#blackberry that hides in brambles

[peppermint-moss]

warrior cat oc design commissions (and 1 coloured sketch) from July!

commission info || ko-fi (tip jar)

[blacktobackmesa]

Will forzen ever join the streamerman series?

forzen of streamoman is hiding in a thicket of blackberry brambles and could not be approached for comment. he has a thick hide to protect him from the thorns

[t00thfull]

to be small, to be hungry

to be a hare in the brambles, there is something deep behind my glaring eyes, a fear beyond words; a fear or a fervor, nobody knows. thorns comb my thick fur; here in my cave i am safe, under blackberry leaves and branches covered in sharp edges. where mice and birds gather to share their tales and secrets to hide from the sun; and by proximity those hungrier than us.

[damadisangue]

Love is a horrible feeling. It is a hunger that devours, a bramble from which blackberries of blood and flesh hang. Alex let herself be captured by its branches, thorns that cut into the skin and the heart. She stretched her arms to the sky, asked for an answer she already knew. And the bramble rose up to the pale curve of her neck, along her back, between her thighs. "Albert." The bramble squeezed her, drawing reddish figures that disappeared on her hips, small pools of blood from which her personal demon drank. She claws at his shoulders, reverses the positions. Alex opens between his legs like a beautiful, pale flower, a hint of white in all that black and red. It really does look like a bramble bush, Alex, and Albert finds himself touching her with unexpected delicacy. But the bramble is a demanding plant, an arrogant and aggressive shrub - ferocious. You can't untangle it, you can't tame it. It grows without asking anyone's permission and snatches away the others' space. Alex sighs, letting out a broken moan - breathless. She arches back, offering him a thin, languid body. "Aleksandra." The bramble is merciless. It is a plant with a thousand roots and can hold you in a deadly embrace at any moment. Infesting, merciless, wild. It erects barriers around their hearts, hides an uncomfortable and unacceptable truth. Alex suddenly lowers herself, bites until she feels him coming inside of her with an almost painful abandon. She traces the contracted line of his jaw with her lips, then seeks out a half-open mouth that still murmurs her name. The bramble intertwines with its flower, squeezes it until she feels it explode under her fingers. Alex's orgasm is a beautiful and hopeless spring.

Another stunning masterpiece from the lovely @madbedlam

[thefoxandthebrush]

This Neck of the Woods

Pairing: Astarion x f!tav (named Tav, platonic)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: one tiny sexual jokes (if you SQUINT), reread for fixes but Gods is it a pain to type on a phone

Summary: Tav finds Astartion after a skirmish and helps treat his wounds, and lets him treat hers too. Takes place in mid-late act 1.

Notes: This is... man THIS is my first ever fanfic I've ever posted, and I'm nervous and really excited to just put this to type. I've had this outlined in a notebook for MONTHS. 

Tav is a druid tiefling named Autumn, a picture of her at the end!

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

Crack, shuffle, snap, shuffle, snort.

It was easy to let the instincts of her current wildshape take over, the owlbear's form that she wore happy and healthy and... a little hungry to be honest after the whirlwind of a fight that just ended.

The gaggle of goblins and wargs had caught Autumn and her merry band off guard as they limped their way back to camp, the blood of a gnoll pack they had ambushed still wet on armor and weapon as a small chuckle is passed around thanks to a wisecrack from Karlach. 

It was a surprisingly close fight, something that rubbed the druid the wrong way. She kept to her wildshape partially to be ready just in case of another attack.... but also because she was otherwise embarrassingly injured in her tiefling form. A lucky duo of goblins had found her blindspot and had taken advantage, draining their luck with a  few good hits between two of then before they had been met with a very angry owlbear and her claws.

Gale was safe as was Karlach, Autumn had checked on them just after the final death squeal from the biggest warg wheezed out, and now it was on to find her favorite vampire.

So she was getting a snack on the way... a druid's gotta eat! ESPECIALLY if she was intent on being a nightly snack for one of hee companions like she had been for at least the past two ten-days.

A blackberry bramble lures the druid further from the path the Goblins had attacked them on, dark flesh warm and sweet to her nose and her tongue was already licking her beak.

A sharp intake of breath from behind a non blackberry laden bush snaps Autumn's attention from her plump prize, the muffled swear flitting about in a voice that she would recognize anywhere and at any time.

With more stealth than her feathered stature would suggest she had, Autumn lumbers closer to where she knew the vampire was hiding and announces herself with a trill of a chitter.

Astarion nearly leapt into the canopy above at the sound and his good hand landed with a soft slap of his armor over where his heart would have been thundering if it still had the ability, antagonistic surprise replaced quickly with a practiced pout to his lips.  His eyes flicked from Autumn to over her shoulders, watching shadows and their movements for any sign of another coming attack.

"Darling," he starts to drawl. "You shouldn't go skulking when there's a vampire about."

Crimson on the hand gripping his shoulder catches Autumn's attention, eyes narrowing as she stands on her hind legs and waddles forward towards him. It earns her a scoot back of surprise from Astarion, him probably not expecting a full grown owlbear to come up and loom over him while inspecting what damage she could.

Gold eyes flecked with green lock with Astarion's red, a request for permission to look closer. With a roll of red and a grimace of fangs, his hand comes away from the wound sticky and leaking, and presents it to Autumn. 

Looked like a through and through arrow wound, some of the fletching having caught on the ragged edges of his armor giving it away. With a twist of her head, she also notes a slash to the side of his armor, blood hiding itself in the dark leather much better than the sister wound at his shoulder.

Backside hitting the packed earth under her with a thump, the owlbear chitters and lifts a taloned paw to poke and prod gently to get a better look.

Hrmmm. How was she going to fix this... a healing potion should do the trick seeing as she was fresh tapped of healing magic, Shadowheart's talents useless as she was back at camp at the moment none the wiser.

Had Autumn been paying attention during her careful assessment,  she would have seen the gears turning in Astarion's head and his eventual conclusion.

"You’re hurt, aren't you." A statement, not a question, and one that received a warning growl as his answer before claws click back to work.

The Vampire stays still only long enough for a first draft plan to form in his head, his upper body leaning forward so suddenly it got a squawk of surprise from Autumn. A slender finger darts up and finds its mark on the hard curve of her beak, a blink following the silence. 

"No no. You love to masquerade in that suit of feathers and fur, I know, but you're avoiding your humanoid shape. I can tell DON'T try denying it."

A scowl flits across the owlbear's face as Autumn, now caught red handed, trills her excuse at a man who couldn’t and didn't care to hear the excuse.  Large arms folding in a very humanoid way, she looks away with feigned annoyance. 

A clawed paw rises a moment later along with a defeated huff, a claw swirling around in a silent request for Astarion to turn around and give her some privacy. It's with  softened eyes and his own begrudging sigh that the vampire did as was asked.

With a flash of neon green bordering on white, feather and fur disintegrate as they fall to red ridged skin. A sharp canine dug into her bottom lip as the condition of her body aligned with her nerves, the sword slash to her back coming into a sharp burning focus.

She inhales a hiss of pain, trying her best to keep her wounds as unassuming as possible...

Too bad that back turned to her belonged to a vampire.

Her hands leap out to grab his shoulders without thinking as she sees his head perk and ears wiggle at the scent now drenching the small area, missing by a hair as the Rogue shifts to the side and out of her grasp and instead cuffs her own wrists in his steel grip. 

There's an unamused glint to his raised brow expression, the corners of his lips trying to form into some form of his trademark smirk. "Worrying about me when you're two steps and a stuff breeze away from depriving me of my favorite meal? How very... you." The smile almost appeared with a soft snort and shake of his head, a grunt coming from him as he pushes himself up from the log he had settled on.

It all falls into a hard frown as he finally  leans around ans claps eyes on what was making Autumn wince and gnash her teeth.

"AUTUMN! I can practically SEE your spine through you armor!" Hands released back into her company, Astarion instead latches them to HER shoulders and holds her front and center, the furrow in his brow holding just enough concern that her well trained for this eyes could pick it up between the anger.

"And /I/ was the one being fretted over?  Why the hells didn't you tell one of us?"

Mismatched green eyes narrow again at Astarion,  temper flickering to life at the tone he flung at her despite the meaning under it.

"/I/ wasn't the one who slunk away to lick my wounds, ASTARION." a hand carefully reaches back and touches the edges of the cut, nose scrunching as small shocks of pain shoot into her torso. "I planned to see Shadowheart as soon as we got back." She grumbles, the bluster of her flared temper already leaving her.

"Yes yes, so you say." he hums as he pushes back her mane of hair out of the way to get the best look he could, expression twisting a bit in thought as he assesses how to approach the slice.

Looking over her shoulder and through the twists of her hair, Autumn bites her lips to keep the grin off as she, at first, slowly lowers her inspecting hand down and away... only to channel the last dredges of her healing magic and twists enough for her to lightly slap his injured side.  A pitiful level one healing word, but enough to earn her an annoyed glare of thanks.

Her work done Autumn smirks and turns back around, trying to keep any stretching to her back to a minimum. At first she thinks she moved the wrong way as a zap goes up her spine and through her ribs, a sharp intake of breath drowning a small squeak of pain.

And then she felt his fingers, now much more gentle, move about the perimeter of her wound. /Oh he did that on purpose./

"Star..." She starts the warning through gritted teeth and gets a puff of a laugh behind her for her troubles. 

"A single nudge and you're already squirming  for-HURK" The probably well rehearsed line is cut off mid delivery by Autumn's whole hand being firmly planted square in his face, pointy nose digging into her palm.

The blush that turned her red skin a brighter shade only made the vampire's tinkling laugh fill the small clearing once he swatted the hand away and saw it, that elusive smile now appearing and meeting his eyes.

The druid can't stay mad when she hears and see him in a slightly better mood , her own snort of a laugh breaking the frown that had started to grow on her face.

With a twirling motion to mirror her own from before, Astarion silently tells her to turn and get that armor off. Shrugging, she does as asked, reaching up through the discomfort to work the latches and ties off. While she worked on her leathers Astarion reached around and behind the log he had been on to retrieve his until now hidden pack. With quick hands he has bandages, healing potions, a water skin, and rags ready and waiting for the tiefling.

As Autumn let the collection of leather drop to the ground she shivers at the sudden chill the wet blood on her back gave to the breeze.  Crossing her arms over her chest, the druid looks back just in time to see a grimace on Astarion's face before he had time to hide it.

"That bad?" She finally asks as she turns back and stares ahead.

"Who?" the single syllable holds a whole paragraph of threats to the perpetrator of her wound, his cold hand soothing to the heat that seemed to radiate off the slash.

"Well, they're each in about 5 different pieces and dead now so.... Doesn't matter. What about you?" Autumn shrugs lightly and tries to take on a more chipper tone, fatigue starting to set in on the edges of her words.

"Flanked by a whole group of beasties. A waste of blood but, tsk, what is one to do when you've already got one dagger in the side and 3 more are looking for room and board." He says it so casually,  a flick of one hand sending drops of pink tinged water off a wet cloth he had started to clean her up with.

Brows furrow once again as he sets to his work, jaw clenched only a bit as he stomps down the beast inside urging him to take a nibble while a weakened victim sits before him.

Bird calls and insects fill the void as the vampire continues his work, a soft brush across his booted foot making his eyes glance down towards Autumn's tail. The limb was writing and roiling behind its owner, the tip curling and twisting as if it was a snake in its dying throws.

Without a second thought Astarion adjusts his leg and gives the appendage something to cling on to, a corner of his lips lifting as he feels a squeeze of thanks. 

"You’re distracting me, dear."

"Sorry. Nerves are still a little on edge."

"Do you smell anything?"

"Well, no, but-"

"AH ah. Then /relax/ for a few moments." a hand slides to one of her bare forearms and rubs it a bit to try and sooth the druid. "I don't smell anything,  well besides your delectable self and your owlbear, either. I think our rag tag group of misfits has successfully scared the masses away for the moment."

Autumn snorts loud enough to sound like her owlbear self again but stays still as Astarion works the healing potions into the wound and dabs at the blood, a contented quiet finding the duo until their party comes looking for them.

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

[rezcowgirl]

I have to write this out. This was one of the most terrifying and hilarious experiences of my life.

I spent Saturday with Aries and my best friend Ali. We went swimming, and afterward, Ali wanted to go for boba and Geocaching. I was up for boba, obviously, but I have never Geocached and I wasn't about to start. But Aries had an old account and wanted to, so it was two against one.

I lost.

Icy bobas in hand, we set out. We all had wet hair and we were not dressed to be out at sunset. Light was fading, so we only had time to do two or three depending on how long it took them to find the caches.

We did two with no upset. Aries and Ali dutifully wrote their names on the little slips of paper and deposited them back into their hiding places and I shivered and tried not to grumble.

We pull up on the third and final one, and it was in this weird industrial park with a dirty river running through it. The hint directed us to this especially unkempt area. It was completely overgrown and there was some abandoned broken junk strewn about, too.

The first Thing was our whole body situation:

We had just polished off iced beverages. We all had wet hair. We had no coats. We were all wearing sandals. Aries had flip-flops, Ali had strappy sandals, and I have these Doc Marten mary-janes that are technically sandals, but I wear them with socks. Aries was in shorts, Ali in a dress, and I was in pants. I was the closest to being hiking-ready.

The second Thing was the details of the landscape:

The place was basically a blackberry bramble with giant prickly thistles everywhere for good measure.

A fun conversation that went: "Huh, I wonder if that's giant hogweed??" "Let's not find out" was had

Also: "Ha ha, the ground is really spongy and unstable."

Reminder: NONE of us were dressed for this kind of treachery.

Third Thing was...the thing?:

"So...that disturbed, mulchy bit of ground is in the shape of a human body?"

It was. It was a raised, disturbed area covered in debris, and it was shaped like a goddamned human body.

However, it didn't smell, so, um, we assume it wasn't.

There is a white pipe we could see a ways in. Because I am the only one remotely close to being able to trudge through to this stupid, wretched pipe sticking out of the ground that we were assuming the cache was hidden in, I carefully push past Ali and tell Aries to stay fucking put.

He did not. He comes up behind us, and we are all standing in a line looking over, getting ready for me to walk across to the spooky white pipe in a godamned mushy, prickly no-mans-land. For a game I don't even play.

But.

We all look down at the same time because we see movement.

And there are fucking WASPS coming up from below the ground, directly between Ali's feet.

Obviously, we screech and fucking stampede out of there, thistles and blackberry thorns forgotten.

When we got back to the car, we were hysterical. We were laughing, but only because no one got stung. It was dusk, so the wasps were slow moving. I think that is the only thing that saved us.

Aries and Ali click to "leave a note for the owner" in the Geocache app.

Ali: Did not find.

Aries: Prickly, ground bees, possible dead body.

I GET TO PICK THE NEXT ACTIVITY.

[hp-fruit-fest]

Another month down, one that provided more yummy fruitiness!

FIC. Draco/Harry. Rated: T. Words: 749. Werewolf Draco. Established relationship.

Long fingers pluck a blackberry from the bramble bush, and place it onto a pink tongue. Rolling it around his mouth, savouring the sweet-sour taste, before biting it with white, sharp teeth, and it goes pop in his mouth. 

🧺 Read on AO3 🧺

FIC. Draco/Hermione. Rated: E. Words: 4,294. Underage. Rape/non-con. Age difference. Professor Draco. Student/teacher. Dom/sub undertones. Extreme dub-con. Orgasm delay/denial. Praise kink. No Voldemort AU. PWP. Unhealthy relationship. Grooming.

Hermione wanted to writhe and bounce and grind her hips into his until her vision went white and spots formed in her periphery. She wanted to pant and gasp and moan as she combusted, shattering into a million little pieces of bliss while he kept her upright, supporting her always. She wanted to pulse and clench around him, walls fluttering frantically until he painted them white, mixing his fluids with hers and joining her explosive, carnal state of pleasure. She watched it all play out in her mind’s eye, all too tempting and enticing. Professor Malfoy wanted her to sit still. Hermione was enamored by him. She would do anything for him. And right now, he wanted her to warm his cock while he graded essays. She could do that.

🍏 Read on AO3 🍏

FIC. Hermione/Severus. Rated: M. Words: 2,030. Professor Hermione. Fluff. Pining. Meet cute. Seduction by fruit.

Professor Hermione Granger stumbles upon a secret grove of fruit trees on the grounds of Hogwarts and ends up learning more about her former professor (and current colleague) than she ever thought possible.

🥃 Read on AO3 🥃

FIC. Sirius/Remus. Sirius/Remus/Severus. Rated: E. Words: 3,911. Secret relationship. Trans Remus. Humor & smut.

Severus grumbled as he marched to the Portkey Office for his next Order assignment: checking up on Sirius Black. Of course, the bastard had to hide on a tropical island, and Professor Lupin was nowhere to be found, so the task fell to him. He knew Albus was having a little laugh back in his cozy office at Severus' expense. Albus had claimed it would be a lovely holiday with an infuriating sparkle in his eye, making Severus want to hex the imbecilic glasses off his face. However, by the end of the weekend, Severus was considering sending the man an extra large batch of lemon sherbets.

🌴 Read on AO3 🌴

FIC. Sirius/Remus. Rated: E. Words: WIP. AU. PWP.

Remus finds Sirius hiding and working in the coffee belt in South America. Though siesta time is usually meant for rest, these two find something else to do instead.

☕️ Read on AO3 ☕️

[wreywrites]

Tiger Shark

Part 2: The Sea

Chapter 12

BOOM.

The body tips forward. The head rolls away to the side. Taffeta stands behind them, a feral grin on her face.

I stagger backwards, tripping over something. Maybe my own feet. It doesn’t matter.

Taffeta is after me in a blink, sword raised.

I have no time. I have no hope. My fingers close around my spear. At least I will die armed.

Everything is happening too slowly, too quietly, too clearly.

I drive the point of the spear upwards. It sinks into her stomach, up, under her ribs. Just like Cally. Just like Jilly. Am I from Ten?

I push her away as the cannon sounds again. She falls to the side. I yank my spear out of her chest and run, blindly, toward the river.

Taffeta found us here. She was brave enough to come alone. Or was she? Is Tychus hiding somewhere in the trees? Is he doing the same thing he did when he watched the other three fight by the river, then killed off the survivor? Is he aiming an arrow at my back right now?

I am in the water. I can’t think straight, but I can swim.

I reach the other side in either seconds or hours. I can’t tell. I scramble out of the water and into the trees. I am still carrying my spear. That’s good.

I run until I find myself tangled in brambles. Panicked, I claw myself out of them. I am lost. I am alone. I have nothing but my spear. No food, no water, no drops, no blanket. The clothes I am wearing, my spear, and my wits, though those seem to have largely abandoned me as well.

I collapse, exhausted, clutching the stitch in my side.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I wake up to the anthem playing. Overhead, they show first Taffeta’s picture and then Mako’s. I cover my ears and curl into a ball. I cannot do this.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I do not know if I sleep that night, but when I finally sit up in the morning, I recognize where I am. The brambles that I ran into yesterday, or ten years ago maybe, are the same ones that Mako and I spent the first night in the arena hiding in. They are covered in blackberries.

I have food. I have a hiding place. I have no water.

I don’t care.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

I lose all track of time, hidden here in my berry fortress.

The sun is up when a parachute lands just outside the borders of my thicket. I consider leaving it. It might be a trap. It doesn’t matter.

I crawl out, grab the parachute, and pull it back into the bushes with me. I open it. Four bottles of water.

I drink a whole bottle. It brings me back to my senses, however briefly. There are birds chirping and singing all around. The sun is shining, but there are a few puffy clouds in the sky. It smells like rain. And it has been two days since Mako died.

I only know that because I know exactly how dehydration progresses. They drilled it into us at school. Every year. And all the time on fishing boats. And I am experiencing day two symptoms for someone of my height, weight, physical fitness, and exertion levels.

I hold up the now-empty water bottle. There’s got to be a camera that can see me. I’m in the arena, of course there is. “Thank you,” I croak.

I stay with it long enough to hear the anthem. There are no pictures. I wonder if I missed anyone while I was out of it. There is no way to know.

Around me, the birds grow quiet. In the silence that follows, I hear things. The sound of Mako’s head hitting the sand. The sound of the scythe slitting Elsie’s throat. The sound of the arrow burying itself in Merritt’s chest. The choking gurgle when I skewered Taffeta. The splash when Tychus shot the girl from Seven.

I clamp my hands around my ears, but I cannot shut them out. I cannot stop them.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

Another parachute comes in the middle of the night. The basket holds a loaf of bread from Four. From home. It is tinged green by the seaweed that gives it its salty flavor. I eat the whole loaf and drink another whole bottle of water. Tomorrow is day twenty-two, and I have no idea how many of us are still alive.

It gets very hot that morning, despite the thick clouds overhead. I wish it would just rain already, but it does not. I drink another bottle of water. I am sweating so much I don’t think I’m retaining any salt or water, both of which I need to survive. Maybe my rich sponsor will keep sending me water and bread from home.

No, I realize, they will not. Not if I keep hiding here and letting the Games go on without me. But I cannot bring myself to leave the bushes. Out there is horrible and dangerous and full of ghosts.

As if the ghosts want to prove my point, they shake the brambles and the trees around me.

But the shaking does not stop there. The very ground is rocking. It’s been a long time since I felt one, but I feel the same terror surging through my veins as all those years ago.

Earthquake.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

There is cracking and rumbling in the distance. Thunder. Then two booms of the cannon and the roar of rushing water. It wasn’t thunder. I have just enough sense to run. The edge of the trees is in sight when the water slams into me.

I am tossed like a rag doll, a tiny ship in a storm, a mouse thrown in the air by a cat. By some great stroke of luck, the water pushes me out of the trees and over the plains. I wonder where the buffalo are. The cannon sounds again. There is only water as far as the eye can see.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

When the rushing water stops, it doesn’t run anywhere. It just sits, leaving the arena flooded. I look all around. There is nothing. Even the hills the dam was built into are gone. And still, there has to be at least one person left other than me.

I think about drowning. I could do it. I could just sink under the water, end it now. But somehow, I can’t bring myself to do it. The water is my home. I stop swimming for long enough to get my shoes off, then push back to the surface. I kick my legs, once, twice, finding a rhythm, making sure there is nothing underneath me that I could stand on. I sweep my arms back and forth. The motion is comforting. I don’t have to think about it. I don’t have to think about anything.

My mind wanders as I tread water in the middle of the arena. I think about my dad. I don’t know where he is, but he is watching, whether at home, at the office, in the square, somewhere. I hope he knows I love him. I think of Coral and Jade, cheering me on. Coral, who taught me how to do the butterfly stroke, even though it’s slow and inefficient. Jade, who loved to have diving contests off the pier. She tried to do a backflip and a half one day. She didn’t flip far enough and landed flat on her back. Coral and I had to jump in and pull her out. Rizz and the crew, always being there for me, giving more than they got, working to exhaustion every day, but we all loved it. We were family. I have to go home for them, for all of them. I was born and raised on the water.

I can do this.

~~~                               ~~~                               ~~~

If the sun is any inclination, it is about four o’clock. I have heard no cannons. My shoulders ache and my legs are lead. I am so thirsty.

The water is cool and welcoming. It would be so much easier to sink, to die, to drown like all good fishermen. I close my eyes and let the water wash over my face, wrap itself around me, an old friend welcoming me after a long separation. I sink, and the last thing I hear is the cannon.

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@avoxrising @snow-dragon-rider

[swishyclang]

when I was seven, I thought I could fly.

some background: we lived in a house next to The Field. The Field wasn't its official name, of course, but I have no idea what that was because everyone just called it The Field. it was a patch of council-owned land that filled the valley between our house and the ones on the hill, and we walked across it every day to get to school.

there was a footpath outside our front gate that led down into The Field (though the 'path' part rapidly became more of a dirt track trip hazard just past the garden wall), across The Stream (a pathetic trickle of municipal supply water running along a flat channel between two concrete banks that formed a helpful v shape for me and my siblings to play Zigzags when we weren't running late), and up the steep far side of the valley towards the council estate that backed onto our school. it felt like a miles-long trek when I was seven but in reality the whole thing could probably be crossed in under five minutes.

anyway, we lived right next to The Field. it surrounded our garden on three sides, in fact. to the left of the garden was the path to school. at the bottom was a decrepit patch of trees that had clearly been planted in an (unsuccessful) effort to hide the local emergency electricity generator that backed onto our garden wall. but, most importantly to our story, to the right of the garden was the rest of The Field, which stretched away towards the main road through the town.

this part of The Field was mostly used by dog-walkers, who traversed the other dirt track that ran crosswise through the scrubby grass. it didn't have any good trees for climbing, or any hollows to make dens in, and the banks of The Stream were overgrown and not suitable for Zigzags, so it was of little interest to seven year-old me. there was one thing, though, that drew my and my siblings' attention to that part of The Field every year, and is integral to my flight attempt:

the brambles.

they grew right up against our garden wall, running mostly wild. the council occasionally popped in sometime in the spring to chop the new growth back and stop them taking over that entire half of the field, but they left a solid few metres of bramble thicket every time. our wall wasn't very high - it was dry stone all around, and pretty old - so the brambles stretched freely over the top and hung down to the ground on our side of it like some kind of prickly, tempting curtain. my parents would cut them back at the top of the garden, where they encroached on the path down the side of the house that we used to get to the garden from the driveway, but they were left to their own devices at the bottom.

we'd wait and watch for the flowers every summer, and gorge ourselves on blackberries in the early autumn when we got home from school. we'd routinely show up to dinner with our faces smeared in purple and our fingers dyed to match, and act like it was some kind of secret why we couldn't finish our tea. somehow I don't think our parents were fooled, but we were convinced our forays were Incredibly Subtle and they were kind enough to let us believe it.

all this to say: there was a massive bramble patch on the other side of the garden wall, and our garden wall was not very high, and I was seven years old and thought I could fly.

I think some of you might be able to guess where this is going.

there was a part of the garden wall that had collapsed a little the previous winter, creating a small pile of rubble and a convenient dip in the remaining stones that was just perfect to stand on. the collapse was up near the top of the garden, where my parents would cut the brambles back. they were even more zealous than usual that spring, because they wanted to fix up the wall and obviously it wasn't going to go very well if they had to battle their way through a forest of thorns to do so, so that area was completely bramble free - on our side of the wall, anyway.

then my dad dropped a hammer on his foot, and the wall repairs had to be put off for a while.

I took to climbing that collapsed bit of wall so that I could pretend I was a sailor looking out to sea - the wall being my ship, and the sea being the endless stretch of bramble and Field that ran to the horizon (I wasn't very tall, being seven, so the horizon was a lot closer then). I made up stories about the voyages I was taking on my wall ship, and indulged in all sorts of heroic daydreams.

then, one day in late spring, I had A Thought.

wouldn't it be neat, I thought, if I could fly?

obviously flying would be extremely cool. superman could fly. captain planet could fly. actually there were a lot of stories about people who could fly. okay, so they weren't stories about real people, but it stood to reason that if lots of people were writing about it it was theoretically possible, right? and I was only seven, maybe I just hadn't read enough to know about the real people who could fly? and maybe... just maybe... if I believed hard enough...

I mulled this over for a long time. maybe a whole day, which might as well be Forever when you're seven. I reached several conclusions:

if I could fly, it would be exceptionally, incredibly cool

my teachers would definitely be Very Impressed and might even let me do the afternoon reading in assembly time (I really liked doing The Voices, which were not so much necessary when the afternoon reading was usually a poem or a bible story, but I was a stubborn little shit and I would find a way)

not everyone could fly, therefore:

I would have to believe really, really hard if it was going to work

to kickstart my first flight, I should probably jump off something

to assist in my Experiment, it would be helpful to have a Consequence for failure

because failure is, and always has been, The Worst Thing That Could Ever Happen To Me, Ever, it would be better to conduct my Experiment at home, where no one would notice if it didn't work

if I wanted to achieve my dreams of being The Best Afternoon Reader and also the first seven year-old to achieve independent flight, the answer was obvious:

I had to hang out in the garden, wait for my siblings to go inside for snacks, stand on the collapsed bit of wall that my parents still hadn't got around to fixing, face out towards the brambles, believe really, really hard, and...

jump.

...

...

...

...yeah, it went about as well as you expected it to.

[welcometothewarren]

i'm not sure if tumblr sent my ask, so hey, i'm the person who sent that ask about Jormungandr to not the some father!! i saw your comment there, but i'm very shy and decided to talk here 🥲🥲

well, i wanted information that could help me start worshiping them (Jormungandr). i know this is something that can vary from person to person, but i'm still not very good at it, so i wanted to at least know a little bit about other people's experience. hope what i'm saying makes sense lol

hey nonny! welcome.

that totally makes sense. you already know that worship is an individual experience and each person's relationship to a god is unique, which tbh is half the battle. what works for one may not work for you, and over time you'll also discover things that work for you and not for others you know. the key is practice, or experimentation, or however you prefer to look at it.

here's what approaching a new god looks like for me:

-read the myths. chew on them for a while. what resonates? what doesn't? what role do i think these stories might have played in the culture that recorded them? what's changed between then and now? eg, does jormungandr represent an adversarial figure to me or not? is thor wrestling with/fishing for jormungandr a story that applies to my life? how? is zie a boundary-crosser, or a boundary-maker, or a secret third thing? do i have big feelings about jormungandr's role in ragnarok, or is that less important to me? what do i think i could learn from jormungandr? do i want to learn it? expect to not have answers to most of these questions, but start asking them anyway.

-look to others for examples of how the god intersects with their life and practices, and compare and contrast to the above questions. eg, maybe i've determined that jormungandr is not An Adversary to me, and i've found someone who feels differently, but still worships or works with zir. what does that look like? do i know why they came to that conclusion? i don't spend much time here, because comparing your religion to someone else's can outlive its usefulness very quickly, it's just to get the wheels turning in my brain.

-make an offering. this can always be a standard offering like water, smoke, candles, etc. it definitely does not have to be something specific to the god in question, or be one of the "popular" offerings given by others. it can also be an action or an experience, not just a physical item. i use this offering to introduce myself, pray or speak directly to the god to state why i'm approaching them, what i'm looking for, invite their presence, whatever. this is a conversational opener.

some of the things i like to offer to jormungandr include: snakeskin (prints, sheds, or tanned hide), silver, decorative chains and maille, white tea, Water and all things related to it, fruits and flowers that grow on brambles like blackberries and wild roses, decorative eggs, salt, glass and stones (especially smooth, especially worn smooth by the sea), and certain crystals (heliotrope, serpentine, moss agate, merlinite/dendritic agate, sodalite, polychrome jasper, etc. i legit pick all of them solely based on color and not on any preexisting association these stones have in new age-y circles.)

-keep the conversation going. how did that introduction make you feel? are you starting to get a sense of what the god feels like *to you* and not just on paper? make more offerings, say more prayers. find art and media that you can see the god in and enjoy it. if there are social or environmental causes you associate with the god, get invested in them. spend more time together. refine your godphone, if applicable.

-rinse and repeat. your understanding of the initial questions you asked will change over time, and your understanding of the lore, and the relationship, and everything. getting to know a god is (or can be) a lot simpler than it seems at the outset, and it also kind of...never ends. the tl;dr is to just try it and see what sticks. ime you learn more by doing than by planning, and i don't honestly have anything to lose by trying. worst case scenario, an offering gets a "meh" instead of a "YES MORE," so it's not something i worry about being good or bad at.

i personally experience jormungandr as being very Old and Slow and Deep, and communicating without words, which can make zir difficult to describe. zie's a very somatic god, for me. my devotional tag for jormungandr is #zie of the sea cycle

i hope any of this is what you're looking for! feel free to come back any time with more questions or to let me know how it goes or whatever. good luck 💚

[blackberrybrambles]

Oh, I see!

So to Sun and Moon, they are applying a punishment equivalent to the crime. (And to the following you don't need to answer because you've said you want the Blackberries stuff written as a story post but I'm just gonna give some thoughts hehe). So the punishment is one year per Berry, and it involves taking care of the forest, so I'm just wondering if it has to do with the well-being of the nature around them in general, at least what consists of the fae territory. Hmmm, I really wonder about the loss of identity part, and if that serves it's purpose or if that is just the part to pay for the offense and anger caused towards the two fae for getting them in trouble.

And since this is still a x reader story I'm very curious on how the relationships will advance! I'm guessing at first "Briar" will just feel... very hated XD The coldness of the hosts seem to make that clear, even if they are supposed to care for the snatched human now. And if that grab from Sun earlier really did bruise them, they will feel very unsafe for a good while. And lonely. Very lonely.

Also, I do wonder if they will come to regret that pain, or if because they are following their ways as fae, it's just something they will remain firm about. I can see "Briar" growing used to their new life, only for a couple of years to have how much they truly lost sinking in once again and cause them a good bit of grief. I don't know if forgetting about other things like it happened with their name is something that might occur, but the knowledge that they forgot must also be really painful.

So I do wonder how that might go, when some care has been established between the three of them and old pain resurfaces with a vengeance.

Oh, and I'm so curious about Eclipse! Since he comes in after a good while of Briar having been there, and is polite enough to Moon, could he turn into a potential friend for Briar if the relationship with Sun and Moon is just polite still? He wouldn't have a motive to be mad at the reader right? Unless blackberries are so important that all fae would be mad about that regardless XD

More fun questions!

You're right on the money in guessing that the berries, by and large, play part in keeping the Fae territory safe!

As for taking the reader's name (Aka, her identity); that's actually the main part of how they trap her in the Fae Realm. By taking her name and giving her a new one, they basically put an enchantment upon "Briar", assuring that she'll remain trapped in their realm. If she should ever manage to get her name back, she can escape.

And you're right to assume that there's a fair amount of negativity in the relationship, at the start. Particularly from Moon (who we've already seen is quicker to fly off the handle than Sun, who did his best to remain kind and polite all the way up until the Reader attempted to disobey and leave). The way its mapped out, Sun is generally nicer while not hiding the fact that he is angry. But as Briar has already been given their punishment, he is doing his best to keep from being any more cruel than he already has by trapping her in the Fae Realm and forcing her to work. Moon is the one more prone to losing his temper flat out, but outside of some verbal abuse and generally being scary, he never seriously hurts Briar (and if he does do physical harm, its largely unintentional). By and large, it takes YEARS for the anger to soften and for Briar and the Fae to start developing a positive relationship (which is why Blackberry Brambles isn't meant to follow a set linear story, but would, ideally, just consists of stories of them in the realm throughout various points in time). Once that positive relationship starts to develop, everything softens. And she starts to learn things about the Fae that largely wouldn't be made obvious otherwise.

There are definitely moments where Briar will be faced with the fact that she's trapped in this place and the world she once knew is moving on without her. The people she once knew are growing older, or even dying. No one knows where she went. And by the time she's set free, there won't be anyone left who will know her. The instant that she set foot in the Fae Realm, her life was gone. And that's a painful thing to think about.

But once the group are on more positive terms, they do show genuine care for Briar. This isn't to say that they wouldn't have tried to protect her from the start, but the closer they grow emotionally, the more meaningful it is to be comforted.

And Eclipse, by and large, is free game to be befriended or made into a lover. He has no reason to view the Reader in a negative light, and by the time he turns up, its established that she's under protection of Sun and Moon. So even if he had some sort of problem with her (and he doesn't) he'd know better than to act upon his negative feelings. By and large, Eclipse will turn up and be a tense acquaintance for a while before eventually establishing himself as a trustworthy ally.

[bigowo-kinguwu]

The Stoic Gator

trigger warning: bullying, swearing

CHAPTER I

The rush of autumn air bends around his charging body. He possesses little time to consider his next decision as he scrambles down into a charitable bush to hide himself, now huffing and tired. The brambles didn’t bother his thick leathery hide, and the few squished wild blackberries slowly worked their magic to calm his racing heart as their aroma filled his nose. “Where’d that pussy go?!” echoed a harsh voice very nearby. Several legs and feet visible to the young hidden gator search around his refuge. The vines and berries acted as his unsuspected protection, a natural barrier to deter the investigating hands of delinquents previously bullying the now shrouded reptile.

“Ooh, blackberries,” yammered a hungry gray billy goat. He grabbed a berry and was happily enjoying it, before being rudely interrupted by a familiar aggressive voice. “Quit that snackin’, Murphy! We’re lookin’ for Duvall!!!” The black bull dressed in an unkempt brown school uniform punctuated his order by smacking Murphy upside the head, causing him to spit out the chewed berry onto the ground. “Hey! Now you watch who you’re hittin’, Buck!” Murphy then headbutts Buck in the gut with his long sturdy horns. The two get swept up through their wrestling, and begin to lock horns. Back and forth, to and fro, Murphy and Buck get farther and farther away from the bush. The rest of the teens encourage the sudden fight and follow them to watch who would reign victorious this time, as their bouts were as frequent as they idiotic. With this prime opportunity, Henry Alexander Duvall, the hidden gator wearing a considerably more well kept school uniform of the same color, takes his leave.

Now dotted with blackberry stains and splotched with caked mud, Henry makes his way back to the school grounds. On the way, Henry hears the iconic rhythmic drumming of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Curiosity takes hold of him, and Henry goes alongside the beaten trail to finally peer down at the source of the drumming. Down by the river a couple of yards away, Henry spies on a portly Duroc pig sporting a clean flat top haircut. Wearing a black strap of fabric around his forehead, a white tank top, and the same color and style of pants as Henry. The gator squints to the drummer’s left side to see a white dress shirt and a brown jacket with the same emblem on its right chest side: An ornate chapel with a rising sun engulfing the background with the words, “St. Matthew's Institution for Gifted Young Men.” The pig continues to drum on his metal mop bucket with his twin drumsticks giving a beautiful gospel rendition of the first verse. Henry is completely captivated by his voice, and loses his footing as he tumbled down the small hill towards the young pig.

His ears perk up, and he nimbly rolls out of the way as Henry rolls into the river bed. The young teen blinks a couple of times before snorting and laughing hardily. In a Southern accent, he says, “Boy, what is you doin’? When they say rock n’ roll, they don’t mean literally! Although, that is one hell of an entrance, so I gotta give you props for that.” After Henry is thoroughly embarrassed and the young man has his laugh, the kind drummer boy helps him up. Henry begins to wipe the mud from his face, and he hears, “Huh, you’re pretty cute with or without that mud on your face. Good to know.” Henry was shocked by the boy’s comment, and became flustered. In his raspy Cajun accent, he says, “W-what did you jus’ say?” There was a pretty big height difference between the two, Henry stood at about 6’6 while the drummer boy stood at 5’6, and both could get a good look at each other’s eyes.

Henry had golden eyes that shone like a noon summer sun. They darted all around, racked with anxiety and confusion, but eventually found their way to lock into place onto the boy’s gaze. The drummer had eyes of silver, like the grill of a 1971 Cadillac Eldorado Coupe. His stare was steady and squinted with curiosity as he gave each of Henry’s scales the attention and care they each deserved. Henry quickly jerks out his hand as their heads start getting closer, “My name’s Henry! What’s yours?!” A little startled, his floppy ears perk up as he says, “Radcliff, but you can call me Rad,” and he shakes his hand. “Damn, that’s a firm grip you got. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were tryin’ to yank it off.” Henry, now even more self-conscious, lets go and blurts out, “I am so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “It’s all good, man. Chill~,” Rad said as he daps up Henry. “Uh, right.”

They continued to hold hands and lock eyes for what seemed like ages, and each one was more unique and splendid than the last.

Henry finally realized that they had been touching for too long, and abruptly let go again. “You have excellent rhythm and technique. Your singing is top notch, too.” “Shoot, you heard all that,” Rad said with a blush, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh huh, you should join the choir with a voice like that.” “Nah, I get enough of church singing on Sundays. I don’t need to do allat before, during, and after school, either. Jesus is the king, but I think he can get by with at least one day devoted to him.” “Haha, yeah,” Henry chuckled. “Well, what do you plan to do with that talent of yours?” “Well, since you so graciously asked, I-”

“THERE YOU ARE, BOY!!!

In a quick slide, Henry gets in front of his newfound friend and says, “Yep, that’s right, Buck. I’m right here.” “Uuuuh, what’s goin’ on here?” “Nothin’, if you stay quiet,” Henry said, with a sharp whisper. “Get over here, now! We gotta score to settle,” he said, pounding his fist into hand. “Fine,” he sighed. Henry took only a couple of steps forward before the back of his shirt was grabbed suddenly. Henry turns back, “What are you still doin’ here? You need to go, now!” “Saving you some of the trouble, follow my lead.” Having let go, Rad goes to Henry’s side and says to Buck and his goons, “C’mon Buck, 6-on-1 ain’t exactly fair. Now 6-on-2, I like those odds.” “Whatchu say Porky?!” Murphy and the other bullies snicker. “I said, ‘For a low down sorry sumbitch like yourself, gangin’ up on somebody is par for the course, but it ain’t gone happen today!’ THAT’S what I said,” Radcliff finishes by snorting out. 

Some of the bullies oohed at Rad’s burn, but Buck just got angrier and angrier. “Now why’d you go and do that?!” Henry worriedly said. “It’s more fun this way, Buck ‘n Murphy the only ones we really gotta watch out for, and the rest of ‘em are just gonna watch. So, I’m with you. That answers your question?” Henry was confused as he never had anyone stand up for him. Everyone thought because he was a huge carnivore, everyone should worry about not for him; but here was Rad, doing something he had no real business in doing. Henry let those words rest in him, and gave Rad a nod of understanding.

Heads turned towards their opposition, both took up their fists ready for a fight. The now volcanic Buck charged towards them, and as Henry was about to take the first swing . . .

He woke up.

[anelegaicmind]

Let's pick blackberries and then hide under the bramble and feed eachother our forage

[lilithsaintcrow]

Blackberry Lesson

Clinging to life, even after ice. Blackberry brambles (and raspberry canes, to a lesser degree) love the climate here. In spring they don’t grow quite so quickly as kudzu, but sometimes it seems that way. In summer they’re banks of green hiding small animals–maybe larger ones, too–and full of wicked claws just aching for a bit of flesh. As the season turns to autumn the berries are ripe, birds…

[aliencrystals]

Hello! I have some paranormal stories to add to your catalogue.

But first, for context, I am a firm skeptic. Of course, I'm still fascinated by the paranormal, but I tend to take everything I read and see with a huge grain of salt. As much as I'd like to believe that my sightings are concrete proof of paranormal phenomenon, I still believe that these were all likely tricks of the light, or misidentification. All of these stories occurred two or more years ago, so the details may have been obscured.

That being said, here are my stories:

Sighting one: The Ghost (?)

A few years ago, I went to a summer camp that took place on an old family farm. If I remember correctly, they used to have much more crops and livestock, but now only had smaller things like raspberries, carrots, and a few chickens. In the center of the farm, there was an old farmhouse. It used to belong to the farm's previous owner, and it was very clear that it had been loved over the years.

Along with the farm house, there was another small house that bordered the woods.

I only found out afterwards that people had seen a woman-shaped figure drift back and forth by the window.

One day, our camp group went out to the woods to play Eagle eye. (for context, Eagle eye is essentially stationary hide and seek. You take turns standing in place and finding people hiding in front of you). After a few rounds, it was my turn. I was finding people as usual, until I thought I had seen someone hiding behind a tree. One of the rules in our game was that if you'd found someone hiding and you didn't know who you were, you would simply say something like "Person in the red shirt!" and point in their general location. I thought I had maybe seen the sleeve of a black shirt, and possibly even a bit of dark black hair peeking out from behind a tree. I said "Person in the black shirt!" and pointed in the direction of the mystery person. Nobody responded, so the staff members checked behind the tree to make sure nobody was trying to cheat the game. But nope, nobody was there, the staff confirmed it. That was a bit odd to me, as the shape was fairly clear. It moved like a human, even shying away when I looked in it's direction. After the game, I came back to check behind the tree. I must've missed something, right? Maybe one of my friends was trying to prank me, I thought. But a thick blackberry bramble surrounded the back of the tree. If there was anyone hiding there, they would have had to stand knee-deep in a sharp cluster of blackberry vines. I would've just shrugged this encounter off as just my active imagination, but my friend described the exact same thing to me. Same figure, same black silhouette, same location, too.

Sighting two: The UFO/UAP

One time, I was in the Drive-thru of a local fast food place. Fairly anticlimactic, I know. But the thing that makes this event memorable is what I saw that day. While I was waiting in the car, I saw a little white tic-tac like shape in the sky. It was sleek & white, with no lights, wings, or visable tail fins. I watched it as it hovered for a moment, before quickly zooming upwards, and then downwards. It appeared much too fast to be a plane.

And that concludes my stories! I hope these were as entertaining for you to read as they were for me to witness them :]

OK BUT These are such cool stories IDK WHICH ONE IS MORE CREEPY. the fact your friend also saw the same apparition is just weird. You never know what kind of locations have some kind of spiritual energy!

The ufo story is even more interesting! I’ve always wanted to see one for myself. Ngl I occasionally look up into the sky hoping to see somethin crazy. 👁👁

I was so thrilled to get this ask n read your stories, thank you for sharing! 👽🍄🌈🛸

[branded-witha-j]

You go to church with the sheriff, he's there every Sunday, hearing the word, same as you. Your mama says it's not proper, for your face to heat up and your belly to tingle every time he tips his hat in your direction asking in that low drawl if there's anything he can do for you. You know she wouldn't approve of you and him at the drive-in with no chaperone--but he's the sheriff for goodness sake! And if you're not safe with the sheriff, then who are you safe with?

😈

Congrats on 7k! Thank you for the prompt and here is my submission for the Monkey's Paw challenge. This is my first time doing a writing challenge and I had so much fun writing this for everyone. I hope you enjoy it! 🖤

18+ only! No minors! This is a dark fic!

• Dark!Sheriff Bodecker x naive!reader •

• Word Count: 1.3k •

•Warnings: dub/non-con, age gap (reader is of age), manipulation, degradation, dumbification, loss of virginity, breeding, southern grammar where I throw a bunch of apostrophes and the letter A around to make it sound twangy, stuff where Lee is being Lee. •

•Summary: You're his buttercup and he can't wait to pick ya. •

Beta read by @nocturne-pisces 🖤

Hell is empty and all the devils are here. - William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Sheriff Bodecker's gaze creates a flush of heat that you can't never seem to hide, your Mama none too happy every time he tips his hat in your direction. She liked to say that ‘the Devil lives among us, disguised with lies and saccharine temptation’, and that's how she sees the Sheriff, uneasy ‘bout his intentions with you.

He always takes the pew in the back, his gaze eventually falling on you, and remaining there for the entire service. Lee Bodecker is a weekly repentant devil with a badge, also known as the most powerful man in Ross County. His smile is a little too broad for some folks, but for you it's as sweet and tart as a wild blackberry ripened to perfection on a thick bramble. His temptation is swollen fruit on a vine, his thorns hidden and ready to snag skin.

He gives you buttercups, each one pressed between the pages of your worn bible every Sunday night. He does it when your Mama is somewhere catchin' up on the weekly gossip, tucking the yellow wild flower within your hair as honeyed words fall from his wicked lips.

"When’re you gonna let me take ya out, buttercup?"

He's persistent, but gentle about it, each picked flower and brief touch winning you over more and more, until your Mama's words are all but forgotten.

He always smells of smoky aftershave and a cigarette he sneaked off to have after Sunday service. But it's hypnotizing, even just the slightest whiff of tobacco in passing on Main Street makin' you think about him. And, boy, do you ache for the attention of Lee Bodecker. He's made sure of it, each brush of his fingertips bringing you closer until his words are exhaled hotly in your ear.

The heat is sweltering, a hand wafted in front of the face only stirrin' the hot air around. The smell of drive-in popcorn and burgers is almost nauseating, a much needed reprieve given in the sound of your name. It's the Sheriff, and the sight of him sauntering up with his hands on his belt has a coil tightening within your belly. It's a feeling you can't get used to, a sensation only associated with him.

He gets you away from your friends with a fib about your Mama, something about her needing you home. He escorts you by the arm to his cruiser, the white car tucked away in a secluded corner of the lot. When he tucks you into the passenger seat, you expect him to do as he said he would and take you home, but the engine remains silent.

"Sheriff Bodecker?"

He says nothin' for a few seconds, pulling off his campaign hat for safekeeping on the backseat. You don't quite understand what's going on and a fresh buttercup presents itself under your nose, a delighted look crossing your face.

"A buttercup for my buttercup."

He tucks it away into your hair, the little bloom forgotten as soon as his lips ghost along your jaw, your hands coming up to brace at his broad chest. You can feel the starch in his shirt and the pointed tips of his badge, your world flipped as he lays you on your back against the bench seat.

"Sheriff–" His palm silences you, a click of his tongue emphasizing his disapproval as he shakes his head.

Keeping you gagged, his other hand slips up beneath your skirt, bunching it up to expose your cotton panties. Fingers trace along your thigh and you tense, whimpering against his palm.

"Shhh, buttercup. I just wanna make ya feel good."

His thorns snag your flesh, pulling you in deep, and when the metallic jangle of his belt fills the narrow space, your thighs try to clap together. You trap his hand between them and gasp as his fingers touch you for the first time, rubbin’ against the damp cotton.

"Why you wet? You'a whore for ya Sheriff?"

He keeps your legs parted with his hips and the gentle man you once knew is truly the devil as he tears down your panties, letting them hang from one ankle. He releases your mouth to work his pants down, gripping himself as his tip drags against your swollen cunt.

"Sheriff...Lee... my Mama won't–" A sharp pinch cuts off your words, and a whine is released into the collar of his shirt, the seat creaking as he slams himself deep. You try to speak again, but his hand returns to your mouth, steel blue eyes looking into yours as he snarls.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth." Eyes well with tears and he punctuates each word with a thrust. "You're mine, buttercup, and there ain't a goddamn thing that Mama a’yours is gonna do about it."

The Devil is inside you and you invited him in with your sweet smile and melodic laughter. You pant and clutch to the Sheriff, his mouth hot at your ear as you cry out for a God that ain't listenin’ no more.

"I'm gonna fill this hot 'lil snatch up. Send ya home to your Mama with my cum drippin' out of ya." His words make you clench, and you don't understand why, his groan of satisfaction vibrating through you. "You want my baby, dontcha? Stupid girl too goddamn dumb to listen to her Mama. I'm gonna fill ya up nice and full. You want that, buttercup? Want me to put my baby in ya?"

He fucks you. Not the slow, gentle way you always imagined, but frantic and bittersweet. He burns with every thrust of his hips, your cries of his name making his eyes roll back in head. He revels knowing this was worth the wait, worth all the sweet-talkin', worth every buttercup plucked from the dirt. 

"Oh, God-" His tongue delves into your mouth to swallow your cry for deliverance, showing you that he's the only one you should be worshipping.

"I knew you was a tight 'lil bitch the second I seen ya. Just perfect for the pickin'. Gonna make the perfect little housewife."

The heat that spreads through your gut is as hot as the brimstone and hellfire you pray nightly to avoid. But you're lost to it, the forked tongue of temptation burning his mark within your womb, claiming you as his for eternity. The Sheriff is silenced by his violent release, thrusting until every last drop of his seed is where it belongs.

The windows have fogged up, condensation turning them opaque. You don't know what time it is, if the movie is still playing, or if you should cry. As the Sheriff lifts himself from you, head ducking down to watch you separate, he groans at the sight of his cum spillin’ from your pretty, sore, fucked-out cunt.

"I filled ya up good, buttercup." He falls back against the driver's door with a loud exhale, reaching down to tuck himself away before tugging his pants back on. You move to sit up, but he clicks his tongue, nudging you back down onto the seat. "I just wanna look atcha. For just a bit longer."

You feel his hand trailing along your leg and the panties danglin’ from your ankle are balled up in his fist to be shoved away in his pant's pocket. You want to protest, knowin’ your Mama will notice they're missing, but he shakes his head, telling you they're his now.

"You're all mine, or did ya forget already?" He starts the cruiser, rolling down his window to see through the fog, and looks down at where you still lie beside him. "I think it's time we tell your Mama you ain't her little girl anymore. You belong to me now."