#there will be a follow up post stay tuned

[allthemeniveloved]

It Will Come Back - Part 6

Summary: As the tension within the gang at Shady Belle grows heavier, you confront John about your fears for both of your safety and the dangerous path Dutch is leading everyone down.

wc: 2.9k

ao3 link

a/n: This is definitely a "bridge" chapter, so a little more fast paced and shorter, apologies if it feels rushed. I plan to write my ass off tonight and then schedule the next few chapters to be posted so I don't have to stress myself out going into the holiday weekend. Stay tuned! <3

The ride back to Clemens Point was peaceful, the calm of the weekend still lingering between you and John. The memories of quiet moments by the waterfall and the easy laughter you shared made the looming reality of camp feel distant, almost unreal. As you crossed into the clearing, the usual hum of the gang’s activity greeted you, but something felt different—tenser. John barely had time to dismount before Dutch appeared, striding toward him with purpose, his expression sharp and full of determination.

“There you are, Marston,” Dutch called, his tone brisk as his eyes flicked to you for the briefest of moments before locking onto John. “No time for rest. The Braithwaite mansion is ready to be hit, and we ride now.” Without waiting for a reply, Dutch clapped a hand on John’s shoulder, already pulling him toward the group of men gathering their weapons and mounts.

You stayed frozen for a moment, still holding Dahlia’s reins, your stomach twisting as you watched John get swept up into the chaos without so much as a chance to catch his breath. “Dutch, we just got back—” you started, but the older man waved you off with a dismissive gesture.

“This is the moment we’ve been waiting for,” he said, not even looking back at you as he continued toward his horse. “We need every man for this.”

John gave you a fleeting glance, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but the urgency of Dutch’s call left no time. Before you could even protest, he swung back into the saddle, sparing one last look at you as he joined the others.

A heavy weight settled in your chest as you stood there, helpless, watching him ride off into the trees with the rest of the gang. Your mind swirled with worry, the image of John charging into the unknown—into danger—haunting you. The thought of losing him, of something going wrong, made your stomach churn, and though you tried to steady your breathing, the fear wouldn’t leave. You paced anxiously near the edge of camp, your heart racing with every passing minute as you waited for any sign of their return, praying silently that he’d come back to you unscathed.

-

The acrid stench of smoke still clung to the air as the gang rode hard away from the burning Braithwaite mansion, its roaring flames lighting up the night like a second sun. The cries of Miss Braithwaite echoed faintly in the distance, mingling with the hoofbeats pounding through the muddy roads. The job had gone south fast—what was supposed to be a final blow to the family that had crossed the Van der Linde gang turned into a fiery spectacle that left no doubt the Pinkertons would be close behind.

“Damn it, Dutch,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he rode alongside John, his revolver still drawn and his eyes scanning the treeline for trouble. “You really think this was the smart play?”

Dutch, riding ahead with Hosea, twisted in his saddle, his face lit by the faint glow of the distant fire. “Sometimes, Arthur,” he said sharply, “you have to make a statement. The Braithwaites thought they could cross us, and now they’ll think twice before anyone else does.”

Arthur scoffed, but his attention shifted back to the road as he tucked his revolver into its holster. Riding just in front of Lenny, Bill, Javier, and Micah, John’s jaw was set tight, his gaze flicking back toward the mansion every so often to reassure himself that no one was following.

“They’re gonna be after us now,” John muttered, his voice low. “Law, Raiders, whoever’s left of the Braithwaites—we can’t stay at Clemens Point.”

“Dutch knows it,” Arthur replied, though the weight of the situation settled heavily on his chest.

-

The sound of hoofbeats breaking through the dense evening air pulled your attention to the edge of camp, and your heart leapt at the sight of John riding in with the others. His shirt was smeared with soot and dirt, his face streaked with sweat, but he was upright, whole, and alive. Relief flooded through you as you rushed toward him, barely giving him a chance to dismount before you threw your arms around him. He held you tightly, his breath warm against your hair as he murmured, “I’m alright, darlin’. I’m alright.” His voice was steady, but you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the weight of whatever had happened still clinging to him.

He pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your arms as he looked down at you, his expression softening at your worried gaze. “It got messy,” he admitted, his voice low but firm. “The Braithwaites didn’t go down easy. They had people everywhere, fightin’ to the bitter end. We torched the place, but… there was more blood than Dutch let on.” He glanced away for a moment, his jaw tightening, before his eyes met yours again. “But I’m here, and I ain’t hurt. Just… tired.” His thumb brushed lightly against your arm as he tried to ease your concern.

You hesitated, your voice soft but firm as you looked at him, worry etched across your face. “John, I don’t like the things Dutch has been askin’ y'all to do lately—it feels like we’re crossin’ lines we shouldn’t be. Inserting ourselves where we don't belong."

John sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at you, his voice low but steady. “I get it, darlin’, but Dutch—he’s got a plan, a way outta all this mess, and we just gotta trust him a little longer.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your chest tightening as you tried to meet John’s earnest gaze. “Alright,” you murmured, your voice softer than you intended. “If that's what you think, I’ll follow your lead.” But even as the words left your lips, doubt crept into your mind, twisting uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. Something about Dutch’s plans had been unsettling you for weeks—the way his schemes seemed to grow riskier, more reckless, as if he were chasing something he couldn’t quite catch. You wanted to trust John, to believe in his unwavering faith, but deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this path was leading you both somewhere you might not come back from.

-

By the time the gang reached the swamp, the adrenaline from the night had worn thin, replaced by exhaustion and unease. The route was slow and winding, the horses uneasy as they picked their way through the misty bog. It wasn’t until the broken silhouette of Shady Belle appeared through the haze that Dutch finally signaled for everyone to stop.

“There it is,” he announced, his voice carrying through the night. “Our new home.”

You stared at the crumbling mansion, its windows broken and vines creeping up its sagging walls. The place reeked of abandonment and decay, its shadow looming over the swamp like a ghost of better days.

Arthur rode up beside Dutch, shaking his head. “This is what you had in mind? Looks more like a tomb than a camp.���

Dutch turned to him, a sharp glint in his eye. “It’s hidden, Arthur. Out of the way, quiet. We’ll make it work.”

John sighed heavily as he dismounted, helping you down before tying up the horses. “Don’t look like we’ve got much of a choice,” he muttered under his breath, his hand brushing against yours briefly as you both turned to assess the place.

Arthur pushed open a door, his revolver raised as he scanned the dim room.

“Squatters,” he muttered, his gaze falling on the scattered belongings and rotting food on the floor.

“Least they’re gone,” John said, nudging a broken chair aside with his boot.

“They didn’t leave it like this on their own,” you said quietly, pointing to the bloodstains smeared on the walls.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but there was no time to dwell. Room by room, the gang secured the mansion, dragging debris outside and clearing a space for the camp.

By the time the sun began to rise, the worst of the mess had been dealt with, though the place still felt far from safe.

As everyone gathered near the front of the mansion, Dutch stood on the steps, his figure framed by the foggy dawn.

“This,” he said, his voice carrying over the group, “is not what I’d call ideal. But it’s what we have—for now. We’ll rebuild here, lay low, and plan our next move. They may think they’ve pushed us to the edge, but they’ll see… the Van der Linde gang isn’t so easily broken.”

The gang murmured their agreement, though the unease was palpable. Arthur stood off to the side, muttering something under his breath, while John lingered near you, his presence steady. As the others scattered to unpack and settle in, John turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “You alright?” he asked quietly, his tone softer now that the chaos had died down.

You nodded, though the exhaustion of the night weighed heavily on you. “I’ll be fine,” you said, offering a small smile.

His hand brushed against yours, a fleeting but reassuring touch. “We’ll make it work,” he said, echoing the sentiment Dutch had tried to inspire—but his words carried more weight, because they were for you alone.

This wasn’t home, but for now, it was all the gang had. And as you looked out at the dense swamp surrounding the mansion, the reality of the road ahead began to set in.

-

The move to Shady Belle brought no relief, only a deeper sense of unease that seemed to cling to the gang like the swamp’s heavy mist. The decaying mansion, with its creaking floors and eerie silence, felt more like a tomb than a refuge. Everyone was on edge, the relentless pressure of the Pinkertons and the gang’s dwindling fortunes gnawing at whatever unity remained. The turning point came with the grisly death of Kieran Duffy. When his mutilated body was dragged into camp, tied to his horse, it shattered what little sense of security anyone still clung to. The haunting image of Kieran’s lifeless form, a brutal message from the O’Driscolls, left the gang shaken. Even the usual bravado from the likes of Bill and Micah faltered in the face of such savagery, and for a brief moment, the infighting paused as the gang mourned one of their own, however quietly. But the fear lingered—if Kieran wasn’t safe, who was?

As the weeks dragged on, Dutch’s plans became more erratic, his once-charismatic confidence feeling more like desperation. Angelo Bronte’s dealings, initially promising a path to wealth and safety, proved only to deepen the gang’s entanglement with dangerous, powerful people. Bronte’s betrayal stung sharply—handing John, Arthur, and the others over to the law during a supposed “opportunity” shook Dutch’s trust in anyone outside the gang. But instead of reevaluating his approach, Dutch doubled down, spinning grandiose tales of salvation through bigger and riskier schemes. The trolley station job in Saint Denis found its way into Dutch's psyche, a chaotic, poorly executed heist that left innocent people dead and brought even more heat on the gang. Each step forward felt like walking deeper into quicksand, and the growing tension within the group became harder to ignore. Whispers of dissent began to ripple through camp, and even those loyal to Dutch couldn’t help but wonder if the man they followed was starting to lose his way.

John’s loyalty to Dutch had always been steadfast, but the cracks were beginning to show. Over the past few weeks, he’d watched Dutch grow more erratic, his plans becoming more reckless and his speeches less inspiring, more desperate. Late at night, as the swamp around Shady Belle hummed with the sounds of crickets and frogs, John found himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling, questioning everything. But even with his doubts, John clung to the idea that maybe, just maybe, Dutch could still turn it all around.

It was you who broke the silence one evening as you sat together in the quiet of your shared room upstairs. “John,” you began, your voice quiet but firm, “we can’t keep living like this. Dutch isn’t the same, and he’s draggin’ us all down with him. We need to leave—while we still can.”

He looked at you sharply, his brow furrowing as his grip tightened on the edge of his seat. “Leave?” he repeated, his voice low and hesitant. “Where the hell would we even go? You think Dutch is just gonna let us walk away?”

You reached out, your hand resting on his arm as you met his uncertain gaze. “We don’t have to tell him, we don't have to tell anybody. We just go."

John’s jaw tightened as he looked at you, his voice low but sharp. “Ain’t you just a little ungrateful for what Dutch has given you? You’d still be back in that O'Driscoll hellhole if it weren’t for him, or worse."

You shot him a glare, your tone firm as you replied, “I’m not ungrateful, John, but what he gave me back then doesn’t excuse the things he’s doing now—you know that as well as I do, and it's insulting that you'd suggest otherwise!" Your cheeks were burning up, your heart rate erratic as your frustration threatens to boil over.

John exhaled sharply, his jaw still tight as he avoided your gaze. “Alright, fine—I shouldn’t’ve said it. But damn it, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

You reached for his hand, your voice trembling but full of conviction as you whispered, “John, I love you, and I can’t keep watching this life tear you apart—we can leave, start fresh, and finally have the future we deserve.” His eyes searched yours, torn between the weight of his loyalty and the hope shining in your words, as you tightened your grip, pleading softly, “Please, come with me.”

John froze, his breath hitching as your words sank in, his usual calm unraveling into something raw and uncertain. His eyes widened slightly, flicking between yours as if searching for a hint of jest, but all he found was sincerity. “You… want that? With me?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with disbelief, like he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea. The vulnerability in his tone, so unlike his usual confidence, made your chest ache. You brought your hand up to run your fingers along his jaw, grounding truth into your answer.

He sighed, shaking his head as if trying to push away the thought, but you saw the flicker of agreement in his eyes. “I don’t know, darlin’. Leaving, it’s… dangerous.”

“Staying is dangerous,” you pressed gently, your voice softening. “And you know it.”

For a long moment, he sat there, his jaw working as he weighed your words. Finally, he nodded, though his expression remained grim. “Alright,” he said quietly. “We’ll start thinkin’ on it. But if we’re gonna do this, we gotta be smart about it. No mistakes.”

You squeezed his arm, a glimmer of hope sparking in your chest despite the risk. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

John didn’t smile, but his hand covered yours, a silent promise that he’d see this through—for you to finally be free. “And for the record,” John murmured, his voice low and filled with his usual tender warmth as his hand moved to cup your cheek, “there’s nothin’ I want more than a future with you, too."

-

The next morning, you awoke to the faint rustle of camp already bustling around you, the space beside you in John’s bedroll cold and empty. A sinking feeling settled in your chest as Miss Grimshaw passed by and casually mentioned that John had ridden out early on one of Dutch’s errands, his return time uncertain.

Later, you sat on a stool in Sadie’s corner of the mansion, her fingers deftly weaving your hair into a neat braid as the smell of coffee from your mug and damp wood lingered in the air. “I just don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice barely rising above the soft creak of the old floorboards. “Every plan Dutch has feels like it’s getting us deeper into trouble. It’s like he’s trying to chase something we can’t catch, and I’m scared we’re all going to pay for it.” Your hands fidgeted in your lap as you stared out at the foggy swamp, your chest tight with unease.

Sadie hummed thoughtfully, her hands pausing for a moment before she resumed braiding. “You ain’t the only one who’s worried,” she said, her tone calm but sharp, like the edge of a blade. “Dutch talks big, but it don’t feel the same anymore, does it? Here’s the thing, though—you don’t owe him every piece of yourself. You got people who care about you, and you gotta think about them—and about you.” Her fingers moved steadily, the braid coming together as she spoke. “When the time comes, you do what you need to do, and don’t you feel bad about it for a second. Loyalty’s a fine thing, but it don’t mean throwin’ yourself into the fire for some bastard who’s already lost their way.” Her words hit you like a jolt of clarity, and as she tied off the braid, you couldn’t help but wonder if the time to make those choices was coming faster than you’d hoped.

[thecoffeelorian]

Fandom Friday, 11/29: Fanfiction

Hello again, everyone…and welcome to another installment of Fandom Friday, the two-post series where I go off to find new and interesting fanworks that might need a bit more visibility.

Before we get started, however, I would like to say something kind of important here--I almost considered asking how everyone's Thanksgiving was, but just in time, I remembered that this was mostly a North American invention, so! Instead, I would like to ask you all if your fall/autumn-specific holiday was a good one this year; and if you're comfortable with saying so, which one(s) do you celebrate around this season? Feel free to leave a blurb or two in the comments/reblogs if you're willing, because I'd love to hear from you.

And now, before I go off on too much of a tangent...here are my picks of the week.

THE CLONE WARS

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @orangez3st:

The Clone Wars Fanfiction--By @ireadwithmyears:

THE BAD BATCH

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @jswahaarts:

The Bad Batch Fanfiction--By @artist-kreating-stuff:

ROGUE ONE

Rogue One Fanfiction--By @nooowestayandgetcaught:

THE MANDALORIAN

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @javier-pena:

The Mandalorian Fanfiction--By @kayedium-writes:

In conclusion, as part of my mission to poke around the Star Wars fandom and, on Friday every two weeks, highlight those writers who might otherwise go unnoticed…I hope you will check out the links I have included for yourselves and like, comment on, and reblog them, as well as also giving the writers a few more followers to their Tumblr pages.

Please also like and reblog this latest installment so that these links can be spread around to as many other fans as possible, just in case not all of them can tune in at the same time.

An additional thank you goes to @djarrex for making the divider I used earlier in this post, but still want to give credit for.

And finally, so that I do not forget…thank you to my friends, thank you to this fandom, and above all else, please stay safe out there.

No Pressure Tags: @melymigo @algo-o-nada @the-osborn-way @everybirdfellsilent @skellymom

@leos-multifandom-corner @maggie-dylan @leenathegreengirl @gun-roswell @tazmbc1

@bluedeedeedoop @its-time-to-rise-above @tlmtwelve @snoowply and anybody else who might be on the lookout for new SW fanfiction.

[epicfroggz]

Age of Shadow

(This is a fan-made Messmer questline and ending, not based on cut content or anything of the sort. Source is: I made it up. Thanks to @purpupa for helping with some of the items, inspiring me, and listening to my crazed ramblings at the midnight hours. Very long post ahead, enjoy!)

After his fight, particularly after the Hornsent has left his arena, you will be able to locate Messmer at the entrance to the keep’s infirmary, near the West Rampart site of grace. He will be standing in thought before these three chairs:

Messmer has donned a cloak made of Shadow and patched himself up using black gauze (see drawing above). When prompted, he says:

“Hello, Tarnished. There art three chairs here, but none fit me. That seemeth an oversight, does it not?”

Messmer does not turn to face you when he speaks. When prompted again, he says:

“… Thou hast not walked away yet. Doth thee needeth something?”

>Ask how he is alive

pleasantly “Serpents art exceedingly difficult to kill. Believe me, I have tried. Is that all?”

>Ask why he is not attacking

“I had underestimated thee, Tarnished. Thee hast strength befitting a lord. I shouldst not have doubted my mother.” pause “The serpent didst not expect a lightless creature like itself to be elevated to such a standing. It appears things hath changed in mine absence. I have much to learn.”

>leaving dialogue

“Tarnished, I have a request, if thou’rt up for it. I hath misplaced some notes of mine, a recipe for a particular physick. If thee bringeth it to me, thee shalt be rewarded. Farewell, for now.”

The key item Messmer’s Notes can be found in the Specimen Storehouse, near the Storehouse, Loft site of grace. It requires climbing up the catwalks and dropping down to an area with bookshelves.

Messmer’s Notes - Barely legible cursive scrawl written by Messmer the Impaler. Details a recipe for a medicine once derived from one of his mother’s blessings. It appears to be based off a childhood memory, with a few added ingredients “for taste”.

When you return to the infirmary, Messmer will be kneeling in the “O, Mother” gesture before a shrine to Marika that he has set up, the three chairs neatly pushed out of the way. When prompted, he retracts his hands, and says:

“Hello again, Tarnished. Didst thee findeth the recipe?”

You may then give him Messmer’s Notes. Alternatively, you may choose to give him a Blessing of Marika if there is one in your inventory.

>Offer Messmer’s notes

“Oh! I thank thee. Here, thy compensation.” gives you a Rune of an Unsung Hero

>Offer Blessing of Marika

“Oh, this is… Where didst thee get this? Nay, ‘tis not my place to ask. My sincerest gratitude, Tarnished.” gives you a Marika’s Rune

You may now ask Messmer more questions:

>Ask about the jarfolk

“Ah. What remains of my mother’s people. I hath tried desperately, for aeons it seemeth, to ease their suffering, yet… At what point is keeping a patient alive no longer in the interest of their wellbeing? At what point does it becometh insanity?“ shakily “I still feeleth as though I hast failed them…”

The second question only unlocks after you have defeated both Rellana and Gaius. If you have not, when you leave and travel back to the West Rampart site of grace, you will be greeted by the sound of Messmer weeping. Walking within ten feet of him or breaking objects in the room will cause him to stop. When prompted, he says:

trying to sound intimidating but holding back tears “Begone, Tarnished.” shakily “Messmer does not wish to speak to thee at this moment…”

Leaving and traveling back to the West Rampart site of grace will let you choose the second question:

>About your friends…

“I knoweth, Tarnished. They were in thy way, were they not? Rellana, and Gaius… I shall grant them a hero’s burial. May they returneth to the Erdtree yet, even if that is a vain hope in this land.” quietly “My friends, forgive me… For I have availed you nothing…”

>leaving dialogue

“Tarnished, thee can travel to the Lands Between, can thee not? I have another request for thee.”

A cutscene plays wherein Messmer carefully pulls a snake from his eye socket. During it, he says: “After shedding the seal, I recalled abilities lost to me. Some wonderful, some terrible, some… Gah! Hah… For thee, Tarnished. On thy travels, I bid thee well.”

Thus he will grant you this key item:

Juvenile Serpent - One of the base serpent’s progeny, pulled from the eye of Messmer the Impaler. Writhes around often. Stares longingly at the world, or perhaps stares hungrily at you. Who can tell? “Do take care of it, wilt thee?”

After reluctantly accepting the serpent, when you travel back to any grace in the Lands Between that Melina can spawn at, there will be a new option to Speak to Melina. She will say:

“What in the world is that creature you travel with? It seems to like me… You are exceedingly warm, little snake.” pause “It appears hungry. I can feed it some runes, if you would like?”

>Accept (-100 runes)

“Snakes are said to be traitors to the Erdtree, but we too are walking the path of heresy. Let’s get you fed, little one… There. Do tell, where did you find it?” pause “A long lost demigod pulled it out of his eye? Have you been afflicted with madness? No, you are entirely sincere. Huh. Well, it seems harmless enough.”

The serpent must be fed one more time to continue the quest. Speak to Melina at any grace and she will say:

“Hello. The little one hungers once again. Would you like to offer some runes?”

>Accept (-100 runes)

“I am surprised at its good nature, though I have witnessed it spit a red flame when angered. It is impossible not to question what sort of demigod it came from…”

An interaction occurs wherein Messmer materializes in a shadowy haze—not unlike the spirit fog through which Melina appears to you. He introduces himself: “Ah, so it was thee feeding the wee serpent? I knew it smelled like kin… I am Messmer, and thee?”

dumbfounded “Melina?”

“I see. Melina. Sister of mine, I knoweth of the kindling that smolders within thee.” he summons a small flame in his hand to show her “There is no need to burn thy self again. The Tarnished and I shall see it through.”

After this, the description of the Juvenile Serpent item updates:

Juvenile Serpent - One of the base serpent’s progeny, pulled from the eye of Messmer the Impaler. Prefers the company of the kindling maiden, as her touch feels like home. It will not bite the hand that feeds it. Serves as an anchor between the Lands Between and the veiled Land of Shadow.

(Optional) Taking the serpent in this state to the Church of Vows site of grace allows you to choose the new option, Speak to Messmer, which will summon him in shadowy spirit:

“Thou hast met Miriel? We became acquainted when Rellana once brought me here… ‘Tis a burning memory now, but the pastor is a wise beast indeed.” he looks to the sky “‘Heresy is not native to the world. All things can be conjoined’. We have forgotten that. We have forgotten ourselves, what we held most dear. To repair shattered Gold, I must layeth bare the ugliest truths of this world, those which I have been the bearer of for so long—I must mend it with Shadow. For there is no light that exists without the dark.”

Taking the serpent to the Forge of the Giants site of grace allows you to choose Speak to Messmer:

“Thou hast done well to come this far, Tarnished. Long have the prophets uttered of this moment. ‘Tis not lightly I choose to fulfill it, but… I wouldst prefer to give my men the option to return home, if nothing else. Art thou prepared to commit a cardinal sin, with me?”

>Accept

A cutscene plays, in which the Erdtree and Scadutree are burned at once in Messmer’s flame. Messmer speaks:

“Tarnished, hold my kindling aloft. From here, I shall do my part… O, Erdtree, and Scadutree both, ye shall burn together. For the sake of the new Lord, and a new world, mended.”

You continue your journey to Farum Azula and then back to Leyndell, Capital of Ash. Sir Gideon Ofnir will have access to the incantation “Messmer’s Orb” in his fight (why wasn’t this a thing already???). At the Queen’s Bedchamber site of grace, you must choose to Speak to Messmer one last time:

“Ah… Thou art close. Within the Erdtree, I intend to confront my mother. If it be true she has become infirm, and lost all sense of self… Then I shalt taketh her place. The Two Fingers rejected me long ago, but I am yet capable. If it cometh to this, will thee be my Lord?”

>Accept

“I thank thee. We have come a long way, Tarnished.” small laugh “When it cometh to thee, I find I have no regrets. Take this, and when the bell tolls, summon me forth. To stand before my mother once again.”

Thus you will be granted this key item:

Mending Rune of the Abyssal Prince - Mending rune gestated by Messmer the Impaler. Used to restore the fractured Elden Ring when brandished by the Elden Lord. Formed of a swirling mass of serpents, and the base serpent biting its own tail. It will embed a Shadow lost back into the Golden Order, restoring balance. The “base” in the base serpent’s name refers both to its nature and the place it once belonged, at the roots of the Erdtree where light does not reach.

After defeating Radagon and Elden Beast, you will have the option to summon Messmer from a shadowy summon sign on the ground, giving this final cutscene:

“‘Those who walk alongside flame shall one day meet the road of Destined Death’… Yet, it seemeth my road hast led me back to thee.”

“Mother… Thee may rest now. I shall put thee, and this world, back together again…”

Messmer gently gives Marika’s head to you, and you place it upon her body, the Elden Ring becoming mended with the abyssal rune. The scene lingers on her as the shadows in the background deepen, and as a squelching sound grows in volume, soon thunderous. From the darkness suddenly emerges the abyssal serpent to swallow her whole, its red eyes burning against the dark:

The scene cuts to black.

Messmer narrates the final scene, showcasing the now physical Erdtree grafted unto its Scadu counterpart: “The fallen leaves tell a story… Of a Tarnished who became Elden Lord... And the serpent that became a god. A god that ushered in a gentle dark, so that this shattered world may heal.

So that the light of Gold can shine ever more brilliantly, against an Age of Shadow."

[threefuckencrowsinaleatherjacket]

Every day we get closer to the last book in the Vicious trilogy and I swear that keeps me fucking alive

[mintypsii]

sanuso runaway AU - where Usopp leaves syrup village after his mom dies to look for his dad and ends up at the germa kingdom, growing up with Sanji as the doctor's lab assistant

That's basically the gist of it, there's a LOTT more but I just wanted to share some of the art I made for it (came up with it with a friend of mine)

In short -> sogeking is usopp's clone (the kids aren't aware of this) and was created to help germafied sanji on missions (sanji's scores began to improve after he met usopp so judge decided to keep him for more infiltration or espionage based tasks, hence "stealth black" since he's considered weaker than his siblings)

reiju's here too :) she and sanji have a bit of a rocky relationship (it gets better!!) but she's besties with usopp and hangs out with him at the lab to make ,, various concoctions

I'll make another post with more art and info later (I HAVE A LOTTT) so i'll tag em with (#op runaway au) hehe ,, feel free to send asks about it too!!

EDIT: HE FINALLY GOT A TUMBLR @arttlars !!!!!!! blame him for all of this

[f1amboyant]

Take what you deserve, baby

“You don’t have to,” he sighs. “I’m not mad at you, you know?” “I know. But I want to. Please?”

OR: Charles thanks Carlos properly after the Austrian GP 2023

smut, bj, angry sex, teammates with benefits

Read it on AO3

Charles finds Carlos in his driver’s room before he can leave and flee the paddock. His teammate’s eyes are deep pools of darkness when he glances up at Charles.

Shudder.

Fuck he is hot.

So hot.

“I’m not in the mood,” Carlos grumbles.

Charles knows him well enough to know he’s in one of his moods. Understandable. He would probably be too in his place.

Still. He steps into the room and closes the door behind himself.

Carlos sighs.

“What do you want, Charles?”

“I saw your race.”

“And?”

Charles takes a tentative step forward. Carlos doesn’t throw him out, just sits back, thighs spread wide. Charles’ gaze is immediately drawned to his crotch and he can’t help but gulp down.

“You were truly amazing today. Drove so well. So fast.”

“Obviously still not enough for the team.”

Charles moves one step closer again. The room is so small, his legs are almost bumping against Carlos’ knees already. And his teammate still doesn’t budge, just looks up at him with his furiously hot and dark gaze.

“That’s not true,” Charles whispers. “Xavi says you protected my P2. Perez would have caught up with me if you hadn’t defended like that.”

“Like what?”

“So beautifully.”

Carlos scoffs, turning his eyes away. Charles bridges the gap between them and touches Carlos’ knee with the tip of his fingers. At the contact, Carlos looks back up at him, eyes still dark and hot and drilling right through Charles’ soul. His heart skips a beat. Or a hundred.

“So I came here to thank you,” Charles says.

And he sinks onto his knees right between Carlos’ parted legs. His hands come up to the inner thighs on each side of his head, kneading the flesh softly through the red racing suit. Carlos is suddenly panting above him, eyes dark for a whole new reason. Charles licks his lips.

“Can I?”

Carlos keeps quiet for a few seconds then exhales deeply.

“You don’t have to,” he sighs. “I’m not mad at you, you know?”

“I know. But I want to. Please?”

Carlos holds his gaze when he answers.

“Okay.”

Heart racing, Charles practically pounces on Carlos, a starved man facing his favorite meal. And at that moment, Carlos’ dick might very well be Charles’ favorite meal.

“You were so good today,” Charles mutters.

His hands are quick and agile, undoing Carlos’ already half-unzipped racing suit all the way down and moving it around until he can free Carlos’ cock from its confine. The hot flesh starts to harden in Charles’ hand as he gives a few slow strokes.

“So so good, today,” he praises.

He is rewarded with a soft gasp that goes right to his heart (and to his dick). Fuck Carlos is so sexy like that, legs and pants open, dick rapidly hardening and already panting under Charles’ ministrations. Eyes dark with fury and lust, so sexy. Driving like a lion on track. So so sexy of him.

And Charles is only a man. He can fight his teammate on track, but he cannot suppress his desires now.

“So good for me,” he whispers leaning down. “So sexy,” he almost coos against the tip of Carlos’ cock, and Carlos shudders under him.

“Charles,” he sighs. “Please.”

Charles can’t keep him waiting much longer (can’t keep himself waiting much longer), and he finally takes Carlos into his mouth.

“Fuck! Charles!” Carlos gasps.

One of his hands grips the seat of the couch under him tightly, while the other goes to Charles’ head, threading through his hair. He tugs, a slight sting on Charles’ scalp, as Charles swallows him deeper and deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, Charles, yes.”

The cock is deliciously hot and heavy on his tongue. Charles could die choking on that massive thing and still be happy. Carlos is just so damn sexy. How did anyone expect them to be teammates and not end up in bed together? Truly ridiculous.

He lets him go with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting him to the head of Carlos’ cock. And he looks up at Carlos’ pink cheeks, at his blown pupils, his messy hair and his panting breath. That man will be the death of him.

“You deserved it.”

“I deserved that podium,” Carlos agrees, voice all raspy and straight from Charles' dirtiest fantasies. His pants are getting tighter and tighter by the second.

“Absolutely.”

Teasing, Charles leans back down, licking a broad stripe over the length of Carlos’ erection, before moving up and sucking at the tip lightly. Then he stills, mouth open and ready for Carlos, the head of his cock right at the entrance.

“Take what you deserve, baby.”

The hand at the back of Charles’ head tightens as Carlos tentatively thrusts once. Then twice. Testing Charles’ limits. Then a third time, pushing a little more.

Charles just takes everything, swallowing him hungrily, letting Carlos set his pace and fuck into his open and waiting mouth, slowly at first then faster and faster.

And faster.

“Fuck. I deserved that podium,” Carlos grunts above him. Charles hums in agreement. “I wanted it.”

Carlos’ second hand cups Charles’ jaw, feeling himself through his skin, angling him as he wishes to chase his own pleasure, his own thrill, his own victory.

Charles takes it all, wants to offer him everything.

“Fuck! I was so close. I wanted it. I deserved it.”

Through pants and groans and moans, Carlos’ voice stutters then breaks. Charles looks up, through long lashes, admiring as his teammate, his Carlos, his everything, is fucking his despair and frustration away. Using Charles in the best way possible.

His eyes shine with unshed tears of frustration and a deep hopelessness that Charles can feel in his bones. His own eyes water (from empathy, lack of oxygen and the strain of controlling his gag reflex). It feels like too much and not enough.

Still offering his mouth to Carlos, Charles sneaks up a hand to Carlos’ chest, spreads his fingers above his pectoral and his heart racing like crazy in his chest. Trying to convey what he cannot say out loud.

Carlos, his teammate, his friend, his everything.

They race and they battle on track. But here, in between them, only them, Charles would offer him everything.

Everything.

Because.

Je t’aime, he says with his heart, with his eyes, with his mouth around a hard dick, with his throat swallowing precome like it’s the sweetest nectar.

Je t’aime, he says with his hand over a racing heart and tears in his eyes.

“Fuck, Charles!” Carlos grunts. “Yes, fuck, yes, yes.”

Maybe he heard Charles’ silent confession somehow. His hips stutter, his pace becomes erratic. A couple of deep and hard thrusts, and he explodes in Charles’ mouth. A shout and a cry on his lips as he paints Charles’ tongue with his orgasm and his despair and his frustration. Charles swallows it all.

It takes a moment for Carlos to catch his breath and slowly come back to his senses. He pulls out of Charles’ wet mouth with an obscene squelch and an oversensitive gasp. His eyes never leave Charles’ face. His thumb traces along Charles’ red lips.

“Charles.” His name in Carlos’ mouth sounds so soft. Like a prayer. No one says it like he does. “Are you okay?”

Charles just nods. He cannot trust his voice just yet. Cannot trust his stupid, fucked out, infatuated mouth to not utter words he cannot say yet. Words he cannot say ever.

Je t’aime.

Another swipe of Carlos’ thumb over Charles’ mouth, a sweet stroke on his cheek, then Carlos tugs him up. Charles obediently follows, landing on Carlos’ lap. He tucks his head into the crook of Carlos’ neck.

“Want me to give you a hand, cariño?”

Charles shakes his head.

“’m okay.”

If Carlos understands the implication, he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t ask either. Charles isn’t sure he could have answered truthfully anyway. Not sure if he wants Carlos to know he came into his pants already, too turned on by what happened, by his own teammate and friend (more than friend) to restrain himself.

But still. When Carlos closes his arms around Charles’ body in a tight and sweaty embrace, Charles melts into him, burrowing deeper into the cradle of his arms.

“Thank you,” Carlos whispers.

“I would have preferred you on the podium with me,” Charles mutters back.

“Yeah.” Sigh. “Me too.”

“Next race?”

“Next race.”

It’s a promise they know they cannot keep but they will try their damnedest.

[sonicranger1]

Short follow up on my previous post rambling about Rocky and the theme of water that surrounds him (Click here to see said previous post)

So to further prove my mad ramblings I direct your attention to the page Dithyramb from all the way back in volume 1 who's contents newer fans (*cough*Like me*cough*) may be familiar with from the pilot, which is Rocky talking about the Mississippi River

And we also have his bio art from the official website which has Rocky balancing on a moonshine barrel down a River, which I'd fairly guess is the Mississippi River (I know captain obvious here)

So that makes 5 examples so far of Rocky and his relationship with water, now to mentally prepare myself of the "What If" scenario that he drowns 😀👍(I will never be prepared)

[the-biornicles]

when you get some crazy suicidal thoughts and wait until they go away is that kinda like edging

[willowcreeklesbeans]

I’ve been looking through the sus leaks and theory’s for the ak summer event and like none of them involve me winning but I have my own silly out-of the blue idea about what it’s gonna be, so, bear with me

It’s gonna involve Sunvalley Industries

Since the location in Sargon we are heading to is known for Gemstone distribution!

And the notable staff of Sunvalley Industries is this Freak (Who is popular in the ak community for some reason)

Then there’s this person from Pv-4 (which I’ve watched repeatedly) who people are saying looks “Pharaoh-Inspired” (Their words, not mine) (They don’t, In fact they don’t really look related to Sargon at all to me 😭) But I think their attire fits that of a expat!

Also, there’s Peppe! (Namie child from Reclaimation Algorithm 2 electric boogaloo) who is a cat! (With a giant hammer and platforms, Wow!)

And well uh

Well, Yeah, oki! lots of cat motifs!

So yeah! That’s my Ak summer speculation! This is probably way off! But I’m Tired and a sucker for speculation sooooo here you go! (Personally I just want a dark skin character and a fun/engaging story im not picky) Let know If you have any thoughts on my sleepy ramblings!

[pandora15]

new surprise fic potentially coming to an ao3 near you

[kindlythevoid]

So anyway I did a thing today.

[hershelwidget]

After ALL this time... I finally have it!

Please may I welcome you to the OFFICIAL full design for Polly/Jarvis!

This is the most fun I've had doing a digital piece since making Lars! You have no idea how happy I am with this!!!

Some closeups of my favourite parts, there's so many 'cause they're all SO GOOD

They're definitely the most elaborate Spirit design, and for the Octopod itself that's very very fitting!

I might make a simplified version that mostly affects the coral/whisp because that would be the most difficult part to recreate exactly...

I can't stop looking at him. This is the absolute best I'm ever gonna draw this incredible entity :)

[chiropteracupola]

tell me if you think I'm breathing good...

[collaboration with @dxppercxdxver again]

[girlmetalsonic]

thinking of changing my url nd blog theme, maybe even making a legit intro post. might theme it around sonic since im more into that now. but idk ive had some sort of agent 3 icon for so long its like they r just representative of my account. feels wrong to change it i dunno. 

[princess-angelcakes]

what if i wrote a lee!george trilogy 😊