#and then with the fucked up pit stop it’s still good he crossed the line in the same position he started

[leclercskiesahead]

Ferrari didn’t let Carlos overtake when he was right behind on faster tyres, and some people only chose to wait until he backed off and his soft tyres degraded to say ‘oh he can’t complain he can’t expect to switch when he’s three seconds behind although he has softs’ (never mind the fact that switch position Sierra is obviously code and they probably weren’t even discussing a literal switch at that point cos he clearly already backed off). Ferrari undercut Carlos with his own teammate then told Carlos not to attack Charles when he has a penalty and some people are like oh but Charles is so fast he is staying ahead of Carlos so he won’t lose position and act like Charles finishing ahead is some amazing testament to his ability.

[bunicate]

omg congrats on pulling bladie!!! big brother blade lives on my mind ngl ik he loves to spoil his lil sister’s pussy the second his parents r outta the houseee ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི ₊˚ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 . blade x fem reader

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. brief anal. creampie. a litl bit of possessive bladie. he says some dubious things. just a smidge of jealousy. “little girl” usage. breeding mention. unedited ofkurs ﾉ wc ꒱ 1.4k ﾉ 18+ ﾉ if uncomfy pls scroll or block ^_^

muhehe tysm ! ! still trying to build him ! he’s far from perfect but at least he’s at home with me. yk I had 2 pull through nd write smthn icky for him but I did go in a tad bit different direction :<<

you feel it, regret pooling in the pit of your stomach like rocks settling at the bottom of a shallow lake. the beating of your heart stutters out of tandem with the batter of blades hips.

his firm hands anchor themselves on the softness of your lower back, dull nails digging into your skin like thorns.

he fucks you with such depravity, and your obnoxiously noisy cunt salivated in response to the familiar bump of his cock. 

it was far too late for regrets, you knew it well, even as he’s buried himself to the hilt. your parents were a thing of the past, but there’s always the potential of subjecting an innocent passerby to the sight of your brother rubbing your tender insides with his cock. 

despite your roused state, you're still capable of reason, though your brother seemed to have a complete disregard for it.

“b-bladie.”

it’s soft on his ears, polite, although honeyed with a subtle warning accompanied by the slow pulse of your cunt. 

his cock twitches from your quiet plea. he’s close, and at this point, he knows better than to cross the line any further, but you were elusive to your own charms. how could he bury his urges when your round and soft butt continued to smack against his pelvis ? your cunt drooled each time he pulled out.

 its such a sight for sore eyes, and somehow his gaze kept wandering to the tight rim above, making his breathing ragged— almost animalistic.

 he’s seen all of you, sights no older brother should witness, but it didn’t stop him from wanting more.

it should terrify you, the lengths he goes to stake his claim over you. coming as close as threatening to breed you and keep you bound to him like a pet. predators would be wise to never cross the hunter, even they could sense the extent of his prowess. 

blade purposefully keeps you out of his affairs, but you know he’s a fearsome warrior. he’s tall and slender and with each movement, his hulk of muscle flexes. he’s strong enough to drag your body up and down his member, serving as a stark reminder of the gap in strength.

blade's palms, rough from wielding his ancient sword, settled on both sides of your waist, steels its grip. his thumb presses against your back, and the tips of his fingers meet at your belly button.

he bounces you on his cock, using you like a doll factored for fucking. he lifted you repeatedly like you weighed nothing and all you could do was submit to his brutal pace. 

blade bites his lip to prevent curses from escaping.

he feels . . . good, better than usual. your swollen pussy tugs on his length, drawing out the remnants of his willpower. the desire to cum and bury it in your womb causes blood to rush.

like you can sense the danger, you peer over your shoulder cautiously. 

“you h-have to pull out . . y’can’t just cum inside, okay ?”

such a redundant conversation, and he pays it no mind. 

what good would it be to do something so risky—so wrong, but for blade, it would be worth the peril. 

he doesn’t acknowledge your admonition, instead pressing you further into the sheets, elongating the arch in your back.

“stay still.” 

his hand collides with your backside and a startled gasp echoes. the apple of your ass cheek stings, while the damp release between your thighs becomes stickier. 

the weight on the bed dips when your big brother lowers himself. his chest presses to your back when he fucks you again.

roaring slaps of moist flesh lie thick in the air. you’re soft, so fragile in his embrace that he could crush you like a dainty flower trampled from being hidden between shards of grass.

when blade feels that familiar tender pulse of your cunt signaling your finish, he painfully pulls out as per your whiny request. he utterly despised having to separate himself from you, but nonetheless, he obeys your wishes. sort of.

his cock stands tall and thick, cream dripping from the edge of his tip. your pussy is agape in front of him, but his eyes linger on the tight coil of your ass.

rough palms enclose in a tight fist around his shaft. he pumps his cock, staring daggers at the rim until his balls hang heavier.

he wanted to empty them, he wanted nothing more than to milk his cock using your sweet cunt, but the hunger that normally consumed him wanted something else for a change. 

he slaps his tip against your puckered hole, humping the pretty flesh. his leaking head increasingly swells as the seconds pass by, turning bright pink. the hunter groans, and heaves, his sickening thoughts running rampant while he envisions himself filling up his little sister. 

he’s no longer computing, his body moves on autopilot, and he’s wiping his glossy tip over your ass. 

“hnn-! n-no more. not there bladie !”

you squeal. the sensation is new and foreign, and you find yourself torn between begging for more or scrambling away.

a growing smirk settles on his face, and you see a slither of his sharp teeth.

“you're mouthy today. maybe i should put my cock somewhere else instead.”

you tense when his tip probes your tight muscle again, rubbing it in circles. he was stimulating your ass, forcing your pussy to twitch out of neglect. 

he mumbles to himself. 

“such a brainless girl. i thought i made it clear that i take what i want.”

his orbital pools mimicking the color of blood narrow. he’s almost there, sloppily fucking the skin of your ass until the slippery head of his member breaches the tight ring. and then he snaps. 

with a single, calculated thrust, relief rains down in waves. he buries his cock in all the way as streams of his cum spurt out, dressing your walls in milky webs.

it’s warm as it fills your insides and your mind becomes a foggy maze. instead of your big brother cumming inside your cunt, he emptied his load in your ass, and nothing but burgeoning heat swallows you up. 

“thats it . . take what i give you.”

it’s hard to retain anything when his breath tickles the sides of your cheek and his pulsing sack mushes against your clit. 

“no part of you is off limits, little girl.” 

by now, you're writhing, and you can’t think about how full you felt. not when his words had you mewling out of shame and excitement.

blade makes sure to deliver a few more thrusts, just to be certain that he’s been thoroughly drained. his heart thrums against his chest, reminding him that he's real—you’re real, and that his cock is stretching his little sister’s ass.

his breathing becomes uneven, the exhales of air caressing the plains of your damp skin.

he lowers his head, his lips settling by the shell of your  ear. 

“soon . .”

long strands of his hair fall into place , resting on your own skin.

“i'll cum inside this tiny cunt and there's nothing you'll be able to do about it.”

a shiver runs down your spine. equal parts of fear and eagerness for that fateful day of promise.

when he pulls out, his seed drips from your opening down the length of your slit. both of his hands grab your ass cheeks to watch the cum nestle between your lower lips and spill on the already soiled sheets. 

carefully he watches your cunt push out the remnants, watching it cascade in thick dollops. 

“such greedy holes.” 

you puff out your cheeks and move the stringy hairs from your face. 

“stop it . . it’s so embarrassing when you say that .” 

you attempt to kick him off, and of course it’s thwarted by his iron hold on you.

he presses a sloppy kiss on your asshole, uncaring of the mess coating your sensitive parts. 

“eeeeeeeek -! you’re sooooooo gross, bladie ! get away from me !”

he spanks your ass to hush your outburst.

“shut up.”

he kisses you to silence more of your complaints. the faint taste of cum on his soft lips mingling against your spit - slicked ones. 

 he pulls away audibly, taking a calm breath. 

“you're seeing jing yuan tomorrow.”

you raise an eyebrow at the sudden mention of the general.

your brother is nothing less of a maverick, only keeping you close and others at a less than reasonable distance.

jing yuan however complicated things. while they weren't as close, anymore you still made an effort to see him despite their soured relationship.

in his scarce free time when he wasn't resting, he taught you all sorts of things. he helped time escape you when boredom struck in blade's absence. 

you nod stiffly, still skeptical at the hunter before you. you're wary of his intentions, but too stimulated to care. 

blade's face betrays no emotion and so, you’re suddenly startled.

you gasp when his teeth nicks at your neck.

he sucks the skin for a few seconds and then kisses the spot he bruised. proud of his handiwork he pulls away to speak up once more. you can nearly hear his smugness.

“. . . send my regards to the general.”

[pangborns]

WOULD’VE, COULD’VE, SHOULD’VE…

God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be

tyler durden x fem!reader x the narrator (jack)

in which tyler entered your life just long enough to fuck it all up.

swearing, mentions of death, violence, panic attacks, manipulation, mean!tyler, kidnapping tbh, possible spoilers. (This may be the darkest thing I’ve written yet, so proceed with caution.)

Your shaky hand was quick to cover your mouth as the sobs poured out of you. You sat criss-crossed on the filthy mattress decorating the floor of the deteriorating home.

Admittedly, just two weeks ago you were a completely different person. You had a stable job, healthy friendships, and most importantly, no Tyler.

The night you met him, he had stopped you from calling the police on him and his friend for fighting in the parking lot outside of Lou’s Tavern. You remember his hand being so cold as it gently wrapped around your wrist. You remember the fear you felt in the pit of your stomach as you looked between the two bloodied men, the flush of your cheeks as they both gauged your actions, and the way you ultimately stopped your movement toward the pay phone. That was your first mistake.

“What’s your name?” Tyler questioned, he tilted his head a bit. You looked around him, watching as the man he was fighting spit out a wad of blood, he was still on the ground. Tyler stepped in front of your line of view. “Your name?”

“Oh- I’m, um, I’m (Y/N),” Your voice shook as you spoke to him. “I wasn’t looking to get involved with anything. I just don’t want anybody getting hurt…”

Tyler chuckled, pivoting on his foot to face his friend, “Y’hear that? She doesn’t want anybody to get hurt,” He was mocking you. The man behind him still didn’t say anything, he seemed lost in thought as he stared at you.

Wait a minute, you knew this man…“Jack?” You spoke incredulously, you did know this man! He worked a few cubicles down from you.

Tyler’s eyes widened, he whistled and fell back a few steps. “Jack’s got a friend,” Tyler continued his trek toward Jack, kneeling beside him. “Now, how do we know this woman, Jack?”

Jack seemed to try to stutter out an answer, his eyes were blown wide. His whole life could fall apart due to this very encounter, you could run off and tell everybody what you had stumbled upon. You could get him fired. His breathing calmed as he became lost in thought, you wouldn’t do that. You were only the woman who worked down the aisle from him, the one that asked him for paperclips as an excuse to interact, the one who emailed him the work he missed out on while he was sick, the one who so obviously had a work crush on him.

Your face was white at the realization, Tyler lowered his voice as he spoke into Jack’s ear, the two still watching you. Your work heels clicked as you started to back away, not failing to recognize how Tyler seemed to let you.

“C’mon man, she’s leaving you. She doesn’t care. She’ll probably run off and tell everybody about how much of a loser you are. What kind of guy stages fights in a run down parking lot-?” Tyler continued to egg Jack on, watching as his buddy’s face contorted.

“Wait!” Jack called out, stopping you in your tracks. “This is- he’s my friend, Tyler.” You released a small breath you were holding as he admitted that he really did know the man.

You nodded, muttering assurances to both yourself and Jack. Feigning a laugh, you started to turn around to leave for good.

“Don’t leave,” Jack pleaded, shakily standing up. “Let me- do you want to come over? To our place?”

You furrowed your brow. Our place. Was Tyler his roommate? “Why?” Your words came out shaky as you fiddled with your coat.

Jack grew quiet, he didn’t know why he extended the invitation. He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue in thought.

“- we just moved in! Jack’s been eager to show it off to everybody we meet!” Tyler jumped in, patting Jack on the back extra hard as he stood up beside him.

You looked down at your dainty watch and read the time: 11:28. You stayed at work extra late today to pick up on Jack’s slack, so you weren’t too fond of any idea that didn’t include going home and sleeping.

“I don’t know, Jack. I’ve been working all day-“ Jack closed his eyes and hurriedly nodded, murmuring to himself. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Tyler was quick to cut you off.

“You heard her, Jack. She doesn’t care,” he smirked, throwing a wink your way. “She probably only puts up with you for her own personal work gain.”

The way he so openly spoke lies was incredulous. It didn’t even sound convincing! But from the look on Jack’s face, he so clearly believed those words. You furrowed your eyebrows, anger starting to settle in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not true! Jack, don’t listen to him.” You demanded, stepping closer to the pair.

“Prove it.” Tyler stated curtly, tilting his head as he challenged you.

And that was how you ended up here, two weeks later, sitting in a decaying house surrounded by rats and roaches. The light pooling in from under the door was slightly blocked as a pair of shoes stood in front of the door. With a click and a creak, the door opened.

“Jack.” You addressed the man, watching as his hands shook while holding the tray of food. He refused to make eye contact with you, simply setting the tray by his feet and turning to leave. 

A sob escaped your chapped lips. “Jack, he’s a criminal. We need to get out of here.” You continued to plead. The man finally looked at you through his lashes. He gulped.

You could hear the countless men downstairs talking about their newest of plans to wreak havoc. Jack cringed.

“It doesn’t work like that, (Y/N).”

Another cry came from your mouth as you deflated a bit.

“Just give up. He isn’t going to let you leave until you join the cause.”

You sputtered, throwing your arms up in frustration. “Never! These are bad people, Jack.”

Jack pursed his lips, nodding a bit as he made his exit. The door shook as he stepped down the hall towards the stairs.

You screamed, pounding your fists against the floor. “Dammit, Tyler! Let me out!”

Your voice eventually grew hoarse and you had to give up. About fifteen minutes after your tantrum, you could hear the precise approaching footsteps of Tyler Durden.

The door cracked open and Tyler slipped in. “Heard you were giving Jack a hard time.” He tsked, not wasting a moment on a greeting.

You kept your mouth shut, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“Huh.” He nodded, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. A chuckle escaped from his amused smile. “I got all day, sweetheart.”

Your lip quivered as you fought back the tears. “I’m not joining your shit club.” You spit, eyebrows furrowing.

Tyler merely hummed. “C’mon hun, do it for Jack.” He teased. “Poor guy is in love with you or something! This is killing him, Princess.”

You reeled back at the nickname, cringing at his smirk. “I am going to get out of here one day. On my own accord. This shit hole will be crawling with cops in no time, Tyler. Mark my words.”

Tyler simply laughed at your threat. The thought seemed to amuse him, he lightly tapped your cheek before making his way for the door.

“Trust me, that won’t be happening.”

[moonshynecybin]

for the prompt list, #8 rosquez and the closet is the factory ducati box next year

#8: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck.

WORD. This got long (1.3k good lord)... fox in the henhouse concept from f1vegas look at their post here...

Vale pulls him into a closet after FP2. Marc, to Valentino’s surprise, goes.

“What was that?” He starts, frustration filling him to the brim. Pecco in the dirt, Marc one step closer to his ninth. Running through Ducati like a fox in a henhouse.

Marc doesn’t answer, just stares at him like he’s taking fucking notes. It conjures memories of when he would follow Vale’s lap in quali after sticking his own bike on pole, a moment just to catalog his strategies, peek at what lines he was planning on taking, and it thins his already narrow patience.

“Marc,” he tries again, more forcefully. His tone is quiet, he has to be quiet in here, with half a dozen Ducati engineers outside, but he knows Marc feels every inch of intention.

Marc’s posture is clamped up, arms crossed. His scar is poking out of the sleeve of his shirt, jagged and pale in the dark of the room. He blinks calmly, and Vale shifts, irritation ratcheting up. Marc does this— stonewalls him like this. Refuses to engage.

“What?” 

“With Pecco— what were you doing?”

“Let me go.” Marc asks, and his voice is even, but his eyes— gone. Done. He isn’t even looking at Vale, is absently looking at the space of wall to the right of Vale’s shoulder.

Vale hadn’t even realized they were touching. His hand springs away from Marc’s arm like he’s been burned, and he compensates by stepping closer, crowding Marc in against the wall. Body heat simmers in the small space of the room, close and heavy. 

He takes a rough breath inwards. He fucking hates the sight of him in that red team shirt, hates the way his eyes sink in on themselves whenever Vale tries to get him to, to do something. Bend, a little.

He never does.

“Answer me,” Vale asks, tilting his head so he’s directly in Marc’s eyeline. “Or are you too much of a coward?”

That triggers something— a flame sparks, catching at Marc’s edges, and he’s back, terrifyingly present. His eyes shoot up to meet Vale, chin lifting proudly, and his jaw clenches. The most direct acknowledgment of tension Vale’s gotten from him since they were last on track together, going on four years ago now.

“Or what?” Marc answers, casually flinty. He's not giving an inch, now, every bit of the ego rising to the surface. Marc’s back, he remembers everyone saying last year. Apparently so. 

Still, something ugly and satisfied claws in his chest at the attention, at the way he’s finally gotten Marc to acknowledge it. He knows Marc wouldn’t do this with Pecco, wouldn’t let it get this far— He’d be out the door by now, halfway to his motorhome, content in his ability to confine it to the track. Content to say he doesn’t take it with him once he steps off of the motorcycle. That careful separation of Marc the rider and Marc the person that Vale knows is entirely bullshit.

But he’s not turning and leaving. He's still here, with Vale, his feet planted on the ground like he’s bracing to throw a punch. 

Marc’s neck stretches, craning up a few inches to meet him. The only light in the room, a thin slash peeking in through the crack in the doorframe, casts dramatic shadows over his cheekbones, moody and dangerous, and his eyes are deep, dark pits. They flash as Vale refuses to yield, glimmering with that savage energy he recognizes when he looks in the mirror. His pulse thrums, loud in his ears, and—

Marc looks older, like this, alone and up close. Tired. Anger setting his face into marble. A statue carved by Vale’s own hand.

The moment stretches tight enough to snap, coiling in his body like a spring. Breath hits his face. He can’t stop staring at the soft pink of Marc’s upper lip. Vale leans forward, on the lure, and Marc leans back, reactive, unsure. His eyes jump wildly, searching for something on Vale’s face.

And then they’re kissing like they’re starving.

He loses time after that. Flashes. A hand in his hair. A wet pressure across his pulse point. Fingers working at his belt. Marc presses close and he presses closer, tugging his waistband down over his ass and spitting in his palm. Marc’s eyes close when he gets a hand around blood hot skin, nearly collapsing into Vale.

His thumb rides its way to press against the underside of Marc’s cock, wet against his fingers. Marc’s eyes squeeze shut, pretty face locking up at that first lightning sharp hit of pleasure as Vale gets his teeth in his neck and bites hard, tongue a soft counterpart against the skin there. Marc shifts, shivery, a caught sound in the back of his throat, and his lips part. Soft, overcome. A different fucking world from the way he was a few moments ago, tension snaking away from him as Vale sucks harder. He’s going to leave a mark, something obvious, shiny and purple.

“Cameras, cameras, cameras,” Marc remembers, chest heaving. He taps at Vale’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Vale says, unrepentant, and leans in to bite again. Marc moans louder this time— he always did like it like this— and Vale has to break off to shush him.

“Microphones, microphones, microphones,” He whispers in Marc’s ear, just to watch Marc fight a smile. His own cock is throbbing, and he hauls Marc against him so he’s riding the top of his thigh. His dick bumps against Marc’s, still slick and red from spit and the friction of Vale’s hand. He catches on the picture they make for a second, breathing loud in the quiet of the small room.

“C’mon,” Marc pleads, characteristically impatient, voice hitching in as Vale wraps a hand around them both, drawing them off on long strokes. “C’mon— fuck,”

“I’ve got you,” Vale answers, still fixed on the visual of Marc’s dick notched beside his own— he thinks he can feel Marc’s pulse through his cock— 

“Please,” scrapes its way out of Marc, throaty, almost involuntary, and he’s so wet now, leaning into Vale as his arm works faster. The sound is obscene, they’re going to get caught. He doesn’t care.

“I know baby, I’ve got you—“ Vale babbles, nonsense flowing out of him as Marc’s head burrows into his neck, breath hot and wet on his skin. “That’s perfect, you’re perfect, fuck, just like that—“

They’re both close now, breath coming harsh and fast, and the temperature in the closet is scorching, heat crowding in. Marc shudders as Vale gets in a particularly nasty stroke, and Vale can feel it, a feedback loop between their bodies winding him up every time Marc’s hot mouth skates over his skin, every time his cock jerks in his hand. He feels wild, half out of his mind, hand in his dick and on Marc’s dick in a hot rapid slide, as close as he can get without— without—

He opens his mouth, says “You should— you should let me fuck you, in here. So everyone would know, would hear. Let me put it in you,”

Marc convulses, “God,” He swears, cheeks red, and comes gasping, shooting over Vale’s fist, getting them messy. And it's the sight of his come, staining up the pretty red of his Ducati team shirt that sticks in Vale’s mind, too much, and hurtles him over the edge, a gut punch of a sensation, mouth open around a curl of Marc’s hair, sweat dripping down his back.

[crappymixtape]

good love makes you hesitate

REQUEST → @wroteclassicaly 500 FOLLOWER CELEBRATION ❝ angst prompt: “don’t do this here” – best-friend!reader x steve | ( 2.2k – all of the angst, tiny bit of fluff, best friends to lovers, steve x bff!reader )

G O O D L O V E M A K E S Y O U H E S I T A T E 🎶 i know a place, MUNA

“C’mon. You can’t be serious,” Steve was giving you that look. The impossible one where you wanted to grab up fist fulls of his shirt, heated and angry and tell him off. His tone was edgy, frustrated and you knew he was right, but you couldn’t admit it.

Your back was against his door, arms crossed over your chest as you watched him pace the length of his room. His hair sticking up and messed from running his hands through it as music played loudly downstairs.

Muffled lyrics pushing themselves up through the floorboards. People cheering and laughing in the kitchen and out by the pool. Mocking you as you stood in your best friend’s room trying to shove everything back down into the pit of your stomach where it belonged. Listening to him lecture you. Trying to justify to him why you were still with your shitty boyfriend.

The boyfriend who was always late picking you up from work. The boyfriend who forgot your birthday. Didn’t know your favorite color or that you hated pineapple on your pizza. Wouldn’t sing True Colors all off-key and shitty in the car with you. The one who got caught messing around with Tammy Thompson and yet you stayed. Because it was better.

Better than watching your best friend make out with someone else. Better than sitting with the feelings you denied. The ones that made your heart race every single time Steve smiled at you. Every time he pulled you in for a hug. Every time he told you how much you meant to him. How you were the ‘best friend anyone could ever ask for’ but never any more than that, so it was better. Better than admitting you were in love with him and not your boyfriend.

Better than hurting like that.

“Oh my god, Steve,” you sighed, exasperated, trying not to loose control of it all, “Don’t do this here.” You’d balled your hands into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms, anger starting to give way to something else but you refused to let it.

“Don’t do this? Are you kidding? He cheated on you! What if he does it again?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, tried to shut him out, but he pushed. He always pushed.

“You’re not fine! Just dump his ass,” Steve looked at you in disbelief, looked at you like the answer was so obvious and it made you laugh. A mirthless, humorless breath of air that hurt as it pushed itself from your lungs and you roughed your hands over your face.

“Okay, Steve. Sure.”

He stopped pacing, stared at you, heard the sarcasm dripping from your words and it was his turn to laugh. The same frustration lacing the edges of it as he took a step toward you. Looked at you eyes narrowed, mouth firmed into a line.

“You’re gonna stay with him? After all that? After Tammy–” and then you snapped.

“Don’t!” you felt the sting of tears in the corners of your eyes, throat tightening against the sob you’d been holding in your chest for what felt like years and you didn’t think you could run from it anymore.

Steve’s eyes grew wide, expression shifting in an almost painful way. Sure, you argued like friends do, but you’d never yelled like that before and you watched as his insistent determination gave way to something softer. Watched as ‘sorry’ tugged at the corners of his lips. So fucking sorry and he wanted to say something, anything, but your words kept coming. Spilling out now. Drops of water through a crack that only widened with each second that passed.

“You can’t say shit like that,” your words had lost their edge, liquid like water, the sharpness dulled from the way he was looking at you. Eyes all burnt caramel, brown sugar, and he took a couple of steps toward you.

“What? Why?” the look on your face wrecked him and he couldn’t help reaching out to take your hand. Firm and soft all at the same time and as his fingers tangled with yours, you squeezed your eyes shut and set free the tears you’d been fighting against.

“Steve,” you were pleading now, begging him to leave it, but when you opened your eyes he was looking at you like you’d punched him. Maybe you should’ve. Maybe that would’ve been easier. “You don’t know what it’s like,” you finally admitted, the tightly wound feelings in your chest starting to unravel. Tears chasing down the soft curves of your cheeks, slipping over your lips and you could taste the salt. The bitterness.

“What it’s like?” his brows pinched together, concerned and confused, still not putting the pieces together and you held back the small, painful sound that had bubbled up in your throat because you finally realized you’d do anything to make the ache in your chest go away. Even if it meant fucking up what you had with your best friend because you telling him now was better than carrying it around with you forever.

“To be in love with someone that doesn’t love you back,” and the hurt in your words pulled his free hand to your cheek, the rough pad of his thumb gently brushing your tears away. He shook his head, trying to help but not knowing how.

“But–but you told me you didn’t love hi–”

“Not him,” you didn’t let him finish, “You. I’m in love with you, Steve.”

His lips parted, the pinch between his brows melting away, swallowing thick and Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as your words hit him square in the chest, “You–you’re in love with me?”

Your face burned, felt like it was on fire, your whole body trembling and vibrating with the admission that had settled in the room around you and you kept going, tried to save face, “I know you don’t feel the same way. And that’s fine! I get it! I just can’t keep pretending–”

But Steve swallowed the rest of your words. Slipped his hand round the back of your neck and pulled you into him. Pressed his lips to yours and proved you wrong with that kiss.

And it was loaded. Full of all the things you’d left unsaid. He was breathing you like air. Holding you like he was drowning and you were his lifeline. Drank you like a man who’d been wandering the desert without water and god, you let him.

“Steve,” you pulled away for a second, the quick sounds of your breaths falling between you, and he stopped.

“Oh shit, sorry, I–”

“No! Oh my god, don’t be sorry,” you huffed a small laugh, feeling your hands on his chest, on the soft fabric of his shirt. Fresh laundry, patchouli and boy. A smile pulled at the corners of his lips, his hands wide and warm at your waist and he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was gentle, easing you into it and your cheeks flushed pink.

“You always said we were ‘best friends’,” you said softly and the furrow between his brows came back as he lifted a hand to your cheek.

“Yeah, course we’re best friends.”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” came out shy, a little embarrassed and he pulled you in closer.

“Ruin it?” he tutted softly, thumb sweeping over your cheek and down to the corner of your mouth, “Baby, you’d never ruin it.”

Baby.

“You promise?” you asked, eyes flicking up to meet his and he leaned down to kiss you again, smiling against you, warm and safe and Steve.

“I promise.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist

[darknessawaits28]

What a defiant little one you are? {Part. 1}

Hello my lovies, I'm trying something new again! I am going be writing a stalker story about Loki Laufeyson and you (in first person), hope you enjoy! Thank you all for your love and support! Love you all my lovies! :3 Warnings: Smut, stalker fantasy, a few curse words, possible bondage, forced smut, etc.

"Hey y/n, clocking off?" Amanda, your shift manager said to you as you pulled off your apron.

"Yeah, I am beat as it is, and besides, I got a hot date tonight with my couch, tv, and a bucket of ice cream" You laughed, going over to the time punch screen and punching out.

"Lucky bitch, well, I'll see you next week okay, we are getting new stock, and I need you bright and early please."

"Oh right, I forgot that pumpkin spice is coming back on the menu for fall, fuck me" you rolled your eyes as you headed to the back to grab your things. Slowly pulling on your sweater, you quickly looked up, seeing something moving out of your sight quickly. "Hmm, must've been nothing" you shrugged it off and walked towards the door to head out of the café. "Alright Amanda, I'll see you next week, good night!"

"Night y/n, enjoy your movie!"

"Thanks I will" you smiled, pushing open the door, and then heading down the busy New York City side walk. "Hmm maybe Mask of Zorro, haven't seen that movie in a while, or how about Matilda?" You mumbled to yourself, trying to figure out what movie you should watch.

Unaware of your surroundings, there was someone following you. His breathe hitched in his throat at the delicious sight of you walking, your every move forcing his pants to tighten further than it already was.

"No way!" You nearly shouted as you saw across the street the cutest kawaii store you have ever seen. "Damn what time does it close?" you quickly grabbed your phone and began to search the name to see what time it closes.

The man quickly hid behind the light post, trying to remain hidden from your line of sight as to not spook you.

"Oh, it closes at 8!" "Pit stop!" You giggled, waiting for the cross walk signal to give her the right away. Soon enough, the light changed and you was able to cross the street to the kawaii store, the shadow still following close behind you.

"Damn that girl, she had better not make any more stops or I will have to punish her for sending me through all these loops" the man grumbled in frustration as he followed her into the store cautiously, trying to calm the enormous bulge that was ready to burst from his pants.

"Hello, welcome to Cinibun, we are having a sale of 40% off with the purchase of our mascot Cinibun bun!" one of the workers said kindly as she continued to restock the shelf.

"Oh thank you, I'll check him out later" you spoke kindly to the retail worker and continued your stroll. Knowing for a fact you was going to buy a lot, you grabbed a basket and began to walk around the store.

The man entered right after you, the retail worker ready to say her line, but stopped immediately at the sight of him. "W-Welcome to the store sir..." the girl gulped, quickly going back to restocking, wanting nothing to do with him. The man simply smirked deviously at how this mere mortal girl trembled before him, oh the power that he held to be feared upon!

"Aww, look how adorable!" you smiled as you grabbed a teddy bear that had blueberry designs all over it.

"It indeed is quite adorable" A voice behind you spoke with interest.

Startled by the sound of someone, you quickly turned around to see a tall man standing before you. "Uh, yes, it is."

"I love coming to this store, I always get my girlfriend those cute little guys, she loves them" the man spoke genuinely and with enthusiasm, trying to mask the fact that he was here for you.

"Oh, oh, heh, yeah, my apartment is filled with these little guys, they're just so cute and fluffy" you giggled, putting the bear in your basket.

"Hey, uh, since you know a lot about stuffed animals, can you possibly help me find another one for my girlfriend, uh miss?"

"Y/n."

"Y/n, nice to meet you, my name is Loki."

"Loki, quite the interesting name" You smiled as you made a 'come with me' gesture with your free hand.

"Yes I know, my mother named me that because she loved Norse Mythology, don't laugh" Loki joked with you, trying to keep his hands to himself as he watched you walk.

"Oh don't worry, I'm not going to laugh, I think your name is pretty cool" you hummed as you grabbed a strawberry teddy bear and turned around to hand it to Loki. "I think your girlfriend would love this."

"Oh my, I don't think I have seen this before, yes, she will definitely love this, thank you."

"Much obliged, now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to look around some more and then head home, had a long shift today."

"Oh of course, have a good night then" Loki smiled deviously as he watched you walk away to do more shopping. "A good night you will indeed have my dear~"

"Finally!" You nearly shouted as you put the 4 bags of stuff you bought from the kawaii store on the kitchen counter and scrolled through your phone. "Hmm, going to add that to my favorite place" you said to yourself as you headed into the dark living room. "Damn, she already put my schedule for next week, she's quick" you shrugged, grabbing the remote control for the light and pressed the button.

"Welcome home my dear~."

Stopping in your tracks, you turned around to see the same man you saw in the kawaii shop causally sitting on your couch.

"You do not know how long I've been waiting for you to come home" Loki smirked at you, putting aside the magazine he was looking at and stood from the couch. "So, are you going to be a defiant little one, or be a good little girl?"

When he finished speaking, you ran up the stairs to head to your room, trying to use your phone to call the police. "Come on, come on!" you trembled, slamming your door shut and quickly hiding in your closet. "Please, please, please pick up!"

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he pulled off his coat and carefully hung it on the coat rack you had. "I love it when she runs" he hummed, pushing his slick hair back and headed up the stairs slowly.

"Your call can't be completed as dialed, hang up or please call again" your phone spoke as you tried to call the police. "What!" you yelled quietly, marking it again but it gave you the same message. "Oh my gosh, don't do this to me!" you whimpered, tears already dripping down your cheeks.

Within seconds, Loki opened your bedroom door, closed it behind him, and chuckled hungrily. "You know my dear, hiding won't help, and calling those idiotic mortals to come save you won't help either." "I'll give you one chance to come out and lay on your bed, so that I can ravish you, or I will have to drag you out of the closet, and we both know you don't want that."

You couldn't move a muscle as his voice echoed along your ears. This was it, this was the moment you was going to die because you helped someone find a teddy bear for their 'supposed' girlfriend. Yet, your heart sunk more when he began to count down from 3.

"Three."

This isn't real, this isn't real, he's not actually here, this is just a dream right?!

"Two."

Come on y/n, you can fight him, you can kick his ass and then run out of your apartment!

"One."

With the last digit he spoke, he slammed your closet door open and grabbed you by your legs. "No, no, please let me go!" You screamed as he began to drag you to your stuffed animal covered bed.

"I warned you didn't I my dear?" "Now you left me with no choice" He hummed, slamming you onto your bed, pushing aside some of your little friends, and waved his hand; your hands being bound and raised above your head by two snakes.

"Look at you, tied up and ready to be devoured."

"No, no please!" you struggled against the snakes that were bound to your wrists.

Slowly crawling up your body, he looked down upon you, a devilish smirk peering across his lips. "I am going to make you feel so good y/n~"

{Let me know if you want me to continue the smut, I'm going to run out of space lol!} {Thanks for reading my lovies!}

[sebsxphia]

MY LOVE 💐💐

new layout looks SO good!!!

thinking about preacher Rhett bringing his film camera to a dingy motel room…. thinking really hard

ptolemaea. | the thoroughfare motel tapes.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and rhett are nearing the end of the line and he has a sinful idea to document the beginnings of your time out west.

￫ word count: 9K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, sex, p in v, rough sex, cnc, derogatory sex, derogatory names used towards reader, swearing, kissing, thigh riding, pussy spanking, spanking, spanking with a cross, boot riding, edging, blowjobs, deep throat, skull fucking, aftercare, bruising, crying, dacryphilia if you squint, overstimulation, daddy kink, choking, nipple pinching, corruption and innocence kink and preacher!rhett abbott.

￫ a/n: it’s here! i would highly suggest listening to wrestling in dirt pits, gibson girl, western nights and thoroughfare by ethel cain, in that order, whilst reading! a huge shout out to @bobfloyds @beachbabey @sunblchdfly @lewmagoo and @bradshawsbitch for brainstorming the most filthy and precious ideas. i love you all dearly. this is for you all <3 this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

previous chapter | next chapter

Rhett had guarded his heart like a fed from the moment you met him. Through the times he had you bent over his wooden desk in his back office at the Church, to lying with him at night in a Motel bed. On occasions, such as the other night when he chased you through the woods as a game, you thought you saw into him. You thought you saw something real, but it was quickly faltered back to the Preacher you knew. None the less, you were getting closer to the end of your destination with each passing Motel and tin shaped diner as you made your way out West. Perhaps it was the force of proximity, or that Rhett knew your journey was coming to an end, but one night on the passing roads, Rhett opened up to you.

“I was twelve years old ‘nd son of a Preacher. I loved him and the love he had for my Mother. Subsequently, he made me fall in love with America. But, my Mama, she was always good for makin’ me cry,” Rhett shook his head and scoffed, his tone gritting between his teeth. “Everythin’ in that fuckin’ town wanted me dead, ‘till I was holdin’ a gun to my head and I knew I had to go.” The sound of his truck hummed through the blackout night and you turned in your seat to watch with intent as he spoke. “I was seventeen ‘nd I knew I had to see it all. I had to get out and go chasin’ its sweet call,” Rhett motioned forward with his hand, then paused. “But I was scared of the world. I ended up standin’ over my Ma’s casket, thinkin’ I was next. I was scared I’d end up like my Pa. I looked in a mirror and I was beggin’ myself for more time.”

Rhett paused for another moment, but his eyes were still fixed on the dim lit road ahead. You could see him replaying it as a ghost of a memory behind those tired eyes and you felt for him. You realized you were no less different compared to him.

He let out a defeated and tired sigh, and then his demeanor switched as he recalled something else behind those cobalt blue eyes. “But then I met, well caught, you.” He had a grin on his face now. “Y’ came in to my Church lookin’ like a backwater girl and America’s sweetheart.” He reached over and squeezed the flesh of your knee with a grin still on his face. You squealed in response and playfully swatted at his hand to stop the sensation that caused your nerve endings to turn into television static.

“Y’ didn’t trust no one.” Rhett huffed out a laugh as you fought to keep his hand away from the pressure points on your knee.

“That’s because the whole town found me suckin’ the Preachers cock.” You quipped back at him with amusement in your tone.

Rhett hummed in pride as he recollected the memory. “I remember though, what you said to me.”

You looked down towards your lap where your fingers intertwined and busied themselves with one another. You were trying to avoid Rhett’s curious gaze at your admittance of remembering something so fondly.

“You said, don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere. I mean fuck, we were both outta luck, but at least your truck beats walking to the fuckin’ West.” You looked out of the truck window as you spoke. It was dark for the most part, only with a couple far off city lights pathing the way, but it helped with the silence that fell heavy over the truck.

You heard Rhett exhale deeply and shift in his seat. “Before I came to your town, I was in Florida. I had no one to worry about leavin’ for and no one left to love. But now that I’ve met you, fuck. I finally know jus’ where I’m headin’. Remember when I was all alone in my house and I was fuckin’ your guts like I hated you? I didn’t hate you, sweet lamb. I just kept prayin’ you’ll save me. You made me fuckin’ crazy.”

You felt a sense of clarity clear your head at Rhett’s admission. Your whole body shuddered at the physical memory. It was the first time he invited you round to his house. It was no more than a week after your run in in the Church toilets and the first time he fucked you in his back office at the Church.

He snuck you in. He was careful not to let anyone spot you visiting the town Preacher’s house during the dead of night. Rhett had claimed he’d been alone all day and he needed someone to kill his loneliness with. He had your legs doubled over and his cock hitting your cervix so furiously, that you could see him bulge in your lower abdomen. At the time, you thought you’d done something to warrant such loathsome sex, but it became clear as Rhett explained to you in his truck, that this night was because he didn’t know how to control himself anymore. He spat in your mouth for the first time that night. Your own mouth salivated as you recalled the animalistic action. You understood now that he was spitting his love into your mouth. He needed you, and it came out in the most frustrating way he knew how.

“I think I’ve found a way to show y’ how much y’ mean to me, when you’re lookin’ all pretty, lyin’ in those sheets undressed.” Rhett motioned to the backseat in his truck as he kept his gaze fixed ahead of him. You leant over and retrieved the plastic bag. You reached inside and fished out an old film camera. It was still in its box with the cardboard tattered around the corners. “I wan’ remember everythin’ when we get to the West.” Rhett reached over again to touch your knee, but this time his hand skimmed higher and squeezed at your thigh. You felt a million and one butterflies swarm your stomach at what your Preacher was implying.

“When?” You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the selfish grin spreading across your face.

“Tonight, once we reach this Motel. Wear that pretty set I got you. I wan’ get alone with you, sweet lamb.”

“Yes, Father.”

Your son of a Preacher, sinful as ever. You were all over him like a burning rash as he drew closer to the Motel. Your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt and your lips placed chaste kisses over his neck. Occasionally your tongue would dip out and soak up the salty taste of his sweat that had been simmering for a day or two. It was heaven to you. A concoction that you would go back for time and time again. Eventually, Rhett parked up at the Motel. He paid with the cash he stole from the Church and guided you to your Motel room, with his hand placed firmly on your lower back. He never strayed far from his precious lamb. It was as if to guide his lamb to the slaughter.

Once inside, you fished out the set Rhett had bought you a couple of towns back and slipped it on in the en-suite. The set was simple. It came from a town that hadn’t seen much of the newest century and you wondered momentarily if someone could have been murdered in it. It was cream and white, but a perfect white. Lacy details that had tiny flowers embroidered on, ran around the base of the bra. The underwear curved perfectly and the straps from the garter belt ran over the swell of your ass that was still tinged a baby pink colour from Rhett’s hands two nights before. The garter belt was attached to cream coloured stockings, and it made your thighs look like a place Rhett wanted to hide his face away in for the rest of eternity, until the end of Armageddon if he had to.

“You look like a virgin born again, my sweet lamb. Or, a lamb brought to the slaughter. Shall we find out which?” Rhett’s index finger lazily pointed to the ground beneath his boots. He needed no definite command to tell you exactly where you were to end up. You moved as gracefully as you could to stand in-between Rhett’s wide spread thighs at the edge of the bed. His calloused hands made contact with the backs of your thighs and your body jolted alive at his fervent touch. As if to elicit this image to memory forever, Rhett’s hands moved up and over your legs, finding their home on your ass. He issued a light, yet solid slap, to the soft flesh that made an easy moan fall from your lips, your skin still tender from before.

“I’m in love with your body, that’s why I’m fuckin’ it up, y’ know?” In sequence, as if Rhett had the rhythm of a hymn playing in his head, he delivered five more curt slaps to your supple flesh, each of them burning a fire on your skin. Instinctively, your palms reached out to grip at Rhett’s plaid shirt, with your body wilting forwards against him. Something of a merciful groan left your lips, as if to beg Rhett to stop, but you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted him to—

“Baby,” Rhett’s tone warned you. “If it feels good, then it can’t be bad.” Somehow, he always knew the right thing to say to discourage your doubt, and you let him continue to welt the supple flesh of your ass with his calloused palm.

“Turn around.” Rhett ordered with a gruffness in his voice. He planted his palm on the round of your ass and curved your thigh to direct you towards the blinking red light in the corner of the Motel room. You tiptoed on your feet to position yourself. His hands snaked along your hips and squeezed the soft flesh of your stomach, before leaving your body momentarily and picking up the small cross he’d packed with him.

The camera had the view finder flipped around so you could watch as Rhett didn’t let up his ministrations of marking your ass, yet this time, using the harsh material of the wooden cross. His stern gaze was fixed directly on you through the screen and you squirmed under his touch. You were unable to break away from his damning gaze and you were completely at his mercy. From however far away you were from Rhett, he would always pull you under with his cold-blooded stare and let it bleed all over you. At the back of your mind, doubt started to cloud you senses. You wondered if you had read this all wrong, especially that night when he chased you through the woods. That was something different entirely. What if he hated you? What if it was too late to—

“Do y’ want to hurt me?” Your voice wavered and babbled out before you had even registered what you’d said. Tears stung in the corners of your eyes from the painful pleasure shooting through your lower back as his cross continued to meet your ass, before it came to a sudden halt and was dropped on the bed. His hands ran soothingly over your now deep rouge coloured flesh.

“Hurt you?” Rhett twisted you by your waist to face him as you stood still in between his thighs. His hands didn’t leave you and the warmth of his palm spread over you to dull the ache that he’d created with the hand of God. “My sweet lamb, I never wan’ to hurt you. I wan’ to love you.”

You looked down at him and blinked away your tears in a flurry. His thumb came up to smooth over your cheeks and wipe them away, feeling your baby hairs on the corner of your jaw. The cobalt blue of Rhett’s eyes reflected in the dim lighting of the Motel room and his prior hardened gaze, had softened entirely. You watched as his eyes traced over your face and every feature you wore. Time stood completely still in this moment, in this particular Motel room, now not far from the West. You started to see Rhett differently, and for the first time since you were a child, you could see a man who wasn’t angry.

“You wanna… love me, right now?” You questioned with hesitation in your voice. You and Rhett had disclosed your love to one another time and time again, but this time, it was different and you weren’t familiar with the sincerity in Rhett’s tone.

“I wan’ fuck you, I wan’ see you on your knees, I wan’ rip this fuckin’ piece off,” his index finger tugged at the band of your garter belt and let it slap against your thigh. “But more than anythin’, I wan’ make love to you.”

“You wanna see me on my knees?” A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips and you bit down gently onto your bottom lip when Rhett let out a grumbled growl. He delivered one more smack to your ass before pointing over to the camera that had since been forgotten about in the corner of the room. You understood what Rhett was silently implying.

You handed it to him and descended to your knees at the bottom of the bed. You situated yourself neatly in-between Rhett’s thighs and felt the rough tapestry of the Motel carpet scratch at your knees. He brought the lens of the camera up to point directly at the sinful sight below him. He leant back ever so slightly on one arm to allow the view finder to take in every angle of your poised position. “Smile for the camera, my pretty little lamb.” You gazed up at him through your lashes and smiled a sickly sweet smile. A groan got caught in his throat at the sight below him and his cock strained dangerously tight against his jeans. Rhett didn’t have a spare hand and he gestured for you to take the reins. Your hands slinked up his tense thighs and un-did his large belt buckle. It fell to the side with a clang! against the metal. You could already see the bulge outlined underneath his boxers. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the salvia pooling already in your mouth from dribbling out.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart. Lord knows you’ve had this cock a million times.” Rhett snarked in response to watching your pupils double the size.

“I- I know, it’s just,” you pointed to the camera in Rhett’s hands and stifled a giggle. He cooed and brought his hand to smooth around your cheeks and hold your chin upto him. How his sweet lamb had strayed so far from the flock and ended up in the Lord’s arms, wearing white that barely hid the temptations of your own body. You had come alone into Rhett’s maliciously corrupt arms, from however far away you were before, and he thought it sweet how you were now getting shy.

“Do what your Preacher tells you.” Rhett’s tone was firm and you knew it was the beginning of a stern warning from him. The previous ache on your ass twinged and you were swiftly reminded of the consequences that would follow if you didn’t obey your Preacher.

Your fingers made quick work of freeing his aching cock from the confines of his underwear. A quiet grunt escaped him as he felt your hand clasp around him and squeeze him lightly. He was hot and heavy under your touch and his broad tip was glistening an angry red colour. He momentarily removed your hand and spread your palm in front of his face. He pursed his lips together and a direct line of his spit came into contact with your palm. You wrapped yourself around him again and in steady motions, you ran your lubricated hand over his length, remembering to work your thumb over his sensitive tip, just as he had showed you before.

A now louder grunt bubbled up through his throat, but he was steady enough to still hold the camera in focus of you. Up until this point, you had focused on the engorging sight before you, but Rhett wanted to see you become immoral in his lap. His hand reached up to cup your chin again and tilt your face upwards. His thumb ran along your bottom lip and pushed itself past to press down forcefully on your tongue, jolting your jaw open.

“Out.” Rhett barked. You instinctively pushed your tongue past your lips and let it hang freely. He lowered his head and pursed his lips together again. Another splat of his salvia fell onto your tongue and ran down to the back of your throat. “No more excuses, my pretty whore. Drink down your communion wine.” A shudder ran up the bones of your spine and settled at your neck, with warm beads of sweat already breaking out. A measly whimper came up and out from your throat, but you were left spluttering around the head of Rhett’s cock as his hand gripped onto your head and tugged you down. You swallowed once around him and let the mix of your salvia’s coat his length before sinking down a further few more inches.

The first real groan left him, followed by a greedy curse of your name. The base of your tongue ran under his shaft and traced along a protruding vein. He shuddered at the sensation and resumed his position as before. He was leaning back on one of his arms with the camera angled perfectly against you. You had now sunk down completely to his pubic bone and his soft brown curls tickled at the tip of your nose. You ran your lips back up his length to swirl around his tip a handful of times and then sunk back down. Over and over you repeated this motion, and pride swelled in your chest when the sound of Rhett’s pleasure met your ears.

“Look at me.” Rhett croaked out in-between his stuttered breaths. You peeked up through your lashes and gazed directly into the camera. “Jesus. Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned at the messy sight. Your lips were stretched around his thick girth and your cheeks were painted a rosy blush. Although you were looking up at him and you moved your mouth over his cock, your eyes had crinkled in the corners with your lashes fluttering occasionally. You were clearly trying to keep your eyes on him as instructed, but the tears stinging at your waterline were becoming more prominent, and you were blinking in flurry’s to hold them back.

“‘memeber when I first had y’ in the confessional booth. Look at you now, too far gone on your Preacher’s cock. God made you for me himself.”

A loud moan from yourself vibrated around his cock, although it was muffled as your mouth was currently stuffed full. The guiding praise from Rhett was giving you a new found confidence and you wanted to put on a show for your Preacher. You continued to run your lips all the way down his length and let his tip push at the back of your throat. You could start to taste the bitter salt of his pre-cum forming at his tip, and on each shove to the back of your throat, you let out a crude gagging sound. At each push, Rhett would groan himself and follow with his sweet praises.

“Good girl. That’s it, take your Preacher’s cock. You were made to take me.”

More of your salvia was gathering in your mouth and you let it freely fall from the corners of your lips. It dribbled down your chin and dripped onto the stockings. More would pool and each time your mouth dragged up to Rhett’s tip, his cock would glisten wet.

You had made the best of your efforts to hold your fluttering gaze towards the camera. He looked again into the screen, but this time he let out a low, almost mocking, chuckle. He watched as one or two tears finally spilled over your eyes and streaked down your burning cheeks. The camera could catch everything from his laid back view and he noticed how your thighs were starting to chafe against each other. His lips quirked up into a sly and all knowing smirk.

“Need somethin’?” He berated down towards you. Your eyebrows turned upwards as if to plead for your Preacher. “If you need somethin’, you must pray for it.” You let out a defeated whimper, but Rhett only raised one of his eyebrows as if to question if you were about to become a whiny little brat. “The Lord worked hard to earn His followers respect. You must do the same.”

You pulled off the tip of his cock with a string of salvia connecting from his head to your bottom lip. You started to quietly mumble out, “our Father in heaven—”

“Louder.”

You swallowed down what little left of your pride you had left and raised your voice and octave higher.

“— hallowed be your name;”

“Look ‘ere,” Rhett grabbed a tight fistful of your hair and pulled your head upwards to look at the camera. You quickly blinked back the next flow of tears that threatened to spill over your cheeks and continued.

“Allow me to press my Preacher’s pussy to my Preacher’s boot and feel some relief.”

You decided the cooling stream of your tears over your cheeks would be better than anything right now, as your cheeks flushed in heat with embarrassment from your words. You stared directly into the camera and in unison with Rhett, you finished your fleeting prayer with, “Amen.”

“Good, little lamb.” Rhett grunted and pushed your mouth back down and onto his cock. You felt his boot come between your knees and forcefully kick your thighs open. You accepted the wide girth of his boot greedily and caught your clothed clit on the tip of his boot. Your mouth sank back down to Rhett’s pelvic bone and you ground your hips down eagerly onto the worn leather.

The pressure felt delicious on your aching clit, as you rocked your hips back and forth in a rhythmic motion, similar to the one your mouth was making. You could no longer stifle your needy moans and you let your throat wail in muffled sounds around his strained length.

“I know, angel, I know,” he purred with his hand still coursing through your hair and guiding you. “Feels s’ good, doesn’t it? My pretty pussy got s’ needy.”

The rhythmic motions you were providing Rhett caused him to groan your name softly with each flick of your tongue around his head. His body was hurtling closer towards his definite release, but he still had more that he wanted to capture on camera. With a final grunt, he pulled you off his cock by your hair. You let out a protested cry. The sudden movement had jolted your body and re-directed the ecstasy inducing pressure off your clit.

“Hush, lamb.” Strings of salvia trailed from your lips, with your glassy eyes swimming in your own tears. “You gon’ let your Preacher have you? From the fuckin’ mess you’ve made on my boot, it’d be a sin not to feel my cunt squeezin’ me tight.” You nodded eagerly, perhaps a little too eagerly for Rhett, as it caused him to bark out a laugh, mocking you.

He stood up and you moved with him. He momentarily dropped the camera to the bed as you helped him pull off the rest of his clothes in a flurry. His chest was flush a bright pink, and as he removed the final item of clothing, his cock slapped against his abdomen between your bodies. You followed him like a lamb would to the slaughter, as he lay back on the bed and picked up the camera. He positioned himself to rest up against the pillows so he could hold the camera and keep his gaze fixated on what he was recording. He patted his bare thigh and motioned for you to come over.

“Bet my pretty little pussy was so desperate to come,” Rhett mocked as you pouted ever so slightly. He was right. “C’ ere and sit on your Preacher’s cock. If you put on a good enough show, I’ll let y’ come.”

You let out a languid moan. Your thighs were already burning from the constant grinding on his boot, but like your Preacher had already told you as he marked your ass shades of black and blue, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad. Having a sweet thing like yourself be completely immoral in a stranger’s lap would be something any man would want, yet you could only share this with Rhett. It was something only you, could have the power over.

With this new found confidence, you climbed atop of the Motel bed and slid your underwear off, with the garter belt and stockings still firmly attached. You were going to put on a show that anyone would wish they had.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” You mused Rhett with a small smirk gracing your features as you straddled his waist. You raised your eyebrows to await his response. His spare hand reached round to give a fleeting smack to your ass, causing you to yelp in response, partly due to the already residing marks from earlier.

“Atta girl, you’re learning.” Rhett was quick to quip back at you as you braced one hand on his chest and your other hand reached to grab at his cock. It was silky and warm under the base, and you had no issue gathering the pre-cum that was beading at his swollen tip with your thumb and smoothing it over. You guided his tip to nudge at your entrance, catching your clit on the way and letting out a whimper.

“‘member who’s in charge ‘ere,” Rhett taped at the camera pointing your way and you submitted to putting on an immoral show in your Preachers lap. Both your hands were now bracing his chest as you sank yourself all the way down on his length. Guttural groans escaped you both as Rhett filled you whole. He could feel your warm walls squeeze around him, warmer than usual, yet still all encompassing that it made his toes curl. You squirmed your hips down to meet his, taking his cock all the way to the base and feeling his swollen head nudge not so far from your cervix. Once your walls had fluttered around him and emitted the feeling to memory, you made work of your thighs and bounced gently at first. If it wasn’t for your hands bracing Rhett right now, you would’ve toppled over on him.

Rhett peered through the view finder and watched with his bottom lip gripped tightly between his teeth at the Heaven shattering sight before him. Your eyes were pinched tightly shut, but your lips were parted and letting out an endless string of needy moans. From this angle of you leaning forward, he could register your tongue just teasing at your bottom lip, threatening to fall from your mouth completely as he fucked you closer towards that teetering edge. Your breasts were moving in time with your rhythmic bounces, and your nipples had turned into stiff peaks. The soft colour that matched against the inside of your pussy made drool pool in Rhett’s mouth. From this angle, he couldn’t have a taste, but he could do what he adored most. Make you squirm and whine.

His free fingers reached out and pinched at your hardened nipples to earn a shriek being torn from your throat. He twisted at your right nub harshly and even though cries were tearing from you, you pushed your chest forward to keen into the painful pleasure. He wanted to see more from you, but his ears were zoning in on the sounds you were making and he trusted in his gut feeling to check on you. He removed his hand from your swollen breasts and placed them on your hip to still your rocking motions, the camera going down with it.

His thumb ran soothing circles over your hip bone as if to signal to you to stop for a moment. A soft look had replaced his hardened gaze. “Y’ okay, little lamb? Y’ need to tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded as you panted heavily. You wet your bottom lip to speak, “promise, Rhett. Feels s’ good, p-please, need you.” A beat went by.

“Safe word?”

“Bull riding.”

Rhett wore a smile to match his softened gaze and he leaned up to press a admiring kiss to your swollen lips. When he pulled away and came back to resume his previous position, picking up the camera in tow, his face shifted back in a flash. It made your cunt clench as it resembled something close to the Devil himself. That something you had seen in the woods.

You resumed your previous ministrations and your hips continued to bounce rhythmically. Rhett wasted no time in wrapping his fingers around your tender nipples and pinching at them gently to elicit further cries from yourself. With one particularly harsh twist from his index finger, your head was thrown back and your hips pushed further. You ground your hips into Rhett’s and you could feel the tip of his cock slide neatly along the sweet, spongy spot, inside of you. The sensation of after burn on your nipples stung deliciously in combination. To soothe yourself you brought one of your own hands up to toy and stroke over your nipples. Your jaw had now gone slack, as your head was thrown back and your chest was rising and falling erratically.

Rhett let out a guttural grunt in response to this sight and shifted his hips to lazily meet yours. “Look at you,” he matched with a lazy drawl in his tone. “Preacher’s best girl, puttin’ on a show for Daddy.” He focused the camera directly onto the sight before him. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this.

With every shift of your hips bouncing on his cock, you could feel your clit bump against his soft curls and occasionally provided a teasingly millimeter of friction. You needed more, but no matter how deep you grounded your hips down, it provided no release and you were left edging yourself. Your thighs were starting to give in entirely, with a thin veil of sweat coating your flesh and chafing against Rhett’s own. Mumbled nothings were falling from your lips with silent cries.

“I- I… Daddy,” you managed to usher out. It was a pitiful plead of mercy for your Daddy. You needed him now. Your own body was failing you with exhaustion. You needed him to take care of you.

Rhett could hear your soft plea, how your voice was failing you and how your hip movements were becoming sloppy. Your mind was teetering on the edge of complete nothingness. It was about to break and run it’s course into a headspace that made you entirely susceptible to causing more harm to yourself than you could really take. But Rhett was there to slow down your de-railing. As God loved him, Rhett was to love and care for you. You were his responsibility and therefore it was his responsibility to catch you gently when you fell softly into that headspace that rendered you completely, fucked, dumb.

The camera was placed on the bed and his hands came up to still your shuddering body. He shushed you gently and breathed out, “alright, my sweet lamb. Let Daddy take care of his best girl.”

His broad palms gripped at your torso and picked you up as if you weighed nothing. He lay you down on the bed with your head facing the end. He carted his fingers through your hair that was falling haphazardly over your forehead and getting stuck in the beads of your sweat that was pooling. He gently cradled your supple cheek and the baby hairs that lay there. His thumb soothed over the heat rising in your cheeks and he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your parted lips.

His own hair tickled at your skin and you hummed into his mouth. Your giggles bubbled to the surface and Rhett reacted with his own. His familiar warmth was surrounding you and encompassing you whole as his lips didn’t stop moving against yours. A taste of a cigarette and lukewarm beer were fading on his tongue, but it was still there, something that ground you closer to your Preacher. Yet, at the same time, it had you falling through the mattress to somewhere safe.

Rhett parted from your swollen lips momentarily and you let out a disappointed whine, turning them into a small pout. You wrapped your hands around the base of his neck and toyed with the damp licks of hair, in an attempt to draw him back to you, but he resisted for a moment. His thumb lifted between you both and ran along your pouted lips, smoothing them out.

“Need y’ to tell me, my sweet lamb. Can you continue?” He purred.

You replied with a, “yes,” and barely above a whisper, with a small nod of your head. To anyone else, your admittance of submission was feeble, but Rhett had you mapped out on the back of his hand. He could read every inch of your body and how it responded to him. He could read this clearly and he followed through by slipping his thumb passed your lips and pressing down on your tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut and suckled down greedily, eager to have anything of Rhett inside of you and filling you whole. He nudged his knelt thigh between your legs and pressed up against your cunt. Your clit was left painfully un-touched by this point and he could feel it throb as you instinctively rubbed yourself up and over his tight muscle. There was a lewd sound of your wetness squishing against him and something of a growl left his throat.

“Jesus, fuckin’ soaked for your Preacher, aren’t you? Nasty, needy, little harlot.” Rhett sneered down at you. His demeanor had switched back to cold-blooded, but you knew you were safe with this version of Rhett and his venomous words only sent shocks to your swollen bundle of nerves. You were desperately chasing your high once again on his thigh, but it was ripped away from you coldly as he pulled away and issued a direct, smack! directly onto your cunt.

This was your fall from grace and two tears finally slipped over your waterline and stung at your warm cheeks. He smoothed them over with his thumb, but in contrast, he only cooed mockingly at you.

“Cry all you want, darlin’. You’re takin’ what I give you. Now—” he got off the bed and retrieved the camera that had fallen to the side. He placed it on the worn out and chipped desk facing the bed and came back to position you. He slid his arm under your back and twisted you so you were now on your hands and knees, facing the camera. He tugged at your scalp and then pinched your chin to direct your gaze directly ahead to the camera. “— smile for your Preacher, sweet girl. You are Daddy’s best girl, after all.”

His words made you squirm and without direction, your back was arched slightly to show Rhett the curvature of your ass. Two of his calloused hands ghosted down your spine and lay at their final resting place on your hips. He squeezed at your tender flesh and let a groan slip at the sight of your glistening cunt.

One hand was removed and fisted at the base of his throbbing cock. He slapped his heavy member against your lips and let it drag through your folds and nudge at your clit. It made lewd sounds, the sounds of your own wet cunt causing your cheeks to return to a dusty red colour. You both moaned together as he let his tip slip past your folds and tease at the beginning of your entrance. You immediately clenched down on him as he slipped the first inch in. You were unable to hold back the string of pathetic whines, and you bucked your hips back to try and chase his length that he was slowly inching in.

“Daddy, p- ‘lease!” Rhett hushed you in an attempt to soothe you, but it was broken by his own grunt as he eventually bottomed out completely inside of you.

“S’ fuckin’ tight for your Preacher, lil’ lamb. Y’ were made for me, weren’t you?” You nodded feebly at the camera ahead of you.

You wrapped yourself warmly around him and clenched tighter as Rhett slowly started to move his hips against you and build a steady rhythm. At each push back in, he nudged deeply at the sweet spot inside of you and it had your knuckles turning white, gripping the thin Motel bed sheets below you and carting you forward with each thrust.

He found a comfortable grip with one hand on your hip as the pace picked up. His other hand found itself buried at the base of your neck and his fingers intertwined to the base hairs that lay there. He grabbed a tight fistful, pulling harshly on your roots with a yelp from yourself. This new found position caused your back to arch further and your hands scrambled on the bedsheets below to try and hold yourself up. That, combined with Rhett’s now brutal thrusts, his thick tip was waging no mercy on your sweet and abused cunt.

It caused you to hold direct eye contact with the camera in front of you, as it documented clearly to anyone who would watch, how your Preacher would ruin his little lamb inch by inch. It was as though he was pulling you apart thread by thread and weaving himself a new found pleasure. You caught a glimpse of Rhett himself in the corner of the mirror, that was situated off to the side of the desk where the camera was sitting and dear God, you had never seen such a prettier sight.

His hair was mused and tussled stray strands of hair fell against his forehead and tickled against his rosy cheeks. There was a small layer of sweat forming already, and nestled deep in the creases of his forehead as his eyebrows knitted tightly together in concentration at sight before him. His piercing eyes that always had you clenching, were trained directly at the sight of his thick cock sliding in and out of you, your own arousal already slicking him and layering at the edges of your lips.

His jaw was set firm, but his lips were slightly parted in comparison to allow for hot puffs of air and guttural grunts. His shoulder muscles, and all the way down to his forearms, were compacted tightly together and bulging. Prodding veins in his forearm were shadowed perfectly in the low light of the Motel room, dusted by his arm hair that grew thicker at the base of his hands. His chest was flush and the rosy pink dusted over his tattoo on his peck, blending into one.

His lips parted further to speak, “look at you, my pretty Western sunshine. I’ve found heaven in you, little lamb.” His voice was hoarse and yet his Southern drawl was still low and boldly coming through, wetted by the gasps of air he was currently letting out. He had found heaven in time where your own Western sunshine met his deep Southern wet. He was lost in it, lost in the feeling, lost in the taste, and he found himself hard-pressed for air and sweating.

The concoction of the reek of sex and sweat hung heavy in the dingy Motel room. Rhett’s pin point accurate thrusts were pushing you closer to the edge that you had so desperately been craving all night. The knot that was settled deep in your lower abdomen was threatening to snap anytime soon, but there was something else missing. Like clockwork, and how well Rhett knew your body like the back of his hand, his hand from your hip slipped down and his rough padded fingers found your aching bundle of nerves. You let out a broken sob and your eyes squeezed tightly shut at finally relishing in the feeling. His thrusts became sloppier as he let your hip go, but his thick cock that was still moving in and out of you, gave no room for error. His fingertips ran calculated circles and you continued to let out broken sounded moans. You were getting louder with each swipe, but you didn’t care. You paid no mind to the other Motel dwellers next door. You were completely unaware that Rhett heard a couple of thuds on the wall next to you. For him, it only added fuel to the Hellfire you were currently drawing him down to.

“Y’ wan’ to come, angel face?” You pathetically whined out a, “yes,” and let out a louder cry when Rhett tugged harshly on your hair to signal at you to open your eyes. Your eyes peeled open and at this admission, the tears that had been stinging on your waterline fell freely. Your pleasure was heightened to a tipping point so high, that you had no idea what would happen when you fell. “Y’ can come, but watch yourself. Watch your fuckin’ pathetic self.” Rhett seethed with condescension laced thick on his tongue.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou…” You babbled out repeatedly in a weak attempt to show your gratitude. You could feel yourself ready to fall. Your skull felt as though it was full with cotton and your eyes completely glazed over as you stared mindlessly into the camera.

Rhett let his fingers swipe continuously over your now completely abused clit, and he felt you clench and twitch around him. “Come. Come for y’ fuckin’ Preacher.”

The mix of his cock still moving with pin point accuracy inside of you, and the swipe of his fingertips, caused you to fall helplessly with the only cord attached to Rhett. Your jaw went slack, unable to hold the drool that cornered in your mouth and it slipped down your chin as your orgasm came and washed over you like a furious tidal wave. The all encompassing and pleasurable feeling started in your abdomen and blossomed outwards to reach each point of your body, setting your nerves alight. It caused your toes to curl tightly inwards at the base of Rhett’s knees and your chest heave furiously, trying to catch up with the labored moans you were currently letting out.

You weren’t aware how tight you were squeezing around Rhett. Whilst caught up in your own storm, you heard him behind you groan and curse your name with a sinisterly sick tone. “Gon’ fill you up, precious lil’ lamb. Gon’ make y’ full of me, y’ want that?” You were vaguely aware of Rhett’s own begging behind you. “Fill this womb with God’s spend, give y’ children of God.”

“Pleasepleaseplease…” You weren’t even sure what you were pleading for at this point. Anything to keep this euphoric feeling going you would settle for. His thrusts became sloppier than before and his cock twitched inside of you. His fingers were still lazily working around your clit and you mewled out at the overstimulation he was causing you. His thrusts were deep and he let out an even deeper, guttural groan, but they turned shallow as you felt his own spend leak inside of you. You squeezed him tightly at this point, as to milk him for all that he was worth. You wanted God’s children to blossom in your womb.

You had admitted defeat and your arms were shaking to try and hold yourself up. You fell forward on the mattress with a pitiful whine. Rhett gulped down air behind you and let out soft groans as his cock soften inside of your wet walls. You winced as he pulled out and you felt a mix of fluids drip from your swollen and puffy lips. Your body thrummed with the coming downs of pleasure and you let your hips fall to the bed when he let go of your frame. You squirmed into the bedsheets, rubbing your flesh over the material in a weak attempt to ground yourself, but there was no need. Warm hands of your Preacher slinked around your waist and drew you up from the mattress.

“My sweet, sweet, beautiful lamb. C’ ere.” His voice was like honey in your ear. The warmth of his breath was causing goosebumps to flesh over your neck. His large, yet damp with sweat, arms encased you against his. You could feel the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat match up to yours as he held you tightly against his chest for a moment. Skin on skin contact like a baby would have with their mother. Your own sweat was mixing together and puffs of his breath coated your warm cheek.

He maneuvered himself to sit against the headboard with one arm wrapped around your trembling body. Tender fingers from his spare hand slinked upwards at the base of your neck. They were far softer in contrast to the ones that were cruelly tugging on your hair before. They reached upwards and brushed the strands of hair that were stuck to your forehead, tucking them gingerly behind your ear. His thumb and index finger cautiously caught your chin and titled your low hanging head to look at him. Your eyelashes fluttered open and you met Rhett’s face with a weary and blissed out smile.

“You okay?” He moved his hand to cradle your jaw as if it was made of glass. His thumb brushed over the stained tears above your rosy cheek.

“Did I do good?” You voice was hoarse and it caused Rhett’s heart to twinge in his chest. You were his responsibility to take care of and he would be damned to Hell if he didn’t.

“M’ love, you did s’ good. M’ s’ proud of you.” Your weary smile was still there, but you seemed to appear proud. “Can I kiss you, sweet lamb?”

“Please, Rhett. Need you.” You called out to him. He was right there in front of you, but you needed your Preacher to wrap you tightly in his arms and wash away your sins down the basin of the Motel sink drain.

Rhett moved his face to be millimeters away from your lips. Barely above a whisper, he reassured you faintly, yet his words were set in stone. “M’ always here. Never goin’ to leave you. You’re mine forever. I love you.”

Your lips brushed against each other when you replied. “Love you too, Rhett.”

He did exactly as you needed. He cleaned you up with his ever tender and cautious touch. He never left your side and you clung tightly to him when his lips met your ears with honeyed words of praise. However, through a force unknown to you, your body was startled and you awoke from the throws of sleep, wrapped tightly up in Rhett’s arms.

Your bleary eyes adjusted to the dim bedside lamp that was still on. The two of you were too exhausted to switch it off after. The sight of the soft light electrified something in you and you were frustratingly, now wide awake, for lack of better word.

You un-tangled yourself from his arms and he shifted against the pillows to lie on his back. One of his arms came up to stretch behind his head, with his bicep muscles contorting shadows in the light. His hair was tousled, and soft strands fell and framed his face in such a way that made your town Preacher look angelic. The ends of his hair tickled at his hardline jaw, with the four day old stubble coming through. The thin cotton Motel bed sheet was falling haphazardly over his frame and his soft curls with the base of his cock, peeked out from underneath. You retrieved the camera and it whirred to life, clicking in places inside as the flashing red button on the front focused on his sleeping frame. Rhett had never looked more beautiful as he slept naked, due to the air con in the Motel room failing you both once again, and you wanted to remember this serene moment for as long as you lived.

You caught your own reflection in the mirror with bleached corners and tainted glass. You let out a quiet gasp in response and zoomed in on the picture through the tiny screen. Painted over your hips and the back of your thighs, were shades of black and blue. They showcased the way Rhett knew how to show his love.

You were oblivious to the fact he heard the room next door beat on the walls while you were face-first down in the bed mere hours ago. You also weren’t aware of Rhett pummeling a stranger to the floor outside the bar across the street from the diner, because the stranger called you a sickly name. The lovesick haze that clouded your vision entirely with Rhett was unforgivable.Trouble was always going to find him and weather you were aware of it or not, so would you with his guidance. If Rhett loved you like he said he did, you would hold a gun to someone’s head if he asked you to.

On some nights, you were alone in the Motel rooms when Rhett was out. You’d sit on the edge of the bed, facing the television, with tears falling over you cheeks and reflecting in the television static. Yet, your tears came from a place of happiness. You had him to hold you each night as you crossed every state line to reach the West. You knew you’d be alright, as you turned off the camera and slid back into the familiar embrace of your Preacher.

He had now rolled over onto his side and you pressed yourself into his bare back that emitted the warmth of a furnace. Your arms wrapped themselves over his ribs and you could feel the steady rhythm of the rise and fall of his lungs. You would cling to him like some love blind addict. You were always itching for your next fix. Always awaiting the dopamine induced high to flood your senses when you were next to him. You wanted to feel him run hot through your veins and hit the sweet spot in your head that would leave you with your eyes rolling back into your skull and begging for more. Always desperate to scream his name as you drove by the gas stations and trailed down the interstate.

“I’m never gonna leave you, baby.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and your lips brushed against Rhett’s flesh on his back, muffling the sound of reassurance. Even if Rhett was to lose what’s left of his depraved and fortified mind, you’d still be right there besides him. You’d ride with him through every Western night you departed on, and you knew that one day, you and Rhett could be ok.

Rhett pulled his truck off to the side of the road and pulled up on the dirt track. You had finally reached the edge after all this time. You wasted no time and flung open the passenger door, inhaling the near costal air deep into your lungs. You had reached the coast.

Rhett joined you and got out to lean against the front of his truck. He hovered slightly as it was still burning hot from the hours of driving. You both took in the view and spotted the far off shoreline in California from the cliff side he was currently parked up at.

“End of the line.”

You spun around from the cliff side railings and walked back to Rhett as he spoke. You had a spring in each step and you planted yourself between his thighs. His arms came round to encase you against his chest with the warm sun beating down on you both. You looked up at him with hope shining in your eyes for the first time in months, “we made it this far.”

Rhett’s eyebrows quirked upwards, before furrowing slightly as he gazed outwards at the land in front of him. The sun caught in his eyes and caused him to squint. This was a new town, a fresh start, where people wouldn’t know either of you and no one would truly know if you went missing. He looked back down at you and his face broke out into an animated and electrified smile. “‘nd look at what I’ve got.” His hold on your waist became tighter and you felt your feet leave the ground. A squeal, followed by laughter, bubbled out from your chest as Rhett span you around. He placed you back down to the dust eventually, “love’s out there, and we can’t leave it be anymore.”

You craned your neck upwards and pressed your palms against his chest to steady your lips that were now millimeters away from his. You whispered, as if no one else was privy to your agreement, “I'll come with you if you're sure it's what you need.” Because you knew, in Rhett’s pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place you’d ever want to be.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch

tagging those who may be interested: @peachystenbrough @sunblchdfly @rhettabbotts @bradshawsbitch @bobfloyds @lewmagoo @sushiwriterhere @sugarcoated-lame

[gerec]

SPACE AUS - PART 2

The Edge of What Doesn’t End by populuxe

When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

burn the land and boil the sea by kaydeefalls (series)

In which the Unification War begins, Erik leads the Browncoats' mutant faction, and Charles searches for something worth fighting for. (Fusion with the Firefly 'verse)

Remind me what you're looking for by pearl_o

"There's a dozen ships here you could get transport on," Erik points out.

"I'm asking you," Charles says.

A Beginner's Guide to Star-Forming Event Horizons by midrashic

Charles Xavier is not thrilled to be on the USSAS Magneto, with its missions to the back-end of nowhere and its captain who is famous for having violated the Prime Directive. But appearances can be deceiving.

And we pulled each other like gravity by hllfire

Erik accompanies Charles, Crown Prince of the Xavier Empire, to his first diplomatic meeting on the planet Themis, where he finds out something about the Prince and they end up talking about the past and how their paths had crossed before.

The Sleeping Beauty in the Ivory Tower (- or Erik Lehnsherr is a hopeless romantic) by ximeria

There is a tale, out among the stars, of a sleeping beauty in an ivory tower.

Infinite Distance by lachatblanche

When they encounter an unfamiliar and seemingly-abandoned ship in the middle of nowhere in space, Captain Charles Xavier of the spaceship Graymalkin heads out to investigate.

Infinite Distance (Finite Time Remix) by SlightWeasel

A month ago, far-flung Genosha went dark on every communications channel.

Whatever happened there, it has little enough relevance for young Charles Xavier, resident of Graymalkin-- until the day he receives a distress call from Erik Lehnsherr, Genosha's only surviving citizen...

Pit stop by diner_drama

Charles was pretty happy with his lot, on the whole. As chief engineer, he spent the majority of his time teaching hot-shot new mechanics and aspiring ship-builders. He could confidently say that he had created an excellent work environment that really allowed these young workers to flourish and grow. The only real challenges, apart from the occasional Very Large Fire (bad) and having to fill in his yearly expense reports (catastrophic), were arrogant pilots who believed that the importance of their ship gave them carte blanche to treat the repair crew like garbage.

Case in point, Erik Fucking Lehnsherr.

Yes, he was the best racing pilot in the galaxy. Yes, he had designed his ship personally and it was fundamentally perfect in every important way. Yes, his steely blue eyes made Charles feel light-headed whenever they came up on his viewscreen.

He was still an asshole.

Neither Rhyme Nor Reason by unveiled

Charles liked to tell people that the first time they met, Serik punched a kitten. (Or, the one where Erik is an angry Vulcan, Charles is still a telepath, and grief still shapes their lives.)

A Vision of Peace by Gerec

They call his people 'monsters' and say that a telepath is incapable of something as universal as falling in love.

But they're wrong about Charles Xavier, heir to the throne of Cerellia; for everything he does in life, he does for love.

It's Magic! (A Gift Remix) by Gerec 

The Oracle agrees to help Erik locate Shaw, if Erik agrees to return to him after the mission.

And now that the deed is done, it's time to keep his promise.

Flirting with Death (Eternal Remix) by Gerec 

Erik Lehnsherr is the latest in a long line of vampire hunters, their legacy going back a thousand years to the days before space travel and the existence of life beyond Earth. He's tracking one of the most dangerous blood-drinkers they've ever known, and he's determined to save the man she's targeted as her next victim.

Now if he could only convince Xavier that his life is in very real danger...

SPACE AUS - PART 1

[i-smoke-chapstick]

'DON'T BLAME ME, [PART FIVE]

-GOTHAM!JERVIS TETCH X READER-

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; You discover Jervis has some skeletons in his closet. Perhaps literally.

⋆ tags/warnings. GOTHAM!jervis x female reader. SLOW BURN!!! Not sure how many chapters this will be yet! LOTS OF PLOT SET-UP!! AGE GAP ROMANCE! (reader is Jim and Barbara's daughter) The slow burn is slow burning. She fell first, he fell harder. This part got some angst to it...the beginning of a whole mess. Writing this kind of artistically and as character studies for everyone. Reader meeting Alice. Jervis being an obsessive freak, per usual. Jim Gordon is STILL...Jim Gordoning. I'm taking canon out back and beating it with a stick until it stops twitching.

⋆ tag list (tell me if you want to be removed!) @adalwolfgang @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @honestmrdual @moonlightnyx @all-things-fandomstuck @killingboredom @sweetlimeharvest

⋆ 'PART ONE, - 'PART TWO, - 'PART THREE, - 'PART FOUR, - 'PART FIVE, - ‘PART SIX, - 'PART SEVEN, - 'PART EIGHT, - 'PART NINE, -'PART TEN, - 'PART ELEVEN, - 'PART TWELVE, - 'PART THIRTEEN, - 'PART FOURTEEN,

♫ “For you, I would cross the line.” Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift

Five minutes. Five minutes is all it takes for you to say, fuck that, I'm following them.

With Tabitha and Barbara doing god knows what, and Butch disappearing, probably to go take his anger out on some poor sap who tried to avoid tipping, you're left by yourself.

You always hated that pit of loneliness inside you. You had plenty of people in your life. Though, each one you counted, acted less like a friend, and more like a mentor of sorts. They were all either trying to parent you, or trying to guide you. Even Selina. You're a few years older than her. She still thinks she knows better then you.

Digging through your thoughts, your mind is made up. Besides, what if your dad tries something crazy on Mr. Tetch? He was ready to beat an answer out of him five minutes ago. You shudder.

Turning on your heel, you push through the people in the club. You hear the small noisy shouts of "Watch it!" and "Hey!" as you make your way out the back. You don't have the time to care right now.

You try to think about where they could be. The direction where Jervis turned. The rooftop. The balcony. It made sense in your head.

You finally hear your fathers distraught voice through the haze.

"So, what is it in Alice's blood that makes it so infectious?" He spits. "She doesn't look sick to me."

You peak through the window in the door. Watching the two standoff with one another. You're reminded of your mother telling you, you're such a curious little thing.

Then the ticking of a pocket watch makes your eyebrows furrow. You've heard that before.

"She's not sick," Jervis chimes, embittered. "She's powerful, sir."

"Powerful how?" Your father steps closer, and you watch on the edge of your seat. A pit forms in your stomach that something isn't right. "I need answers, Tetch."

"You deserve some." Jervis responds, half-heartedly, as though he really doesn't seem to care. "Do you hear my watch ticking?"

You watch in slow motion as it all falls down.

You see your father, listening, keen. You hear the ghosts of words on Jervis's tongue- speaking softly.

"It synchronizes with your heartbeat, yes?" Mr. Tetch sighs. You watch your dad zone out right before your eyes. With baited breath, you lean in closer. He's hypnotizing him. Why?

"Take out your gun and put it on the ground."

He could just be doing this to protect himself. You try to convince yourself. Dad has a reputation.

You watch as the gun clacks to the floor.

"Good," Jervis speaks, slowly. You feel your heartbeat quicken. "Now walk to the edge and climb onto the wall."

Fuck.

You're trying to comprehend the situation. You're frozen in place. There's no way your dad, or you for that matter, gets out of this alive. There's no way this is real.

This is Gotham, that voice in your head taunts. Anything's real.

You watch, as Jervis continues. With every insult, every remark, your father blindly agrees with him.

"I am going to count to ten. When I reach ten," Jervis has the gull to smirk. "You'll find everlasting peace."

Your fists clench.

"One."

You remember how your dad would come home after work on Fridays. He'd buy you pizza. Tell you to hide it from mom. It was your little secret.

"Two."

You think about how your dad looked when you told him you wanted to be just like him when you were older. Half happy. Half depressed.

"Three."

You think about how he's changed. Everything's changed. You wonder if a part of you wants him to die.

"Four."

You recount Jervis's words. He can only make a person do what they secretly wish to do. All this time, you thought you were keeping him afloat. The reason he was alive. His little girl. Were you never enough?

"Five-" Jervis begins, before a voice interrupts from behind you.

"Stop!" It's high-pitched, feminine. For a moment, you almost think you spoke. You see a woman march past you, opening the door. She ignores your presence, but offers you a scared glance. She has a gun in her hand.

You suddenly feel hot tears run down your cheeks. Were you crying?

Jervis whips his head around, and it's as though the world has been delivered to him on a silver platter. He marvels at the sight of the woman.

"Alice?" He breathes, not noticing your shaking form, still clinging to the shadows in the doorway. "Thank god! At last, I've finally found you!" You feel your eyes and throat burn, trying to keep quiet. You can't stop staring at your father hanging over the balcony.

"Tell that man to get off the ledge." She speaks, firm, but her voice breaks. So this is Alice, the woman he's been dying to find.

Between desperation and anger and anxiety you don't know if jealousy is an emotion you should be feeling right now. But it's buried deep inside the pile, beside yourself. Nothing feels right. It only makes your stomach twist more.

"Never mind him, put down the gun." Mr. Tetch puts his hand out to the gun. He reminds you of the boogieman you were scared of when you were younger.

"Mister! Get down!" The girl calls, and you feel guilty for feeling that twinge of jealousy. She's doing more to save your father than you are. The thought elicits another scared sob from you that you choke down.

"He can't hear you," Jervis assures her. His voice is gentle in comparison to what it was with your father. It's like how he was with you.

"Don't come near me." She stands, grip on the gun tightening.

"Why are you here if you don't want to talk?" There's something in his voice that breaks. It makes you hate him. Hate how much you still feel sorry for him.

The woman starts to cry, the same as you.

"Put the gun down, Alice." He urges.

"You're evil." She breathes, and you wonder if anyone's truly evil in the world. You think of your mom. You think of the man who tortured her into becoming what she is. "Leave me alone!" Alice screeches, and her grip on the gun starts to shake.

No, no, no, no. Don't you dare miss this shot. A part of you argues. A different part of you hopes she misses entirely.

"But Alice," He looks desperate. "I love you."

At those three words, the shot rings out. You close your eyes at the sound of him letting out a groan, and the bang that echoes through the balcony. You see your father loose his footing on the ledge.

Silence be damned, you think. You rush to your dad in the flurry of bullets. The woman continues to shoot at Jervis, scared out of her mind. He hurries away, heavily breathing. Before he parts, he catches your gaze. You don't make out the rest of his face. Just those dark eyes that have been haunting your dreams.

You and Alice both pull Jim back before he falls, tears staining both of your cheeks. As he steadies his footing, all you and her can do is look at one another. Your lungs frantically breathe for air.

When a moment has passed, adrenaline closing, your father looks at Alice. As though you're not even there. In a way, you don't blame him. In a different way, how could he know you didn't step in? He should be thanking god he's still alive to hug his daughter.

"Thank you." He tells her. He doesn't look at you.

The click of handcuffs is the only thing you hear as he grabs Alice's wrist.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 28

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

How many times have you been awoken by this man? You resist the urge to elbow Lloyd as he jostles you again. He lets out a weak whimper in his struggle. You keep your eyes shut and your back to him as the bed shifts.

He stands, another pathetic noise escaping him. You listen to his uneven gait as he crosses the room. Is he trying to make a racket or is he really hurting that bad? You huff and stay as you are, you're so fucking tired.

He leaves the room and you hear him slowly trail down the hall. His feet thump on each stair as he descends and you growl. You’re wound tight, tighter than ever. Even after everything said, you just can’t ease the tension.

You open your eyes fully and push yourself up on resignation. You rub your lower back and reach for the thick support belt, wrapping it around your stomach as you stand and pulling it tight. It helps ease the pressure off your hips.

You move as slowly as he did but steadily. You cling to the railing with your other hand on your back as you take the stairs one by one. In the kitchen, Lloyd leans against the counter, fighting to load the coffee maker with one hand.

"I got it," you insist as you near him, "you're just going to get it everywhere."

You stop beside him and take the scoop, measuring coffee onto the basket filter. You sense him watching you as you slide the tank off the back and move to the sink to fill it, reaching past your belly to flip on the faucet. You glance over to find him staring at your stomach.

He looks awful. Dark circles under his eyes, ugly bruises splotched on his cheek, the cut in his brow inflamed, and his bare chest criss crossed with bandages. He still wore a healthy bristle of stubble on his jaw and cheeks. Christ, you suppose looking after him is good practice. 

You sidle past him and return the tank to the machine. You shut the lid and hit start. The smell of the grounds tempts you. God, you miss coffee. Real coffee. 

"You should go lay down," you say as you put your hand on your stomach, "you look like garbage."

He steps closer and puts his hand below yours. You wince as he feels your bump. Well, it's pretty big now.

He bends, sucking in air between clenched teeth as he groans, "how's my little girl?" He rubs your stomach, "I'm sorry I went away, sunshine, but I'm back now."

"What are you doing?" You glower at him.

"Checking in with my peach pit," he peers up at you with a grin, "you like that? I came up with that a few nights ago."

You roll your eyes and brush his hand away. The heat from his touch lingers, raising beads on the back of your neck. You miss it, the warmth of someone else, even him. So much so, that you got good use out of your array of toys in his absence.

He grunts and you pull on his arm until he’s somewhat straight. His forehead is lined with agony.

"You should lay down," you open the cupboard and stretch to grab a mug, belly against the counter.

"Take your own advice, sweet cheeks," he purrs, "god, you're so big."

"What?" You snap as you set the mug down loudly.

"No, no, babe, not… not in a bad way. I swear."

"Sure, please, go back to bed," you chide, "you're just gonna make it worse and I'm the one who's gotta listen to it."

“I’ll go on the couch,” he says, “see, I can compromise.”

“No, you don’t think you can’t make it back upstairs,” you cluck.

He opens his mouth but stops himself from whatever he was going to say, “you’re right, honey.” He brings his hand up behind your head, “always so wise.” He tilts your head and kisses your forehead. You frown at the doting gesture.

“Go. Lay down,” you turn away to watch the trickle of coffee, “I’ll bring you it.”

“What would I do without you, peaches?”

“Trust me, I wonder that more than you think,” you grumble as you grasp the edge of the counter.

He leaves you, reluctantly, more grunts and groans to denote his pain. It’s almost satisfying that he’s the one in agony. For once.

You fill a cup for him after a few minutes and shuffle across the kitchen. He’s on the couch as promised, one leg up as he’s angled against the armrest. You hand him the cup without a word and waddle away. You grab a cushion to shove behind him, forcing him to lean forward, a squeak escaping him, and unfold the throw blanket from across the back of the couch.

“Put something on,” you give him the remote.

“You’re leavin’ me?” He asks thinly.

“I’m tired,” you look at him, “you need anything else?”

“Well,” he smirks, “you know what I want but need?”

“Hm, Lloyd, you’re a fucking mess. You can barely sit up.”

“That wasn’t a no.”

“It wasn’t a yes either.”

“But you’re thinking about it.”

“Oh shut up,” you shove his shoulder and he whines, falling back against the pillow.

You help push his other leg up onto the couch, an awkward struggle around your stomach, and you back away. He pouts at you and you huff, hands on your hips.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” you go to the chair and he whimpers, sending you a mope, “There’s no room for me over there, Lloyd.”

“I’ll make room,” he pleads, “come on, peaches, it’s chilly in here.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I hurt, baby,” he stretches out one arm, curling his fingers wantingly, “please, sweet cheeks.”

“Oh hush,” you push away from the chair and near him, “let’s just figure this out so I can sit down.”

You lay your head on your stomach again as he moves down the couch. He yelps as he shifts the wrong way and grabs his shoulder. He growls but holds back. He points behind him, “I’ll put my head in your lap.”

“I don’t got much of a lap left,” you cross your arms.

“We’ll make it work, I wanna be close to my baby girl,” he reaches to pat your stomach but recoils as a pang strikes him. “Fuck me!”

“Fine,” you turn and sit, falling the last little bit onto the cushion. 

You watch him in his effort to get himself down, his neck awkwardly bent to accommodate your stomach as he rests it in your lap. He manages to nestle onto his side and fishes the remote from beside him. He holds it up over his shoulder.

“You can put something on, baby, one of your trashy shows,” he wiggles it at you.

“Trashy,” you snatch the remote, “whatever.”

“I mean, we all know your taste, peaches, you’re with me–”

You grumble and point the remote at the TV. You skip over your recommendations for a new melodramatic reality romp and instead opt for a docuseries. Lloyd is not the height of your taste level, if anything, he’s the bottom. In more ways than one.

Jesus, he’s invading your head.

“You know, peaches, I let the other guy get a few good ones in, just for you,” he says.

“Sure.”

“Really, I was holding my punches,” he says as he wiggles and hisses as he tries to fix the blanket. You reach over to help him, pulling it up his arm, “and thinking of you. Maybe I shouldn’t have just fucked off. Maybe… Maybe these bruises should be from you.”

“No, you had to. I was gonna bash your head in.”

“Yes!” He cackles.

“What? What is wrong with you?”

“Peaches, if you were thinking of caving my skull in, it means you were thinking of me. You’re a woman of passion, you know that?”

“I’m a woman without patience,” you correct him, realising your hand lingers on his shoulder, a thoughtless act. You flinch but don’t pull away. “Now hush, I’m tryna listen.”

He’s quiet, just for a moment, slowly reaching up to squeeze your kneecap, “I like this, peaches.”

“Then stop ruining it,” you poke him.

He lets out another soft chuckle, “you like it too, don’t lie.”

“Can’t hear you, watching TV.”

“Peachy–”

“Lloyd, I’m about to tear every hair from your head if you don’t be quiet. It’s early and I’m exhausted,” you smack his shoulder and he winces, “and it’s all your fault. You and your damn daughter.”

“Daughter,” he chimes, “she’s gonna be just like you, peach, and I’m gonna be in big trouble.”

“Pfft, me? She’s gonna be a handful and that sure as shit isn’t from me,” you snip and feel a tweak, a subtle spasm, “speak of the devil.” You press your hand to your stomach as the movement continues, “oo, she’s… awake.”

Lloyd sits up, cursing under his breath as he wobbles a bit. He looks down at your stomach wide-eyed. “You can feel her.”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, “here, she’s dancing–” You grab his hand and push it against your belly, moving it around until she kicks again, “she’s an early riser.”

“Dancing?” He keeps his hand against you, “we should get her into ballet.”

“We got some time for that,” you shake your head and the sharp squeeze in your bladder makes you jolt, “fuck, she’s on my bladder.” You grip the arm rest and struggle to stand, “shit, I gotta go.”

“Baby,” Lloyd does his best to help you up, “you okay?”

“Pause it,” you toss the remote and move as fast as you can, “fuck.”

[titanicfreija]

set not long after TFS

Art

"Have you done the wood-burning finger paint? Lately?" Thomas asked. 

Freija still stewed around the apartment and it became more and more clear that she had no way to let it out that wasn't pacing, screaming, or blowing things up, and apparently those were still not working.

"No."

The Warlock didn't bother with any further ceremony and handed her a panel of wood, about eighteen inches square and an inch thick. "Didn't think so. You need to express yourself."

The Titan took it from him and eventually saw the plank in her hand. "What's that mean?"

"It means, put the scream into the plank. Pace through a picture, with your hands and your Light, the way you always want to kick and fight. Try not to break it too fast, but the break will be part of the art, too." He relaxed in his seat and drummed his hands on the arms. "If it doesn't help, you'll still have a piece of wood to burn for fun, which might."

Freija scowled at the empty panel. "I'm too tired. I don't want to feel anything anymore. She isn't dead. She died, but she isn't dead."

"Correct," Thomas said. "Draw that."

"How?" Freija demanded. 

He shrugged. "Use an analogy. Phoenixes are popular for creatures like us."

"We're zombies," Freija chuckled darkly, slouching into the couch with the panel on her knees.

"Draw that, then."

"Gonna draw a dead fucking Ghost," Freija growled. "All rippling with Light and Dark. She looked just like my fucking arm, only her white wasn't swimming, either."

"Sounds great," Thomas said. "It's literally all good ideas, the only way you can do it wrong is hurting someone to make it. Which is funny, because half the time, the goal is to hurt them with the result."

"Trying to hurt people with a picture?" Freija asked. "Nevermind, you told me."

He grinned. "Make people feel things. Or at least feel things all over stuff and let 'em look at it if you want. Burn it if you want. Hide it under your bed until you think you can see it again. But it's a way to scream quietly and hopefully it'll count for getting it out."

Freija was not an artist. Not a visual one. At best she was an untrained poet. So the first thing she burned in was a metaphor, her hands on front and back in her grip, charred completely black. This shit wouldn't let go.

The tears stung before she even got really started, while her hands were still heating up.

Clumsy outline of the normal shell but then Freija impressed the Winter Lotus over the top of it, and gave it her ears. 

Center eye completely charred over, leaving a blackened pit halfway into the wood.

The work of lightly singeing the top layer, leaving strips untouched, took a lot of effort. It wasn't perfect but it left what she needed to leave and made the shape she needed. A Ghost shell with whispy streaks of white.

More char for the Darkness ripples.

Twice, she had to stop to curl into a ball and bury her head and cry. She kind of remembered Thomas was there, but he was literally telling her to do this, so it wasn't so embarrassing but it still felt stupid.

She stopped there, not knowing what else to do, and she put it on the center table. She couldn't stop herself from curling back into a ball. "Am I done?"

Thomas glanced over at it, then leaned to look at her past the monitor. "Dunno. Is there anything else?"

She stared at it as though it hurt her. "M… no. Thought about my hands but that's not… no. This is… yeah. This is done." She blinked more tears down.

Her friend crossed the room to hug her shoulders and took the piece into his hand.

She leaned up to snatch it from him. "Wait." She turned it backwards and lined up her fingers on the front to imitate the back, and gently scorched in their shape. The result looked like she was burning her way through from the other side. 

She then handed it back and flopped to curl back up on the couch. "There."

He nodded firmly. "Good job." He lowered it and rocked back to see her eyes. "Did that help?"

She nodded, and even offered him a fleeting smile. "Yeah. Way more than I thought it would." 

He smiled chipperly. "Good! That's great, actually. I worry a lot. We need to lean more into that. Whatever you want done with it, let me know, but I'm hiding it from everyone until you're ready."

She nodded, grateful that he knew how to handle that. She didn't want to see it again for a long time but she also didn't want to get rid of it.

"You're a really strange person," Freija told him. "I mean that in the best way possible. I don't know what kind of person you'd be without it."

"Thank you," Thomas replied sincerely.

@annieruok94 @wolvereaux

[meowcats734]

(prompt response) A ghost still finds themselves on the mortal plane, unable to cross over to the other side. Instead of spending its days haunting derelict buildings or unsuspecting families, it turns its eyes skyward, ready to travel among the stars.

We saw three more ruined villages in the next few weeks. Mairel's ghost must have ran out of nostalgia, because he stopped responding to Sansen and opening doors. None of us could know for sure, since none of us had an attunement to nostalgia and I sure as hell wasn't able to make one, but it was one less luxury on our little adventure. We had to fall back on the Redlands foraging I'd been born and raised with. 

It was almost worse that Lucet stopped complaining about the food. As if the food was the real problem here. 

Although we were doing a pretty good job of getting the fuck away from the Silent Peaks, we were still no closer to reuniting with Jiaola, and our lack of progress was starting to wear on morale. It was disturbing how easy it was to quantify that, with the ten attunements I now held. I could see Lucet's wells of passion dry up, Sansen's flames of hope guttering and dying, Meloai's liquid-metal insecurity practically spilling out of what was undeniably her soul. I almost felt as if I could reach out and measure each value as it rose and fell, plot them on a chart like we did in Elementary Sciences 103. Here was where a soul fragment pointed us towards the Silent Peaks' main army. There was where hope fell as Meloai asked if we were certain we should be going towards the people who had left four towns lifeless ruins in their wake. Then was the last time Sansen had spoken in days.

I wondered when the falling lines would cross. When the fear and sorrow and shame would consume the passion and joy and hope, and we'd finally be forced to leave a good man behind for no other reason than us being fucking cowards.

I'd like to say that it was one of us who pulled through, one last time. That Sansen gave a rousing speech, that Meloai asked a simple and silly question, that Lucet's quiet hugs at night broke through to me, hell, that I was able to dig myself out of the pit of thorns my soul was ensnared in.

But that would have been asking too much. It wasn't any of us who broke us out of our shambling, aimless stalemate, as we chased the trail of an army that was weeks or months cold.

It was Mairel's fucking ghost returning that kicked us back into motion. The old butler was hardly even sapient at that point, and he still did a better job of holding us together. If that didn't say something about how utterly fucked up we were, I didn't know what did. 

Sansen was shambling along doing his future-scanning thing when he whirled around like he'd been bitten. The last time that happened, some random fell witch had tried to harvest our souls, so the three of us started looking around for the hammer to drop—but Sansen shook his head.

"Mairel," Sansen managed to say, one eye tracking a dizzying array of futures. "His ghost is back."

"Where?" Meloai looked around. "I don't see him."

We all turned to look at her for a moment.

"...right, invisible. So how do you know if—"

"His soul shatters," Sansen said, "and in a nearby future, you catch one of the fragments."

Of course it would be me. Because I had all the attunements. Because I still was too scared of Big Bad Odin listening in and becoming even scarier than they already were, back when they were making the Peaks chase their own tails without spending a single soldier. "What plane?" I asked, idly wondering what would happen if it was one of the planes I couldn't reach right now. Not due to lack of attunement, but because none of us had a drop left of the right emotions.

"Fear," Sansen said.

Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. I gave Lucet a questioning look, and she nodded, stepping closer to me. I drew the shimmering red blood of fear from her soul and slashed through the world with it, leaving a rift large enough for me to stick my hand through where Sansen pointed for just a heartbeat—

And I was no longer Cienne. Good. I didn't want to be.

I was Mairel's ghost, and this was the story of how I died.

###

I always had loved the stars. Even as a baby, my first words were (while pointing at the North Star) "I want to be up there!" According to my mother, of course; this was seventy years back, when I was still alive and still a child and still too young to remember the precious things that would one day be all I had left.

I never did reach the stars. I lived and died a butler to some minor nobleman—excuse me, his Lordship Tanryn, third of his name—and never even got to kiss that pretty boy who lived down the street.

Mm. That pretty little boy was now a kindly old man. I'd followed him out from the basement where I'd died, where I'd stayed in stasis for decades, and saw the stars for the first time since I'd entered Lord Tanryn's service. And bit by bit, week by week, the little bits of a child that had once wanted to see the stars... remembered.

I was nothing but a memory now. I had weight only if I believed I did. That child's wish upon a star could at last come true.

It was slow going, at first. Say what you would about haunting the living, but at least it was never boring. At first I could track the crowds of people underneath me, but before long, they faded into nothing but specks. The clouds were pretty from below, and then from above, but staring at the endless sea of fluffy white got a bit repetitive eventually. I'd stayed stuck in a basement for the better part of two decades, though, so it was, at the very least, a nice change of scenery.

Idly, some part of me wondered why more ghosts didn't try this at least once in their lives. Unlives. Afterlives. The proper terminology for what laid beyond the veil was not part of my education as a butler. Where was I? Ah, yes. The streaks of darkness were so mesmerizing, the stars that blinked like eyes, the creatures that flitted just beyond where air and light ended so tempting to join—

I jolted out of my trance, finding myself floating in the void between earth and sun, surrounded by dark, drooling, hungry shapes.

Ah. So that was why no ghosts came up here.

Something else had gotten there first.

The things from beyond the stars lashed out at me, strange spiracles and tendrils of void reaching out to strike. I remembered I had weight and dropped like a stone, but the predators between worlds must have expected that—four excellently aimed lances like the tines of a salad fork speared my soul, and I felt the entities from the void eat at the memories that were all I had left. There went the day I first looked up at the stars. That was the name of the boy I never got to kiss. Farewell, proper ordering of the spoons and forks on a well-set table.

Somehow, that last thing made me angriest of all. Take away my childhood dreams, take away my one-time crushes, but I. Was. A. Butler. Eldritch abominations from beyond the void or not, nobody took that from me.

I closed my eyes and remembered that, once upon a time, I had lived inside a mansion.

And the ghostly form of Lord Tanryn's estates crashed into existence around me, swatting the eldritch entities away like a spider beneath a flyswatter.

The memory I had left behind dissipated within moments, more hungry mouths of darkness consuming them, but I held onto myself as I plummeted back to earth. There was one last thing I had to do. One final service to the living I could still provide.

I had to warn them. Had to warn them about the things beyond the stars.

The clouds parted beneath me, the world fading into view. My memories were bleeding from my stricken soul, but I held on to those last moments for just a little longer. The length of a waltz. That was all I needed to hold myself together for. Just the length of a waltz.

The boy whose name I would never know, the boy who'd grown up into a wry old man while I was dead, was walking along a road with three children in a wide, fertile plains. I would slip through the ground and plummet forever if I didn't do something—but the one thing I could do would surely end me for good. Ghosts didn't leave ghosts, after all.

Ah well. I was a butler. It was in my nature to serve.

I remembered the earth, its solidity and form, and I splattered against the ground exactly how a living human who'd fallen from the sky would.

The man who'd once been a boy jumped, looking around, one eye glowing strangely, and I could have sworn he saw me. No matter. I grinned weakly and strained to whisper the last letter I'd ever run delivery for.

"Do not venture beyond the stars."

Then my soul shattered like a poorly-handled chalice, and I faded into the infinite dream of oblivion.

The things between the stars had gotten me. My leg of the journey was over.

It was in the hands of the living now.

###

The soul fragment faded from my awareness, returning me to my body. Lucet and Meloai were waiting for me to snap out of the memory, carefully not giving me impatient glances as if that fooled anyone, while weary old Sansen just stared into the future, knowing he'd seen it all before. 

So not only were we stuck in the middle of a warzone, not only was Iola the Unkillable Eldritch Horror probably going to hunt us down and obliterate us, not only was Jiaola a conscript on what was probably the wrong and definitely not the right side of the war, the skies were filled with Demons of Fear that were eating ghosts, and said ghost—who was probably one of the last friendly faces we'd see for quite a while—had just gotten slaughtered in front of my very eyes.

"Ha," I said.

Lucet gave me a worried look. "...Cienne? Are... are you okay?"

"Ha," I repeated, and even though my soul was dry as a bone, I still managed to crack a smile. "Ha, ha, ha."

"Sansen?" Meloai asked. "Is... is he going to have a stroke, or... something?"

Sansen shook his head, but I saw the flicker of hope reignite in his soul as he saw what I did.

"Mairel's ghost decided to fuck off into the stars, because as a child he had a dream about doing that, or something. Screw the why, it doesn't help us find Jiaola. But. While Mairel was up there, before he got eaten by the Demons of Fear that just seem to be hanging out up there—"

"Before he what?" Lucet exclaimed.

I waved a hand. "Not the point. Before he got eaten, he saw something from above. The positions of both armies."

"Okay, but... that information has to be outdated by now. How is that any better than the memory fragments we've been collecting from the villages?" Meloai asked.

I grinned. "Because, my dear friends, until now, we've been wandering from site to site and just hoping that something died at just the right time to give us a glimpse of where the army might have been, weeks ago. But you all were there for Ritual Magic 201. We can make our own soulspace entities, and Mairel just proved that if you can tell gravity to go fuck itself, you make an excellent scout." 

Magics I hadn't felt in weeks slowly woke up in Lucet and Meloai's souls, and even though I felt nothing, I still let my eyes twinkle as though I did. "We can find Jiaola," I said, "and best of all? The Silent Academy is the one who showed us how."

A.N.

Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!

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[inhibitionfreewriting]

okay so, i definitely got off track of the initial way i planned on writing this, but i got into a groove and... just gonna put it into (at least) 2 parts.

jerma x reader x ludwig (part one)

it starts totally innocuous, you're helping on dollhouse and end up just getting in with the two of them. you click at one of the end of day get-togethers. jerma makes you laugh first and then lud comes over to investigate what's going on and they've both got you doubled over. you end up getting food together and just spend more hours than you should have talking. by the end of the dollhouse event, you're in a group chat with the two of them and by the end of the first week of it existing, it's... always active.

you start to send good morning and good night messages, talk about your day even when they're busy and when they catch up on the memes and stuff you send. they're both busy bees so you know they get back to you when they can, but at some point it starts to make you sad when it's got long periods in between. not just that platonic sad but... longing. you're a little embarrassed over it, but it doesn't really come to an apex when you send a very tired 'ok love you guys im goin to bed'

it makes them both panic separately for the same reason but they don't talk about it on the side. ludwig replies immediately without thinking, 'love you 2, sweet dreams' and jerma replies 49 minutes later after trying to not overthink it (but did for all 49 minutes) a very simple 'love you'. he thinks about deleting it too, or changing it, but he thinks it's better not to and manages to go to bed after some tossing and turning. (and putting on something mind-numbing on his ipad) but that first time comes and goes and it just becomes routine to say it all the time. all the time.

it's not until you go hang out with jerma again that the energy is just.. different, not bad, just different. maybe even a little awkward. your hands are a little sweaty but you two spend the entire night playing dumb shit on the switch and you cook dinner together and somewhere along the line you're sitting next to each other and blurt out that you both miss Ludwig and then laugh and are like haha y-you too? but there's the electricity between the two of you too, and he invites you to stay the night "not like that of course... i mean unless you-" "yes" and you share your first kiss and it's fun and you still just...

you're both still thinking about Ludwig, and he knew you were hanging out but didn't realize it was a date and he feels this empty pit in his stomach because the two of you aren't talking to him even though he knows it's because you two are hanging out. and there's this seed of not jealousy but sadness because he isn't there too.

ludwig comes out with an awkward confession after you and jerma start to hang out more and more. "kinda hate when you guys go on dates tbh" tone is impossible to read through text and you prod him on why and after the conversation starts to get heated you open a call, and it. for what it's worth, the civility between you and ludwig lasts exactly 3 sentences and jerma is really trying to just mediate but once you both start yelling it's impossible (but he definitely feels like he's listening to two children bicker).

"it was one date and we've only seen each other twice! out with it, why is it such a problem only now?? it was two days where you were busy anyway so it's not like we skipped out on a night time video call!"

"that's not the fucking problem!"

"you didn't say anything when jeremy asked you if it was okay?? he asked you!"

"because it's not just you!! it's both of you, both of you are the problem."

"what does that even mean?? how is it--"

"wait, both of us? stop let lud talk"

you stopped out of indignance, almost throwing your headphones down instead of listening to whatever he had to say but with your arms crossed and mouse hovered over the leave call button, you stayed. you couldn't tell if ludwig had walked away from his computer or if he had muted his microphone and just gave up on talking. jerma breaks the silence first and cracks a half hearted joke, "i-i think this is the longest he's gone without talking to us. i don't think we've ever heard him this quiet for so long" it gets the driest chuckle out of you, almost like a pity laugh, but ludwig groans loudly and it genuinely cracks you up further. you can almost see it as he sighs, too, the way his hands are braced against his forehead and it's wrinkled with frustration.

"i fucking... it feels like shit knowing you two are hanging out and i'm all the way in los angeles. it's not just... one of you, it's both of you, i don't know. saying that out loud feels so fucking dumb." but you both scrambled to interject, explaining that you both felt that way too. neither of you knew how to bring it up and that it had been plaguing you especially hard, feeling like one side of the feelings were fake, both jerma and ludwig were scared that it would wildly change the dynamic the three of you had.

but it didn't.

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 41

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

“Remember, any magic you think you’re going to do, move your hands,” Marvin whispered to Mad as he, Mad, and Mare stood outside Dark’s door. 

“Hands. Got it.” Mad repeated with a head nod. 

“The first day is tough, but it’s not magical-based.” 

“He’s a magic user’s apprentice. Why wouldn’t it be magic-based?” Mare asked. 

“Dark focuses on more than just magic. The physical body is just as important, so he’s going to want to know what all you can do and what all you can take.” Marvin explained. “He’s going to push you. His goal is to make you cry. Do not break.” 

“Okay.” Mad shrunk in on himself a bit. 

“You got this.” Marvin patted both of Mad’s arms before opening the door. Mare gave Mad a reassuring smile as they followed him into the office. 

“Hello, newbie!” Anti popped up between Mad and Mare, separating them. “Welcome to the club, I’m Anti.” He had a grin Marvin knew all too well and had to resist the urge to yank Anti away. 

“I’m Maddrick?” Mad looked to Mare and then made a little sound of protest at suddenly being guided away by Anti. 

“So, are you and your plus one a thing?” Anti asked with a little purr in his voice. 

“A thing?”

“You know, dating, fucking, something like that?” 

“We’re no-not-nope-just-uh-just friends.” Mad looked like he was going to explode on the spot. 

“So you don’t mind if I play with him?” 

“Like…have sex with him?”

“Yeah.”

“But aren’t you and Dark, as you had put it, a thing?” 

“Hah!” Marvin laughed loudly. 

“The fuck you talking about?” Anti huffed, moving away from Mad. 

“I mean, you and Dark had a lot of feelings of affection for each other and-” Mad stopped when he saw Mare zipping his lips behind Anti. 

“For your information, me and Dark fuck, that’s it. Just like I’m going to fuck this one here.” Anti gestured a thumb at Mare.

“No, thank you, not my type,” Mare stated flatly, crossing his arms. 

“What is your type?” Anti huffed when all he got was a blank stare from Mare. “New people are supposed to be fun.” He snapped his fingers, and in a blink, they were all in a different room.

Marvin felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach, knowing where they were and what work got done here. Seeing all of the exercise equipment and machines with endless wires and monitors had him remembering every harsh day of training. He prayed to whoever would listen that Mad would be okay. 

“I wasn’t expecting a whole audience for Madrick,” Dark commented. 

“Mare’s his guard, and I’m here to make sure Mad’s fine,” Marvin said. 

“Fine. Go aside and don’t interfere.” Dark gestured with his head while Wilford prepped one of the weight-based machines. “Anti, sit with them and keep an eye on them.” 

“Sir, yes, sir.” Anti gave a mock salute and guided Marvin and Marvin to one of the benches that lined the walls. 

“So he’s going to work out for them?” Mare asked, watching Mad get straps wrapped around both wrists and ankles. 

“Kind of.” Marvin leaned back against the wall, foot bouncing anxiously. “It’ll look like that to us, but there’s a lot more happening internally. They’re reading everything about his body.” 

“We’ll know him more than even himself.” Anti giggled. “Here’s hoping he survives.” He added with an evil glint in his eyes. 

“They could-” Mare tried to get up, but Marvin and Anti pulled him back down. 

“Stay down like a good boy~” Anti giggled.

“He has to do this on his own,” Marvin added, face still pale. 

“Fuck.” Mare cursed to himself and could now only watch as the testing began. 

They watched as Mad lifted weights, ran, lifted more weights, and ran again. He jumped, climbed, and crawled across the floor. It was a whole circus act, and the more it went, the slower Mad moved. His face was red, his body matching the color with the number of times he’d accidentally smacked himself with the equipment or by his own limbs. Those red marks were likely to become bruises if not healed by magic later. Mad’s breathing was getting heavy and wheezing, and he started coughing harshly between rounds. 

“We’re running again,” Dark spoke over Mad’s coughs. 

“I-I need-” Mad didn’t get to voice his protest before he got basically dragged to the treadmill. He barely had time to stand on the machine before it was turned on. It was slow for only a few steps before Mad was jogging and then sprinting. His breathing echoed in the room, hands grasping the arms of the treadmill till his knuckles were white. His steps were messy, uneven, and not going in a straight line.  

“He’s going to fall.” Mare said. “He’s-let me go!” He snapped when Anti pulled him back down. “He’s going to get hurt! He-” His voice stopped at the sound of Mad’s body hitting the belt of the treadmill, face bashing into it, and body getting sent flying away. “Mad!” 

“That looked bad.” Anti held out of the last word. 

“Fucking hell.” Marvin got up and followed Mare over to Mad. 

“Mad, Mad, I’m right here.” Mare went down to his knees and helped Mad sit up a bit. Mad couldn’t speak, breathing gargled by the blood gushing out of his nose and dripping down his throat. He stared at the blood on his hand, face going green before he vomited, adding to the mess on the ground. 

“We’re done for the day,” Dark stated, unaffected by Mad’s situation. “I’ll text when it’s time for your next practice.” He turned and walked off, snapping his fingers and sending himself and Anti away. 

“Here, I can help a little.” Wilford waved his hand, cleaning the mess off the floor, and Mad. “And a little…” He waved his hand and fixed the cartilage in Mad’s nose, but it still looked like it could bruise. “Best I can do, not much of a healer like Dark. Some ice should help with the soreness. Water down your throat for the taste. It’ll be a while till he calls you up again. I’ll make sure of it.” Wilford winked and snapped his fingers, sending himself away as well. 

“I don’t…I don’t wanna be here anymore.” Mad said with a sniff. “Please.” 

“I got us,” Marvin said and sent them back to his living room with a flick of his hand. He went to the kitchen, grabbed some ice, wrapped it in a towel, and returned to the room. “Here. For his nose.” 

“Thank you.” Mare took the towel. “I got him.” He added, and Marvin just awkwardly nodded and stepped away again. He didn’t fully leave, taking the same place he had been before the text, watching the two. It was part wanting to know what they were going to do and part ensuring they were fine. 

“It’s okay. I got you.” Mare gently pressed the towel to Mad’s nose, getting a little whimper of pain. “I know, just for a minute. We’ll see if maybe Phantom knows how to help with this. Wilford did most of the work. Phantom should be able to finish it. You usually take care of your arms and legs without realizing it.” He stopped and lowered the towel. “Mad.”

“I’m not going to cry.” Mad’s voice was hoarse. 

“You can. That was a nightmare you went through.” 

“Marvin said I can’t break.” 

“It’s just us, he said to not break in front of Dark. You’re allowed to be overwhelmed and tired and just get it all out.” 

“But…” 

“Mad. It’s me. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” Mare placed a hand on Mad’s shoulder.

“I…” Mad broke down, leaning into Mare and hugging him as he cried, body shaking with his sobs, and he clung to Mare like it was all he knew how to do.

“I got you. I got you.” Mare whispered as he hugged Mad back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Marvin turned away and went for his bedroom, opening the door and seeing Chase lying stomach down on the bed with his Switch in hand. 

“How’d it…it didn’t go well, did it?” Chase asked, seeing Marvin’s face. 

“It’s only day one,” Marvin said as he closed the door. “He…He’s not going to be able to do it, Chase. He won’t make it with how Dark is.” 

“I thought Dark was supposed to be better than Actor.” Chase reached out and guided Marvin to sit on the bed with him. 

“I thought so, too. But I don’t think either of them can work with Mad. I thought since I saw some of that sass and snark in Mad, he’d be like me and would manage to get good mentoring from Dark, even if he hates the fucker, but…but he’s not.” Marvin leaned against Chase. 

“What do you think we should do.”

“I don’t know, Chase. I don’t know.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” Chase hugged Marvin and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ve been flying by the seats of our pants this whole time. We got this.” 

“I love your optimism.” Marvin softly giggled. 

“It’s yet to fail me.” Chase chuckled. “Want to put on a movie and cuddle?” 

“That’s sounds lovely.” 

----------

Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

[idontevenknowhowtolife]

Petty Rhaenyra

So Rhaenyras pretty pissed off at Viserys and Alicent for the whole getting married and producing a threat to her claim to the throne thing. Unfortunately she cant really take it out on them because their the King and Queen and there are lines she cant cross or else it will be used against her and to paint her as a spoilt brat unworthy of the throne. So she decides she is going to play the perfect princess in public and private but use her own knowledge of them to make them uneasy about her being so nice. Comments about how she wishes them all the best in the marriage bed, and how she has picked some petals to be strewn across their bed. They look like blood. This is in the Queen chambers. Where Aemma was cut open. Rhaenyra is smiling innocently at them, asking if they like them. This is just the beginning.

This continues on and even ramps up after Alicent announces she’s pregnant. Rhaenyra makes comments about her dead siblings, commenting on how she “only ever got to hold them for a short time”, and how she never got to see their eggs hatch and how she desperately hopes this will be different. She offers to pick out the eggs for the baby while Viserys is there, staring at Alicent and smirking the whole time as she goes on about how she hope to make a good pick so that the egg will hatch into a strong dragon. Alicent doesn’t know whether she is genuine or fucking with her. And then Aegon is born.

Rhaenyra is in the birthing room encouraging Alicent, being genuine this time because pissed as she is, she doesn’t want Alicent or the baby to die. She is the first person to hold Aegon after the birth, claiming that he would recognise her dragon blood. Alicents doesn’t get to hold him until after Viserys and Rhaenyra, and just barely gets him before Otto does. Rhaenyra presents the eggs, a gleam in her eye as she pronounces that this dragon will hopefully aid the new baby through any trouble that comes his way. And then she turns to Viserys and offers to take the baby on his first dragon ride. She claims that she never got this as neither of her parents were dragon riders at the time and everyone else was either too new to their bonded dragons or too sick. She adds how she hoped she would be able to do it with each sibling from her mother but never got to. Viserys agrees immediately and gives no room for protest. The next day she takes Aegon to the dragon pit and introduces him to Syrax before taking flight. She kinda hoped the baby would cry and be scared, proving that he was more Hightower then Targarean but Aegon loves it and she feels herself softening to him. She decides this is the perfect way to fuck with Otto and Alicent as well as spend time with her new baby brother.

Rhaenyra just starts taking him on rides with her. Viserys loves it and hopes it mean she’s on the way to forgiving him while Alicent is terrified and Otto furious. Aegon loves it and eventually the only thing that will calm him down is Rhaenyra. To Alicent, young and already struggling with motherhood, this just proves to her that she is a failure as a mother. Rhaenyra and her hesitantly make up thought for the sake of Aegon, but these actions stick with her, as well as her fear of Aegon flying.

When Sunfyre hatches, Rhaenyra immediately swoops in with Syrax and takes over training him. She insists on having him in the nursery close to Aegon as much as possible, which gives Alicent a heart attack when she comes in. Sunfyre is a menace and only calms for Aegon or Syrax.

Rhaenyra repeats this with Daeron, Aemond and Helaena. Alicent still is unsure about whether or not Rhaenyra is fucking with her and her father getting sent away makes it worse, but the fact that Rhaenyra was actually still talking to her stops her from wearing the green war dress. Then Laena and Daemon come back to court and her kids latch onto them. It’s too much for her and nearly triggers a nervous breakdown that prompts Rhaenyra to help her. There are apologies and actual communication and the Dance is averted. Somehow.  

[grimm-rider]

Entry 27

Before I get into more recent events, a few more important things I missed in my last entry. Because a hell of a lot’s happened.

After we killed the Crone Queen in the library and another that had Numerian missiles, Elvanna’s new threat rather than our own families was to Nadya’s family. So we hurried to the little village where we’d left them and joined Nadya in a fight against another Crone Queen and her minions. In which Nadya’s kids threw dung on the winter witches from hiding while we rained death from above on the rooftops. It was great. Now Nadya’s back and helping with the resistance, and her kids have made a little spy network. Because no one ever suspects the children. This was entirely the kids’ idea, by the way. We didn’t just decide to send kids out to gather intel for us. But they’re quite good at it.

After saving Nadya’s family we met with the Heralds of Summer’s Dawn, who judged Peanut, and with Nestian’s help decided to forgive him for the mistakes he’d made in disbanding them. Now they’re going to help us too. Although they revealed to us that a circus was coming to town run by a man from Keisuke’s universe. Someone apparently deeply connected to Nestian’s family, and in a very bad way. He would have to be stopped, because his existence in this world was throwing all of the followers of Gozra’s powers into chaos.

After that is when we saved Greta, and then I spoke to Keisuke in the Nonagon.

Then we killed a Crone Queen at the theatre, saved a bunch of people, and got the horde of a dragon. This was just before we met the plant man and sprung Cesseer from jail. This is also where I lost Roscoe and took control of a mouthy piece of shit demilich I’ve been calling Walter. Walter is currently in time out in my bag of holding because he wasn’t very discerning with where he aimed his Wail of the Banshee in combat and he hit Greta. And then he said she shouldn’t have been in the way. So he’s staying in the bag until further notice. Possibly forever. I might look into how to destroy demiliches and enlist Edeya’s help to destroy him (I suspect it will involve positive energy). We’ll see how spiteful I’m feeling in a few days.

Anyways before Walter fucked up and got himself banned from experiencing anything but the void of the Bag of Holding, I asked him how one becomes a lich. Because it seemed like the most straightforward way for a necromancer to gain immortality at the time. The demilich told me that the final step in the ritual is usually some form of sacrifice. And it’s generally crossing a line so horrible there’s no going back.

I’ve never been one to shy away from lines, so this didn’t deter me from looking into it further later. But we’ll get to that.

I made a Demiplane, for our group’s privacy and safety, and also for my own personal use in the future. It is called Grimm Labyrinthus. It’s not so intricate magically as the Nonagon—not being set up on top of the Eon Pit and all—but I still think I’ve made a rather clever wonder all the same. I won’t be committing its secrets to paper. But I will say the Labyrinth part in the name is quite literal if you don’t know where you are meant to go within it.

After we finished the jailbreak and got a wonderful rest in my new home, we decided to deal with the nasty little clown infestation in town. It was time to shut down the circus that had apparently haunted Nestian’s family for two generations.

We fought through various twisted fey while Jairess channeled Gozreh, determining whether they would agree with Nestian’s balance or the ringmaster’s chaos in nature.

Nestian came out victorious. In a final desperate moment the ringmaster tried to cheat. Jairess stopped him by summoning the spirit of a powerful archdruid from the past.

It was Nestian’s father.

Nestian and his father put an end of whatever this dark chapter of their family history was.

I don’t really get what happened next, but from how Nestian and Peanut talked, it sounds like Nestian got a chance to talk to his father afterwards. His expression is hard to read generally, but he definitely looked happy after that.

…

Miracle can do a lot of things. Bringing back the dead without a body should be entirely within the realm of possibility. I don’t know if him being from another universe might make things more difficult, but…

Keisuke killed him. I could undo it.

Nestian deserves to have his entire family.

Honestly Aenland does, too. But I feel more cautious about broaching that topic given how sensitive the subject is for him. Maybe just healing his mother, though…?

If I could do it, why shouldn’t I?

But that’s for later. Elvanna is already threatening to kill our families. Probably better not to give her more targets for the time being.

And that about catches us up. To last night, when I wrote my previous journal entry.

See, after the circus was done with, I still had two uses of Miracle left for the day. So I decided to make use of them. I used them both to cast the spell Legend Lore. Once on an Iron Flask we’d found, to discover what creature was held within it. And once on myself. To learn once and for all what my path to lichdom was.

The spirits I called on for Legend Lore whispered to me, and I saw a vision.

I was in the House of Murder. It was me, but changed. It was me, but so beautiful, and so powerful. I can still see it in my mind’s eye and my heart aches that it will never be a reality.

Because next to me was a second figure. Their visage changed, flickering between familiar faces. Aenland, Nestian, Edeya…Greta…

No matter which face the figure wore, it was slumped before me. With a knife in their back. Killed at their height, their life cut short during their crowning achievement.

That is the line.

I could laugh if I didn’t just want to fucking break something.

The line that was staring me in the face this entire time. The one I said even months ago I wasn’t strong enough to cross. And my resolve has only weakened since then.

This is a cruel joke. The height of power that a necromancer can get, just out of reach. I can see it. It would be so easy to reach out and take it. To make that beautiful vision a reality.

And yet it would not be easy at all. It would be torturous. I would sooner cut out my own heart than harm Greta. And even if I had the resolve to kill one of the others…I would still lose her. She cares about the others, just as I do. If I killed one of them for power, I wouldn’t lose just one of them. I would lose all of them. There would be no forgiveness or understanding for that betrayal. Nor should there be.

So the only way to gain the one thing I need to remain outside of the Boneyard’s grasp would lose me everything else. What would be the point of beauty and power and immortality if I’m alone?

Fuck. These assholes really have changed me. I don’t even know when it happened. When did I quit only relying on myself—only trusting myself—and start putting them before even my own ambitions? I can’t pinpoint a single moment, a flip of the switch between not caring and caring. Somewhere the gradient smeared, with such subtly it’s hard to say when it changed from black to grey, and my priorities shifted from gaining the things I want, to protecting what I already have—those in my circle who somehow became precious to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I still want power and immortality. I’ll just have to find a way that doesn’t involve sacrificing my companions. Others have found the secrets of immortality before me. And I’m going to get mythic power one way or another. So…it should be possible. It must be possible.

It just won’t be as easy as a single death at the right time and place.

It’s almost enough to make me want to wish my damn emotions away, so I could reach for what I want unimpeded. But then I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my final reward. Power and immortality and no ability to feel pride in making it that far, no ability to feel joy in having bested Pharasma’s game of life and death…it would be a hollow victory, just as pointless in the end as ending up alone with my emotions intact would be.

Is that it, then? Is that the joke Pharasma’s played on the world? Either die and face her judgement, or get an empty self-defeating victory in immortality?

That can’t be right. I refuse to believe that’s right. There must be a way to gain immortality that doesn’t defeat the purpose. Maybe not the way Baba Yaga gained it, maybe not lichdom, but that power has to be out there somewhere.

Mythic power will be my first step towards it. Maybe it will even be my key to unlocking it.

Anyways. I’ve waxed poetic about how fucking awful the universe is for snatching away the thing I want most enough, I think.

I tried to take my mind off it by making a little personal trek to Abbadon to fetch Roscoe. Then I returned to the clocktower and slept off my sour mood. With Greta there. She didn’t even have to ask what was wrong. She just acknowledged that something *was* wrong, then shifted into her wolf form and curled up with me. It helped. Having her there. It hurt, like a dagger through my own heart. But it also helped. Her presence reaffirmed that I didn’t want to lose her—not for anything.

The next day we had a surprise visit from Ratibor, our good old mortal incarnation of Kostchtchie. He told us that Baba Yaga gave him something to give to Jadrenka—it was a note for 2 weeks paid time off. A bit perplexing, but given that Baba Yaga works about fifteen steps ahead of the rest of us I’m sure it’ll make sense when the time comes.

Seeing as Baba Yaga was clearly telling us where to go next, we put our current plans on hold (a trip to the bathhouse to kill the Crone Queen shacked up there), and instead teleported back to Ioberia. For the first time in 4000 years, technically.

We had one other detour first, though. To the roof of the clocktower, because we heard Wuso scream, and had a second surprise visit for the day—from Calistria herself.

I forgot to mention when I talked about the theatre. Calistria was in the audience, in disguise. Still absolutely radiating sexual energy. Hottest god in the pantheon indeed.

This time she was not disguised. She appeared before Wuso in all her glory.

And she stripped Wuso of her power, before telling the rest of us that this was the second of three times we’d be meeting. Then the elven goddess disappeared, leaving Wuso at the edge of the clocktower, absolutely shattered.

The others tried to comfort her. I said nothing. I had no words of comfort to give. They all tried to reassure her that it would be ok, or that maybe this was just a test.

I wanted to say that sometimes gods are fickle. Gods are so much more powerful than us, that there is no way they see the world the way that we do. There is no way to know what Wuso did that made Calistria do this. It could be any little thing. It could be nothing at all. When you have power, the powerless are your toys to play with.

But the others were trying to hard to draw her back from the edge. So I said nothing.

Before Calistria had told us before she left that we should take Wuso to Ioberia with her. Because she would need a distraction from ‘a bad breakup’.

The others interpreted this as a test for Wuso, something she would have to face to get her powers back. Maybe it is. Calistria must have said it for a reason. Or maybe Wuso has a destiny not tied to Calistria, and she is setting her on that path—whether she likes it or not.

Aenland asked Wuso if that was what *she* wanted to do—regardless of what Calistria said. Wuso agreed, she wanted to come with us. So we teleported, once again, to Ioberia.

We appeared on top of the Maiden Statue, and immediately met a strange gun wielding man with red tinted glasses, who killed the riddle tree when it sent berserk after he answered the stupid riddle we’ve heard four times now correctly. It was going to eat Aenland, who had climbed into its mouth—again. Not that Aenland was likely in any danger, that tree was maybe dangerous when we came here 4000 years ago, but we have grown in power exponentially since then.

The fact this man answered the riddle, however, also implies he knew the previous Black Rider. By name, not just by title.

He introduced himself as Indrid Cold. The man Keisuke had warned me about. The one he’d suggested I kill on sight. I did not do as he suggested—primarily because this man had a sense of power about him that gave me reason to pause. I have the distinct feeling I would not be capable of killing Indrid Cold alone—nor do I think my companions would be willing to take up arms against him on Keisuke’s behalf.

So instead I simply kept my guard up, incase the man had any ill-intent. He claimed that he wanted to come with us into Artrosa because it had certain defenses that would target the strongest in the party with their worst memories. He’d seen visions of the worst ways this could go wrong. So he wished to join us so that it would specifically target him and none of us by default as he without a hint of uncertainty said he was the most powerful one here.

Aenland claimed if we’d gone in alone we all knew it would target him. I am in severe disagreement on that matter. And if it had pulled from my memories, there was as much chance as not that it could pull something I don’t even remember, so it wouldn’t be particularly personal.

Regardless, there was little choice but to agree to let this man come with us.

As we prepared to enter Artrosa for the fourth time, Indrid pulled me aside. He said that he’d seen—with whatever future sight he has—that I did not trust him due to Keisuke’s warnings in most possible futures. He said he would not try to convince me with words, since I knew better than most how words can be twisted to one’s own benefit. Instead he would let his actions speak for him.

I told him that was all fine and good, but until then he would have to forgive me if I was going to be cautious until he had sufficiently proven himself trustworthy. He agreed that he expected no less.

So long as we have an understanding.

After that we delved into Artrosa proper. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, Indrid seemed rather offput. He said something was wrong. The room we entered was not what he’d seen in his visions.

We had entered a familiar room with a gazebo in the center. Many spectral figures of Jadrenka as the mother, maiden, and crone stood to the sides. And under the gazebo, just as we’d first met her, bull and all, was Jadrenka.

The bull was not disguised a gorgon waiting to kill us this time at least.

We approached, and spoke to Jadrenka. Radibor almost barreled her over in a hug. He told her he had something for her, but she said to wait until the end to give it to her, as the events to unfold might affect things.

Apparently being back here had returned Jadrenka’s memories. At least, the ones she hadn’t already been getting back on her own. She had taken up the position of warden again. Because Artrosa needed a warden, and her mother was dead. She thanked us for not making her warden so many years before—she was aware of how poorly that would have gone. But she believed that now she had a way around the things that had deteriorated her mental state the first time around.

Baba Yaga made the rules, and Baba Yaga was indisposed at the moment. Which meant she had time to make some new rules.

Risky business. But I feel like if she plays her cards right Baba Yaga will respect the hustle. It’s all about doing it in a way that impresses her, instead of insulting her.

For now, however, she was the warden, and we needed to get into the Eon Pit, so that meant she needed to test us. She told us she’d love to bend the rules and just let us through, but given that bending the rules in the past was part of what had made things go bad the first time around, she wasn’t going to play that game again, even to help us kill a Crone Queen who was doing a fucked up ritual in the Eon Pit.

So she split us into two groups. Ratibor would look after Wuso and face a trial through one passage, while the rest of us faced a different trial based on Indrid’s memories through a different passage.

We entered the door with Indrid’s visage on it.

The first place we appeared was at a bridge. A young Indrid—just a teen at most—was running to the bridge, yelling for the people to get away, they were in danger.

He was too late.

The bridge collapsed, and dozens of people fell with it. The air of death was palpable.

Two men in clergy robes turned to him. They had faces very much like the adult Indrid we have met, sans the glasses.

One of the men accused him of causing this. The child tried to argue that he’d merely seen it, but the man only accused him more violently of being a blight who brings misfortune. The people around him were forming into a mob, and they began to chase the child. Into the woods. Into the dark.

Heartless. They were going to string up a child for trying to warn them of danger. If this weren’t just a memory, I would kill them myself. Show them what a real monster looks like as they die in agony.

Instead, the bridge was completely consumed by a storm of darkness. I recognized a dangerous haunt, which if allowed to grow would begin trying to feed off the souls of any of my companions not warded by my Oracle’s Vessel. And myself and those who were warded would still be struck by bolts of lightning, so not even we were truly safe from it.

This was too dangerous to not take seriously. So I called on my most powerful magic, using a miracle to turn my negative energy positive for just long enough to cast a Mass Cure Critical Wounds.

It burned. It burned like reaching into the sun. Like the fires of the Hells. From my finger tips up to my elbows, with how powerful the positive energy had been. But it got the job done. The storm visibly weakened. I shouted to Edeya that we needed positive energy—and not Heal, because it would be immune to that. Unfortunately, given the power of that particular spell.

Edeya dropped a healing spell on it, and then I felt some of the power of the Black Rider revitalize me as Aenland sent me some of his power—allowing me the split second I needed to cast another miracle and hit the storm a second time with even more positive energy. Everything burned. I could barely feel my hands. But the storm burned with me.

Indrid finished it off with a healing spell of his own. Which seemed fitting, I suppose.

The scene faded back to the regular collapsed bridge. The two clergymen walked away, back towards a nearby town. And I got the sense that the child had escaped his pursuers.

After, we walked down the same path the two men had walked. Time seemed to speed up. Seasons passed. Plants began to wither. Strange, twisted fruit grew from the trees. The town grew poor—except for the church, which grew opulent.

We found ourselves at the church door. There was an attack. Indrid had returned to reap his vengeance.

We threw open the door.

Inside were angels made of roiling magma, human clergy, and Indrid’s brother. The head of the clergy, wearing his weight in gold while those in the village starved.

Jadrenka warned us that this would not be the fight as Indrid truly remembered it—it was warped by his feelings, by how he perceived the events.

We fought. Indrid shot his brother with enough bullets to fell any normal man—but he was clearly no normal man this time. His wounds were healing rapidly.

Then a massive hammer smashed through the stained glass behind him, and a colossal angelic being slugged Aenland with it.

He’s making a habit out of this.

One of the clergy tried to heal Indrid’s brother, but Nevra interrupted his spell with a well-placed spear swing. Cesseer did the same to one of the angels.

A member of the clergy stepped away from Nevra to avoid her spear, and cast Implosion on Indrid. Much like when I boneshatter something to death and just crunch all the bones into each other, his body tried to fold into itself. It looked painful.

What a shame.

I decided to clear out some of the trash and give my companions some breathing room to deal with the actual threats. One Wail of the Banshee later: all of the clergy and most of the angels were dead. Talsune finished off another angel that was attacking Roscoe (I did not just get him back to have him be destroyed by a gods-damned angel, thank you very much).

Then Roscoe took four shots at the massive angelic being—and actually managed to paralyze it. Clearly getting a little training on his own in Abbadon just killing hordes of Daemons non-stop did him some good.

I missed Roscoe. Baykoks are the best undead pets. I think I will find a way to get more and guard Grimm Labyrinthus with them. Maybe Baba Yaga will let me poach some from the fortress in the Dancing Hut…

A thought for another day.

Aenland executed Indrid’s brother—who was apparently healing so fast because he was a gods-damned Void Yai Oni.

And I finished off the massive angelic being, burning it with Firestorm, then forcing it to its knees with Boneshaker, the massive immortal creature kneeling before us—as it should—until its spine snapped and it fell limp.

The memory went back to play out how things had actually happened. Indrid shot the head of the clergy—not dead, just incapacitated. Then he strung a noose around his neck, and threw him out the window. Both to kill him and to show the town that the tyrant was dead.

He expected accolades. He expected the town to finally not see him as a monster. His brother had been at the heart of all their problems, surly they would be grateful for his demise.

Instead, when he looked out the window, the people he saw below were more terrified than ever.

Backing away from the window, Indrid transformed. Revealing that he is some sort of werebat. Which explains the clicking noises he makes, before shooting and just at regular intervals when moving about. It seems to be to make up for his apparent lack of sight—he must use echolocation.

He fled, leaving the town behind. For good this time, I suspect.

I’ve seen more about Indrid now, and yet I understand him less, I think. He went and got his revenge on the man who caused much of his grief, but he didn’t feel satisfied. He felt worse. He wanted the people in the town to accept him, even though it was the people in the town who also treated him like a monster. If it were me, I’d have wanted to burn the entire town to the ground, not just the church. What those people think doesn’t matter. But what they did was vile and deserves some recompense.

But Indrid doesn’t seem to think so, even though he’s the one who experienced it first-hand. He doesn’t seem to think the revenge was worth it, even if it was deserved. I don’t understand that thought process. Not at all. Even if those people were ungrateful, he removed a parasite from their town.

The next memory didn’t shed any more light on things. It was a puzzle room. Inside was a strange android man who may or may not have been a figment of Indrid’s memories. The way he answered when Indrid asked was…questionable. It felt like there was more to him that met the eye. But it was impossible to puzzle out what from the things he said and the way he acted. It felt like he was toying with us. Like this was just an amusing pastime for him.

Except when I said something about having ripped out a few people’s hearts. That seemed to make him drop the façade for a moment. It seemed he didn’t like that particular comment. Not like it’s been anyone who didn’t deserve it. I’m not going to start feeling bad for ripping out Rasputin’s heart anytime soon.

Anyways, we worked out the puzzles. Not always in the intended manner (I used my Spirit Walk ability to go through the wall of a puzzle we were apparently meant to cast Silence on to make a painting disappear. But none of us had Silence, and we didn’t know this Ulong fellow would be willing to cast spells on our behalf until after the fact.)

The final door opened, and Ulong gave Indrid a small slip of paper before disappearing. I have no idea what that was about. It certainly gave no further insight into this Mr. Cold.

With all the important memories witnessed, Jadrenka asked Indrid, essentially, who he was. Indrid basically said he was just a little werebat trying to make his way in the world, and help people along the way.

So he’s like Nestian. Just a person who lives life as it comes to them and helps people as he sees they need help. Not striving for some greater ambition. Not seeking anything. Just living life.

I don’t know how anyone can live like that. It feels so…stagnant. It sounds like just…living, without a purpose. I don’t get how people can just exist, and not reach, and strive, and try to grow and become more. How do they not get bored just living? Just taking what life throws at them and helping people as they see people who need help.

It sounds awful.

I understand this Indrid Cold less now that I have seen his memories than I did when he was merely a mystery. At the very least, I think the only reason he’s a threat to Keisuke is the same reason Nestian would be. Because Keisuke is not a good person, and he does harm where it will benefit him, and they are both people who protect others.

I’m under no illusions about the sort of person Keisuke is. I’m not some blind fool who thinks there’s some good hidden inside him that my friends could nurture out if they just tried.

The thing is…if the others hadn’t met me when they did, and we met in Whitethrone instead of them meeting Keisuke there, they would have reacted to me back then exactly how they had Keisuke. They only care about me now because they got to know me. They only overlook some of places where I don’t even try to match my morals with theirs because we have known each other for so long, and they trust me. As I trust them.

If they had met me at any other time, they would have tried to kill me. No question in my mind, that is how it would have happened.

And so…I have difficulty feeling particularly enthusiastic about turning my magic against Keisuke. I see who I was—or who I could have been, perhaps. I see the others turning their blades on me. Perhaps it even feels like a stepping stone. If they go through with killing Keisuke, will they quit overlooking some of the things they’ve overlooked from me for so long, and start insisting I conform to their morals? Writing it, it sounds like paranoia. But it feels like a reality.

Anyways…anyways.

Jadrenka returned us from the illusory past. Now we found ourselves in the chamber Indrid has originally seen in his vision, the one he’d been expecting us to find when we first entered Artrosa.

Jadrenka would open the way to the Eon Pit, so that we could slay another Crone Queen, stop whatever ritual they were conducting, and fix the Nonagon.

When our preparations were complete, we followed Jadrenka through the doors that stood before us.

We followed her through halls that showed so many images of many Jadrenkas, leading many groups. Over and over a thousand times over. As with many things in the Eon Pit, it was hard to look at. And True Seeing didn’t make it any better—it was reality, not an illusion.

At last we made it to the end of the tunnel, and found a Crone Queen and her Winter Witches upon a giant floating snowflake. The ritual she was preforming was clearly a modified variation of the one Jadrenka herself had preformed last time we were here.

The one she’d been using to summon Kostchtchie.

The Crone Queen mocked us that we were too late.

In a rip through the fabric of reality, an emaciated white dragon’s claw reached through into the Eon Pit. It grabbed the Crone Queen…and crushed her in a single swift, violent movement.

The grotesque dragon stepped through, followed by familiar centaurs. And another far-too familiar form.

Kostchtchie, in the flesh. The Demon Lord of Frost Giants.

He saw us and bellowed in rage.

It would seem 4000 years had not dulled his memories—or his hatred.

He was not bound on the opposite end of a ritual this time. This time the fight was real. We were facing down the Demon Lord Kostchtchie in earnest.