Chuck has no such worries, already grabbing at his second bottle.

“You know it. So how’s the job? Exciting? Glamorous? Horizon expanding?”

It’s Eddy’s turn to laugh. “Miserable. We barely get any business. My shift is spent thinking of new ways to off myself.”

“Sounds right. Honest work is shit work. At least you get to fleece people when you’re a carnie.”

“You like it, then?” Eddy asks.

“Pfft. Fuck no. I just prefer it to any other above the board job.”

“Yeah? And what about under the board work?”

Chuck pulls an unpleasant face, hawking up something globular and spitting it over the side of the couch. “Hasn’t paid off yet. And it’s what keeps getting me canned.”

“Uh huh.” Since Eddy values having a symmetrical face, he doesn’t mention how Chuck’s drinking factors into that. “Well the candy store ain’t all bad. I get free candy when Kevin isn’t looking.”

Chuck’s eyes wrinkle at the corners. “You and your sweet tooth. Just like when I was a kid. Wait, Kevin? Ha, you work for shovel chin?”

Eddy gives him a nod. “Yeah, he’s the one who got me the job. We’re sort of friends now. Well, friend ly .”

“Imagine that. The guy who used to piss his pants at the mention of my name now has to deal with trouble making Eddy as an employee. Bet you make his life hell.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t have been able to pay Dad off for the car,” he notes, jerking his head in the direction of his rusted pride and joy.

“Well God bless you for being able to keep your nose down and stay out of trouble at a boring ass job. If I was capable of doing that, I wouldn’t have to come back to this shit hole.” He takes a pause to sip from his bear, waiting a beat before opening his mouth again.

“Too bad you blew all the dough on that garbage heap. Right?”

Eddy bristles, cheeks turning a faint pink as his ego demands to be defended.

“Hey, I didn’t blow all of it. I’ve had that job for three years, I pick up as many shifts as possible, and other than the car, I’ve barely spent a penny of it!”

Chuck’s mouth twitches, eyes flicking towards Eddy to side eye him. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I’m good with my money now. Had to become a penny pincher like Dad, but hey, it works.” He huffs, chest puffing out.

Chuck turns to face him fully, blinding Eddy with a wide and toothy grin, big enough to turn his eyes into thin slits. “Nice! Look at this guy, being fiscally responsible. Wish I could be more like that. You’ve grown up right, Eddy.”

Warmth fills Eddy’s body from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, trying and failing to fight off the smile that splits his face. He gives a breathy, shaky laugh, chest vibrating with it. “I did?”

“Well sure. Doesn’t Dad tell ya that himself?”

Eddy rolls his eyes. “As if.”

“Ass.” Chuck spits again, grabbing a third bottle of beer. “Fuck that guy. Here’s to you, big man.” 

Chucks turns his smile back towards Eddy, holding his fresh bottle out for a toast. Eddy’s own smile widens, clinking his bottle against his bro’s. “Big man, huh?”

“Hey, you don’t need height to be big. Big wallets count.” He caps off his compliment with a wink.

Eddy snorts in response, shaking his head and bringing his bottle towards his lips.

“Speakin’ of big wallets. Little Eddy here has a car and a paycheck. That’s gotta drive the chicks in this hick town wild.”

The sudden change in topic makes his heart drop like a rock. He hates how quickly the heat rises to his cheeks, turning away from his brother until he’s got just one foot left on the couch, the other dangling off the edge of the arm rest.

“Pickings are slim,” he grumbles, the walls that had been lowering around him shooting back up.

“Come on, Peach Creek high’s gotta have some cuties. I know there were a few good’uns when I was around,” Chuck needles, and it prickles against Eddy’s skin like an Indian burn.

“Not really.” He brings his foot off the couch cushion and up onto the arm rest, hiding the lower half of his face behind his bent knee.

Chuck ‘pffts’ at him. “What are ya, a fag? Uggos or not, puss is puss and you’re past old enough to be getting some.”

The heat blazes across Eddy’s face, turning to glare at Chuck as he grips his bottle tighter, nearly empty now and easily chuckable. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Chuck just smiles and laughs, the prick. “Aw, you always were sensitive. Frilly little Eddy.”

Eddy snarls, flinching and batting away the hand that Chuck reaches out to tousle his hair with. “Fuck you. Obviously I’ve fooled around some, alright? There’s just no one who’s relationship material.”

“Who said anything about relationships? Sure, a persuasive date or two hasta happen sometimes, but dating dames long term is a waste of time and money. If there’s only one piece of advice you remember from me, I want it to be that one. Don’t let those leeches get a hold of you, pipsqueak.” He takes his hand back with a smile still on his face, but Eddy can tell it’s not there with the same ease it was before.

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t call me a fag.” He drinks down the rest of his beer in one go, scowl firmly in place as he stares at the roof.

“Jeez, okay. Sorry.” Chuck relents, and out of the corner of his eye, Eddy can see the smile fall from his face. Silence falls, as well, smothering them like a heavy blanket. Seconds turn to minutes, Eddy’s foul mood rising like dough. He just needs to calm down enough to open his mouth without sounding any more defensive than he already has. Then he can suggest they go back.

He nearly falls off the arm rest when Chuck opens his mouth first.

“Our folks ever tell you why they kicked me out?

Well that’s not what he was expecting. His eyebrows shoot up as he looks from the roof to Chuck, unsure where he’s going with this.

“I just kinda figured it had to do with your rap sheet and beating on me. I dunno exactly what tipped them over into giving you the boot, though.” Eddy may have been only six at the time, but if he had been privy to why Chuck was evicted from the family’s home and lives, he’d remember it. He remembers everything else about his brother’s sudden absence with crystal clarity: his questions being met with silence, the multitude of locks and chains suddenly appearing on his brother’s bedroom door, the quiet unease in the house interspersed with his mother crying when she thought Eddy was out playing. Eddy spent his days feeling like a shadow was haunting him, a feeling he first assumed meant he missed his brother. It wasn’t until years later that he realized what he actually missed was knowing where his brother was. Knowing what mood he was in. Knowing for sure where he wasn’t.

“I got a girl pregnant.”

Eddy nearly chokes on his own saliva at the sudden interruption of his trip down memory lane, swallowing roughly as he stares at Chuck with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Whoa. Seriously?”

Chuck nods, taking his pack of cigs out and lighting a lucky strike for him to suck on. “Yep. Well. Okay, it wasn’t that exactly. I mean, that definitely didn’t help, and neither did the stuff you mentioned. But they didn’t kick me out until I told them I convinced her to get an abortion.” Smoke pours out of his mouth like fog, eyes clouded over like a rainy day. “Dad’s only Catholic when it’s convenient.”

Eddy agrees with a wince, nodding solemnly. “You got that right.”

More questions ping against the walls of his skull, unsure where to start. Most prominent, though, and one question he can’t ask outright, is why the hell did Chuck just tell him that? He can’t have actually taken him out here for a heart to heart, could he have? Eddy can’t think of any other reason for Chuck to spill his guts. No jokes, either, no irony or sarcasm. He’s just telling Eddy like it is. As if he sees Eddy as an adult. As an equal.

“Who was the girl?” He finally settles on a question, suddenly desperate to satisfy a thirst he hasn’t felt since Chuck first left.

“Dandie. Flower child from the Park n’ Flush, her parents were bohemians or something.”

Eddy’s empty bottle hangs from his loose grip, head heavy as it floods with half forgotten memories. There’s a girl. He can’t make out what her face looks like, but her frizzy blond hair floods his vision like a field of wheat he can’t see over the top of. She’s nice, too, her laugh kind sounding. She held his hand sometimes, he thinks, and he can smell her, a skunky odor clinging to her clothes.

“I remember her…” he murmurs, eyes squinting as he stares off into the distance.

“You oughtta, she fucking loved you. Thought you were the cutest damn thing. Got real pissed at me if I wasn’t nice to you,” he complains, though he doesn’t actually sound annoyed by it. 

“Dad hated her. Said her family was a bunch of lazy, drugged up hippies.” Chuck takes another drag from his smoke, letting it out slowly. “He was right, but he didn’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“You’d think he’d want her to get an abortion, then,” Eddy comments in confusion.

“That’s what I thought. As fucking always, I ended up being wrong.” He sneers, voice caked in bitterness.

Eddy clutches the neck of his bottle, scowling at the stained cushion beneath his feet. Dad always had it out for Chuck, laid into him way worse than he ever did to Eddy. Beneath Eddy’s hurt, and betrayal, and shame, and blind rage, all directed at his brother, a small part of him knows that it takes a bully to make a bully. He’d know that better than anyone. 

“Anyway. Like I said. Dames ain’t nothing but trouble. Never get too attached.”

Eddy doesn’t know what to say to that, conflicted feelings swirling inside of him. He wants to ask if Dandie was nothing but trouble, but thinks better of it.

“Trust me, a pregnancy scare is the last thing I have to worry about. I’m real careful.” It’s true, too, except by real careful, what he actually means is real gay. 

Chuck nods approvingly. “Good. Be smart, Eddy. Smarter than me.”

It’s the most sound brotherly advice he’s ever gotten from Chuck, and Eddy holds it in cupped hands like something precious.

The air around them feels delicate, like paper tissue he could tear if he’s not careful. He feels wrung out, suddenly, emotionally drained in a way that makes him long for bedroom solitude, despite the small part of him that wants to keep his hang out with Chuck going. Which is fucking weird. But he does. Chuck’s never been like this around him. He wants to analyze the moment more, turn it around in his hands and look at it from every angle, but he fears dropping it and making it shatter.

“Ma’s gonna start to wonder where her cream is.”

Chuck slaps at a mosquito sucking on his neck, grimacing at the splatter of blood on his hand. “Yeah. Let’s get.”

The sun sets on their impromptu hang out. Chuck covers the couch back up and they take off, leaving their empty beer bottles behind (one Eddy’s, four Chuck’s.) The sounds of the creek are louder than ever, sounding out like a tornado siren, but Eddy barely hears it, too lost in his thoughts. He doesn’t know what to make of their little talk, and looks forward to telling Double D about it. Maybe he can make better sense of it after talking it out and getting his smart guy take on it. His increasingly strange day is almost ending, and there’s a slight sliver of hope that maybe it’s been strange in a good way.

[stillbornedprincess]

the long awaited Moby dick book review observation for the modern young lady.

do not open if you do not want spoilers

now. The novel is a very dated one, but with all renowned dated novels it’s timeless with at least one theme to touch everyone. Personally I enjoyed reading the novel so much but why it is I found it so beautiful would be untranslatable. Not that I won’t try, and with the first part of the title of this post, “a review”, this will not be a review. Nor will it be a summary: so for accuracy “observation” was coined. A unique aspect of the book, which also makes it notorious, is that is serves more or less like a mirror. What you’ll find in your heart, you’ll find in the text. A journalist would prove it to you in a neater way, but bear with me. There were plenty chapters that twinkled in its secret tongue to me but I’ll highlight two or three. I will start with chapter 85: the fountain. This chapter is about the enigmatic spout of sperm whales. In the olden days, people could only guess how those bodies worked. And even still today, suppose, we still do guess, guessing this time maybe not just with fickle mind but with machines as well. A photograph is a sacred thing. Anyways, here’s a quote narrated by the narrator ‘Ishmael’

how nobly it raises our conceit of the mighty, misty monster, to behold him solemnly sailing through a calm tropical sea; his vast, mild head overhung by a canopy of vapor, engendered by his incommunicable contemplations, and that vapor—as you will sometimes see it—glorified by a rainbow, as if Heaven itself had put its seal upon his thoughts. For, d'ye see, rainbows do not visit the clear air; they only irradiate vapor. And so, through all the thick mists of the dim doubts in my mind, divine intuitions now and then shoot, enkindling my fog with a heavenly ray. And for this I thank God; for all have doubts; many deny; but doubts or denials, few along with them, have intuitions. Doubts of all things earthly, and intuitions of some things heavenly; this combination makes neither believer nor infidel, but makes a man who regards them both with equal eye.

now, whenever talk of rainbows come up in art or literature, it’s bound to stick out to me. with colours, they make up my stillbornland, and with colours, they make up awe-ful greys. my arguments for the colour grey would be just as jagged as ‘Ishmael’’s arguments for the colour white in the chapter 42. But matters like this are never rational seeing the nature of colours. Maybe God the Painter was a postmodernist. Of course this is a joke, please take it as the joke it is.

and on the topic of jokes, the humour of Moby dick is wry as dried whale foreskin. Worn to take on scalding topics, not so different from try-working workers would put it on to shield from soot and fire. The narrator, who I’m not too sure whether or not he would be the protagonist; funny guy. We the reader are taken by the shoulder like the wedding guest and from then on the leaves of the book fly by like the wedding banquet happening indoors as we watch into the eyes of our ancient marinier with a brisk opening note of “Call me Ishmael.” And an immediate “Some years ago—never mind how long precisely, having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore. . ..”

the character of Ishmael is simple: he tells us about the time as a young man he dreamt up sweet nothings. It also happens that he is very lonely. He’s alone in the first few chapters, and alone again in the epilogue. Ishmael isn’t alone for the whole novel though. His weary heart finds rest in the manly arms of pagan queeqeg which kept him warm at the spouter inn. this gooey part of Ishmael and his friend isn’t really acknowledged again. but what I said about the text being a mirror, many reviewers as seen on Goodreads and jstor, and slate magazine, found it a little erotic. Erotic if you wilt. But personally, I understand why one would interpret that, and I suppose this novel, the watercolour fresco it is, in its washing shades, a layer inbetween touches on that human weakness. And on human weakness, another wash it is, can be traced from the tube that is moody captain ahab. The shade of “mood” as I’ll call it, its body will be taken from ahab. think how paints are mixed together to be darker or bluer or redder, that’s what I’m getting at, as I said about journalists. Ahab: the blue. Pipin: the white (a blinding, humbling white) (ironic cause Pipin is very very black. You could say even, Pipin represents the swallowing mythology of race within the ancient western order, made self aware.) And why it is I chose Pipin to be the lighter shade of mood, particularly white, is that he is pure. He holds no hate, only foreboding. If Pipin loves God it’s up to the reader, and, on that, Love of God is known by most theist philosophies by “forever search.” The Nepalese priests don’t know God, nor do the Sufis of Chad, they may know less about God then the laymen, but their hearts bleed on and on for Him.

Pipin knows God. He saw His foot in the Pacific, and never knew anything else. He saw the thread spindle by and never saw anything else. And that is where I will close on the character of Pipin for now. Ahab, as I was saying, is the mayonnaise of the story. He is described a lot how he’s perceived by readers. Old greek hero: learned, lined face. A line in his description that stood out to me was when his appearance was compared to a broken doll for the thick white scar that runs down his face and neck. It is unknown whether it ran through his whole form. On broken dolls, Ahab is wounded both in the spirit and in the body. He misses a leg infamously licked off by his nemesis, and many scholars write on how this symbolises castration, but, in my opinion, isn’t so necessary because it’s connoted enough that his, um, phallus, Excuse my language, was damaged one horrid time. His prosthetic leg was “so violently displaced, that it had stake-wise smitten, and all but pierced his groin.” He was found somewhere layed unconscious alone in a freak accident.

The madness was planted not the hour when he lost his leg, but I’ll say it was placed after how his coworkers treated him as he was sore. Of course he was distressed, he was just after getting maimed by a leviathan. Then they leave him in the ship basement in a straitjacket for three months. A believable 20th century psychology experiment. And on that absurdity on both his freakout and the funny treatment others follows with, all ahab did was poke a little knife into moby’s thick skin; what’s six inches to a whale? the calf of a man it seems. And on this, I’ll say, especially on the last five chapters of the novel, it really tugged at my heart. How many people go mad over silly things and how many of them sit in their graves, over something so silly. The sober portrayal of madness in Moby Dick was new to me, and poor ahab, nothing was holding him back. I’m sure one of you here have tasted madness before and you’ll know how it wraps the particles in the air. You’ll be right till you’re wrong and by then it’s too late and everyone hates you and what’s left then but to kill the White Whale. Lucid or not, a self fulfilling ‘prophesy’. If you are mad, I am sorry. I was planning to add some quote about how ‘people that don’t go mad after adversity are unlucky’ or whatever but I think this one will be more appropriate for my case.

“I like to feel something in this slippery world that can hold, man.”

... What people do for truth. Sigh. If only the reformation didn’t happen.

A short wedge away from crazy Ahab now, a character I will pull in front will be Fedallah, the formally secret pagan accomplice of the captain. While I was washing my hair thinking about this text straight after I completed it, thinking about how phallic it is. There also happens to be no female characters obviously seeing the setting, now I could write about how all the maces and harpoons and daggers and such all the sperm and domination castration etc and I sure will, maybe, but a tidbit I dreamt up under bubbles of shampoo:

I feel ‘Fedallah’ is a very feminine character, how Ahab is an archetypal wounded masculin. He kind of works though him, teaching him the eastern ways of blood magic and all queer ideas on how to defeat the whale. On my observation of Fedallah being feminine, many people critique that this ‘Fedallah’ is orientalist. Someone wrote a whole paper on it, but I didn’t read it, Said’s book on Orientalism is enough, and yes I suppose one can see why someone else takes that view. A phantom parsee whom ‘Stubb’ and ‘Starbuck’ call the devil well before it’s open to see that they were right. He kind of slithers in and out, like a veiled witch in some western story about those Moroccan seductresses, feasting on the woes of a madman just getting eviler and eviler. Fedallah, as a character, I will make a joke now, maybe it was that unnamed wife of ahab’s in a strap on beard. It makes sense seeing how Old Testament the novel reads, Wicked Jezebel. Now. What do I write that hasn’t been written by others. another chapter I quite liked. Say, chapter 96 was memorable to me, really all the chapters in the early 90’s. Here’s an excerpt from this ninety six.

“Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia's Dismal Swamp, nor Rome's accursed Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the millions of miles of deserts and of griefs beneath the moon. The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true—not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon's, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe. "All is vanity". ALL. This wilful world hath not got hold of unchristian Solomon's wisdom yet. But he who dodges hospitals and jails, and walks fast crossing grave-yards, and would rather talk of operas than hell; calls Cowper, Young, Pascal, Rousseau, poor devils all of sick men; and throughout a care-free lifetime swears by Rabelais as passing wise, and therefore jolly;—not that man is fitted to sit down on tomb-stones, and break the green damp mould with unfathomably wondrous Solomon. But even Solomon, he says, "the man that wandereth out of the way of understanding shall remain" (i. e. even while living) "in the congregation of the dead". Give not thyself up, then, to fire, lest it invert thee, deaden thee; as for the time it did me. There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.”

The sun doesn’t hide anything over ground, all encompassing to feed everyone vitamin D. The ending of this extract, narrated by Ishmael, suggests that some people get more vitamin D than others. This reads like a clever sermon and you’ll be sure to find other witty sermons, the one on Jonah ch.9.

I wanted to write about the character of ‘Starbuck’ now that I am thinking of preaching and morals. Starbuck is the yellow colour in the sandwich. He is the formal second-in-charge of the boat, and a pious Christian he is. His piety is seen in chapter 123 where he debates whether he kills his boss with his own musket in his sleep. He doesn’t kill Ahab, although he was noble to entertain it. I think the of Starbuck represents empathy. He worries for his friend’s soul, always telling him to come back to the Light but failing. A chapter where starbuck confronts Ahab once again, around the last 4 chapters, Ahab wept and admitted to his friend that maybe he didn’t want to chase on this suicide mission. Of course Ahab being Ahab he takes back his statement and goes back to being stoic but. Starbuck emphasised with the madman by reflecting what they both had in common; and we know most good holy people would brush a philistine off as a heathen with no humanity, and might even try to kill them not out of worry for their mortal soul, but from a sinister spot, hoping the wrongdoer burns in Hell. And on the topic of pagans, right and wrong, followers of old timey Nantucket christianity, presentations, we have a ‘Queequeg’ to stain the fresco with the shade of outsiders. I suppose Ishmael is an apparent outsider but only just to the reader. In the pretend word of Moby Dick he would had blended in just fine a tidy american boy. His name, like crazy Elijah and loony Ahab puts the nature of his background frankly. Not here or there, what morals he held, and geographical location, manhattan to God knows where. Ishmael bows down to his husbands idol goddess and seemed to want to do as he did until the idol goddess told him otherwise, and instead advised ‘queequeg’ to follow Ishmael.

Now, I could go on about how this character was ment to resonate to culturally Christian American western people, but that’s obvious and boring with “better a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian.”, But instead I will lend the map my meek mind interpreted while pondering ‘Queequeg’. I think maybe, if I were in charge of a modern adaption of the book, I would shift Queequeg into a “pointless migrant” from some place that isn’t war-torn or necessarily unpleasant but for some reason bleeds out immigrants like blood. Say, Albania. Excuse my rude language, it’s supposed to be wry. I say this not to make a geopolicical statement, it’s just, well, a modern Moby dick, surely a Polynesian devil worshipper would fain to be relevant. A hardworking young man from Timbuktu ready to die for his employers as long as he gets to mope around hostels, away from the oppression of his family. Something to think about, we don’t often hear the plights of these undesirables on euronews. In this modern Moby Dick the details of Queequeg’s past life would change but the structure would stay the same methinks. In the novel, he’s of noble stock. First in line to a barbarian throne to a cannibal kingdom. Dismayed with what he sees on his island he abandons its customs and goes abroad to see what life is like in the fabled new world. Poor fellow was in for a shock, turns out the Christians are so much worse than the pagans in daily life. While the cannibals may chop up and eat a person once every so often, Americans drink until they slobber and spit on others for being the wrong shade of brown. The story goes, the mere observation of it all makes ‘Queequeg’ feel so tainted to even return to what he escaped, so he put on the brimmed hat and linen and squawked how’de’ye’doo .. … that story was touching. as a younger girl the muslamic ways of my family made me sick. even now when I ponder on them too long the similar nausea manifests… but. I look out the window to see what the folk around me get up to. As much as culture and its rules may sting, imagine living without it? right now there’s a European girl finding this conclusion but vice versa. Fickle thing this all is. Now, that’s a theme touched on the text, how we really are all just copies of one another, shaped by circumstance. And on that, I’d imagine a modern Ishmael to look a bit like this:

art hoe kind of person.. r/redscarepod when it was still about art. And on art, this book, really, it’s nothing like how i describe it. It’s really beautiful. Maybe I’m a bad reader, I don’t know literature, but this one was different. Nothing washed over me like it before. And I know the novel isnt finished with me yet. Lord willing I’d be sure to pick it up again in a year. The text is thick with references and even though I might have caught the biblical ones, and the ones I did not understand were filled in via powermobydick.com. Maybe twelve months later I’ll be the wiser. On beautiful things, here’s a pick of three pretty book covers.

1. A unique rainbow. Oh! How come I wrote nothing about the whale! Wow. Here’s a excerpt that stood out to me about the creature.

“the White Whale tossed himself salmon-like to Heaven. So suddenly seen in the blue plain of the sea, and relieved against the still bluer margin of the sky, the spray that he raised, for the moment, intolerably glittered and glared like a glacier; and stood there gradually fading and fading away from its first sparkling intensity, to the dim mistiness of an advancing shower in a vale.”

a confession, picturing The Whale in my head while reading; it was not much like how it was described. Maybe its eye sockets were broader, but full of void. Misty, opaque poltergeist of pale pastels and whites. Kind of kawaii, but not so much a fish-mammal but an angel.

2.

Adore the paper cutout impression the colouring produces. not much distinction between the ‘sky’ and the ‘sea’. Moby Dick could be flying.

3.

Who’s the face supposed to represent? And the whale, that certainly cannot be Moby, because it’s hurt. I think the face is supposed to be Ishmael, the disheveled beard makes me wonder that it’s supposed to be him after a day or two floating in Queequeg’s coffin, after the Pequod sank. Look at those colours, those scraggly bruises look sore. Poor whale, I think it’s crying.

oh, sob, it moved me so much I wanted to make art about it, a collage was my first idea, but it occurred to me I don’t know how I’d execute that. Usually collages are reserved for art on different feelings. I was thinking maybe a video collage, a retelling of the novel though internet memes and pop culture moments. But what memes other than Dj Khalid clips would be added? So scrap that. A journalist would know.

useless note: this made me think of the character ‘Stubb.’ :

hardy harr harr, what were your thoughts on Stubb? Many reviewers found stubb a poopyhead, which he was, but an intresting poopyhead nonetheless. Unforgivable what he did to Pipin though.

This is the end of my observation. Thank you if you read all of this. Thanks. God bless.

“Heaven have mercy on us all—Presbyterians and Pagans alike— for we are all somehow dreadfully cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.”

[universaln0b0dy]

Reader + Rook [unusual friendship]

《Sumary 》: You and Rook are friends and pretty good ones to be exact. It's quite surprising for others, but both of you protect and care for eachother.

《note》 You are an artist, since I said so! But you try to draw the same person in as many positions/looks/ expressions as possible and Rook is Well Rook

You didn't know why or how it came to the fact that you were currently helping Rook spying on Leona. Maybe because you found it quite nice to join the hunter on his adventures, or because you liked his company.

"Rook? Are he won't notice us?" You whisper and Rook nods. You had always wanted to draw Leona and Rook just knew were to find the lion male no matter the time of day.

"Yup monsior/mademoiselle trickster! Only stepping on his tail coul awake roi du lion at this very moment!" You giggle quietly and start drawing Leona, while Rook looks over your shoulder.

"That looks manifique monsior/mademoiselle trickster!" He compliments and you smile, finishing the drawing.

On your way back to your dorm, after parting with Rook, you pick up a few students whispering something.

"Don't you think Rook is creepy?" You snap your head towards them. "Yeah! He's such a stalker bastard. I hope he flies from this school so we won't have to deal with him."

You knew Rook was fully aware of everything they said when he wasn't there and that it didn't bother him, but it bothered you. It bothered you a lot.

"Hey! Don't talk about students behind their back like that!" You call out, regretting the decision a moment later. The students stare at you both of them laughing.

"Oi, isn't that the magic less prefect?" One of them says, elbowing his friend.

"Yeah! And they're trying to threaten us! Can you believe that? Seems like they're not only powerless but stupid too!"

You frowned even harder about to give them a hand ful of your best curse words, as an arrow flies through the air. It brushes past one of the students and they look at you with slight confusion.

"What the heck?" One of them murmured and you smile pleased with yourself as you see another arrow brush past the second student.

"That was my friend! And you both know the next arrow will hit!" You say. The students roll their eyes but take their leave. Rook let's himself drop out of the tree with a smile.

"Merci, for defending my honor monsior/mademoiselle trickster!" He says and you nod proudly.

"Don't worry about it, that's my job as your friend," you look at Rook, holding up your notebook. "Also, can you climb back into that tree? I have just gotten the idea for a drawing!"

It was quite unusual, your friendship, but that didn't matter. All that matters is that both of you are there for eachother, even if it's posing in a tree, or watching students.