#tumblr i am Begging you do not devour this when i post it i Will cry

[avelera]

I am begging fic writers who have a tumblr blog to please POST here when you put a new story or chapter up online. Honestly, BEGGING. If driving readers to your fic is something you want (and presumably it is if you post online at all??) and your blog is something you want your readers to be able to follow if they like your work, PLEASE let people know and be able to recommend and SHARE your work in a way you can SEE so that you can also appreciate any nice comments people put on the reblog or in the tags.

I promise you, as a fic reader, if I like your fic enough to find your tumblr blog (usually because people mention it in their author notes) then I want to give the fic that I liked enough to follow your blog for a BOOST or simply rec it to my followers because I think THEY will like it.

As a fic writer I can tell you: it’s not conceited to post that you’ve put a story or new chapter online. No one will be mad at you. They’re more likely to be mad if they find out that you DIDN’T let them know. Sometimes people forget to subscribe, or don’t know you decided to add a chapter to that“one-shot”, or don’t know you’re writing for another fandom they like too. Tell them. Obviously don’t spam with like a million updates in an hour, use common sense, but the number of times I’ve DEVOURED a new fic or update and then wanted to help promote the fic and that person’s blog has NOTHING that I can share is just way too damn high.

It doesn’t need to be fancy. Just the copy-paste HTML from the AO3 share feature is enough but I am begging you: let me promote your fic from a post that YOU CAN SEE so you can see the nice things I’m saying and for the love of god, don’t be afraid to do the tiniest bit of self promotion for something you worked hard on (unless you TRULY want to keep those things separate or you truly don’t have the extra energy, that I completely understand). Just don’t hold back because you think it’s a bother, or that it’s conceited. Seeing a blog post about your work updating is very welcome to people who like your blog and like your work.

#fanfiction #writing #Maggie rambles

[thisismorrigan]

Some of my favorite Good Omens fanfictions from AO3 part 1

So this list is something I've been putting together for awhile and I'm pretty proud of it! As this list grows I will continue to post more parts in the future! The current list I have is so long I think i'm going to need two or three posts! So keep an eye out if you are interested!

 ALSO side note! I know there are pleanty of these authors that I've found on Tumblr and I will do my best to find all of them and tag them as well! It will just take a little bit more time!

Completed works: 

Winged Awakening by AJ_Constance (E)

For all of you out there who wish their wings were out more this fic is for you. This is such a well written wing fic with just a bit (by a bit I mean a lot) of nervous/protective Crowley. The ending had me kicking my feet and giggling. These two idiots always take too long to understand what’s actually going on!

The Corruption Begins With The Mouth by toxic_androgyny (E)

This one made me so emotional! It’s hurt Crowley and hurt Aziraphale with food and smut. The ending had me in a puddle of angsty tears. 

The Soft Animal Of Your Body by focusfixated (E)

This is a great take on how Aziraphale would respond to “hunger” for the first time. This is the scene in s2e2 when Az tries human food for the first time and realizes he has been hungry for something else entirely for a very long time. ` 

Because You’ll Like It by mimsynims (E)

This is a forced proximity, nemesis with benefits one shot and I’m really sad there isn’t more to this story! There is one line in this fic that hurt my soul. I’m sure once you read it you will know exactly what i’,m talking about. 

Just For The Night by mimsynims (E)

Silly ghosts haunting Crowley’s apartment that are tired of watching these idiots not realizing they are in love with each other. 

Vive La Revolution by lineslines (E)

This is one of the best versions of the Bastille scene I’ve read! It’s a lot of pining while *being together* and it’s so well written. I was left wanting so much more from this plot and I’m happy to say that there is a sister fic! Chocolates, Honey!

Chocolates, Honey by lineslines (E)

This is the sister fic to Vive La Revolution by lineslines. This one is a little more soft but don’t let that fool you. The pining is REAL and it hurts my soul. 

The Devil Came To Soho by Zion (artificalmac) (E)

The demon Crowley comes to Earth to tempt the angel Aziraphale. Each chapter is Crowley trying to tempt Az into one of the 7 deadly sins but it’s not going the way he thought it would. Also did I mention Crowley owns a tattoo shop??

Laying Claim by fallenwithoutgrace (E)

Accidental proposal! This fic is so silly to start but it’s so cute and I just love protective Crowley so much.      

Why Is It That I Am Keen To Be Devoured By You? By Maybedreaming (E)

So I beg you to please read the tags on this one. This is a consensual non consent story and if you are at all bothered by any of the warnings in the tags please don’t read this. BUT if you are into this kind of thing, this story is done very well! I felt so many emotions reading this and I appreciate how the author handled Crowley in the aftermath of what happened.

#aziracrow fanfic recommendation #aziracrow #good omens #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction recommendation #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #Help me I'm in too deep #fanfiction masterlist #master list #go2 #fanfic rec #ineffable divorce #ineffable fanfic

[justjams2003]

Pretty Mouth pt2

A/N: So @charmed-asylum reposted the first Pretty Mouth saying, “Huhhh wait a minute what is his plans for I need pt 2 I’m about to faint” and it honestly made me laugh so much I just had to write pt 2. So here it is.

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Steve Abnesti x reader

Warnings: Age Difference, pussy eating, sexual punishment, degrading, begging, whining, drugs, praise kink, degrading kink, slight sadism. teasing, fxm,

Summary: It is pretty much just a smutty sequal for the last one.

Word count: 1,3k+

I might write a third part, the more time I spend on Tumblr the more ideas I have. Requests are always welcome, don’t be ashamed. Later on I’ll post for which characters too.

Your mouth pulled into a grin at his voice, “Why, but of course,” you add to the cheeky smile. “By God, I am going to ruin you.” His voice is filled with mischief and manipulation. He took in the sight of you on your knees just a moment longer. Then he takes your chin in his hand and then guides you up to the bed.

He lays you down and admires how you rub your thighs together. He can just see how soaked they are. You whine in need, “Please, daddy, please,” you beg as your hands begin to trail down to your hot core. He gives a devilish laugh at your sorrow. “Such a needy girl,” he groans out, rolling his neck.

His words don’t help your heat. Your hands vine their way to your groin and you begin palming yourself through the very small bikini bottom. Your fingers find that bundle of nerves that are now driving you wild. As you circle your clit you can’t help but beg.

When you glace up at Steve, you can’t help but go faster. The sight of those piercing blue eyes orbiting your body. Though now they look darker than before, clouded with an unknown emotion. His perfectly muscular chest heaving under the Hawaiian shirt.

A growl leaves his throat and then his hands are all over you. The previously mentioned bikini bottom is now ripped to shreds on the floor. His lips enfold yours and he can taste himself on your tongue. Those large hands fondle the curve of your breasts.

You gasp when one hand pinches your nipple. Steve’s plump pink lips suckle on the other. You bite your lip and your hands clutch his firm shoulders. Though this does not satisfy you long enough. Your hips buckle and grind against his lower waist.

Steve unlatches himself from you, the cold air hits you. You gasp at the sudden lack of warmth. He chuckles, that same wicked laugh, it sends chills down your spine. Your hair prickles and his grin spreads so sinfully. “So bratty, can’t appreciate what daddy gives you. I might just have to punish you for how ungrateful you’re being.” He coos out in fake sympathy.

Why are you enjoying this so? You’ve always liked being praised and begged for. Yet now, here this beautiful man is, belittling you so wildly. It drives you so mad and still it makes you slippery with wetness. Begging only encourages and the discipline he plans on simply melts you more.

Those sickly sweet lips kiss down your body. Sucking here-and-there, leaving marks all over. Steve’s hands pull your legs up and open. Then with strength, he pins them like that. His wet tongue licks right above your folds. Teasing you with the hot spit and then the cold air.

When he decides he’s had enough, Steve begins devouring you. That hot tongue circles your clit. Sucking on that throbbing ball of nerves. Your hands spindle down and take a bit hand full of his blond locks. It is an unbelievable struggle to keep your mouth shut.

Yet, Steve doesn’t like it that you do. He begins teasing your folds, right at your quivering entrance. Without warning his tongue enters deep inside you. From that, you can’t hold back. Your mouth flings open and moans spew out. He chuckles at your reaction, sending vibrations deep in you.

“Daddy- fuck- more, please,” you beg, your other hand wrapped in the sheets, trying to ground yourself somehow. Steve growls, pleased at the noises that escape you. His thick tongue darts in and out of you. Pulling the moans from your body as if he’s some sort of wizard.

A knot squeezes tight in your stomach. Your thighs try to clasp tight against Steve’s head but you struggle against his firm hold. Moans fall from your mouth like the acme of a symphony. All signs that your climax is crawling ever closer. All at once when the feeling overwhelms you, Steve stops.

The whine that escapes your lips is immense and filled with sheer and utter disappointment. He giggles with pure, childlike joy. “Aww, should’ve been grateful for what you got, slut,” he spits out, looking you up and down as you writhe around for that climax.

“No, no, no. Please, please,” you begin begging, needing that release right now. Your body craves for it more than anything. Your stomach hurts and your cunt is throbbing with defeat. “You can make it up to me, of course.” his words are sly and calculating.

You immediately begin nodding, not caring for whatever he would need. “Be mine, let me spoil you and discipline you. Stay by as I mould you to be my perfect plaything?” He asks, his hands ever so slightly tickling your sides. Toying with your upright nerves.

For once in your life, you stop and think about this. Does he mean forever? Do you want that? He’s made you nothing but happy so far. He’s unlocked the deep pleasures you never knew you’ve had. He’s caused more excitement than you thought the world had left to offer.

It seems like a no-brainer and so you say yes. Completely blissfully unaware of his plans for you. His grin grows wide and unrelenting. “Such a good girl, let me reward my princess, yes?” You glow at his words. This is sure to be a fun ride.

Steve’s lips find their way back to yours again. His hand palming your one boob while the other find their way to your core. Circling your clit and beginning the journey to your high all over again. Then his hand leaves your body. You look down and see his hard cock.

Pre-cum slowly oozing from him. You can feel him tease your entrance. The tip just slightly entering you. You moan, arching your back in anticipation. “Hold on dear,” he takes your hand in his. He drives into you, fully. It burns, his girth stretching you wide open.

And his length hits you in the back. You scream, squeezing his hand in hopes of transferring that pain to him. Then he begins thrusting and it feels like the pain has moved. As the burning sensation becomes so much more than that. Your mind goes blank at the pleasure within you.

He pumps over and over. The hand not holding his curl into his back. With every push, your nails scrape into his back and a moan leaves your mouth. He was so expert at keeping his pace. If you asked, “Deeper, daddy, please,” so he would. And if you asked, “Faster, daddy, please,” so he would.

It was as if you are fucking a God sent from the heaviness realms. And as you clutched deeper, his hand let go of yours and his thumb drives over your clit. Twirling it perfectly so that in that moment you can’t even speak. All you can do is moan out his name.

Moan so loudly as your knot unfurls and you cum around Steve’s cock. Your pussy clenches him so strongly. Pulling him deeper in as your whole body twitches as pleasure runs through you in waves. “So good for me sweet girl. Take all my cum like the perfect cum-bucket you are.”

Then you feel his hot seed enter deep inside you. Flowing and mixing with your cum. You both reaching your high together. As if sealing this deal that you’ve made. When his high finally comes to an end, he pulls down and falls next to you. You cuddle into his side, only now realising his shirt is long gone.

“You won’t regret this, my sweet girl.” You glow at the attention but not for long. Your body is exhausted and sleep comes easily to you. Unbeknownst to you, Steve kisses your forehead and already starts brewing plans. 

#steve abnesti #steve abnesti x reader #smut #steve abnesti smut #chris hemsworth #spiderhead #spiderhead netflix

[kyeterna]

OC-tober day 27 prompt: monster

Featuring the Executioner, Destroyer of Worlds, [------] from Gondeil Aspirations.

A huge energy flowed out of the stone in an instant, and the girl started deforming, almost as if her skin broke open and that thing took form. A tall figure barely resembling a woman devoid of colours. Her skin melting, her entire body barely maintaining its shape, deformed and reformed into wrong shapes. Eyes and mouths appearing and disappearing on the surface of that deathly white skin. Black ink dripping from her broken halo and the large hole in her abdomen, as well the mass forming her hair, if you could call it that. Faces and hands would occasionally form from the sea of void ink, screaming and begging for help, only to be drowned back into the ink. Eyes would form, looking around and disappearing once more. That was a god, Rei was sure of that. It overwhelmed the atmosphere with malevolence, hatred, malice. It wasn't Death, but rather complete Destruction. Daskal's divine ecstasy was cut short as the God of Destruction killed him in an instant. Rei didn't realise how close they had gotten to the god. Or did she get close to them. Was that really the woman they'd come to fall for? Did she recognise them? Leo gently pushed Rei, knocking the stone out of the god's hands. Pain at their very concept of existance permiated through their body. The ground broke apart like glass. They felt like they were being torn apart and crushed into a single point in an instant. They felt like they were being devoured. They fell into the infinite nothingness- the last thing they saw, the god of destruction glaring and Leo looking at them apologetcally

My babygirl, the true face of a god loved by everyone in Fanet. Few know of her actual nature. And even they, after coming so close to the helplesness when faced with divine malevolence, have lost their minds. And somehow she is still the second most powerful being ahah-

From bweirdart's OC-tober prompt:

While I am doing this challenge mostly to keep an archive of my characters on tumblr (and to incentivise myself to draw them), if you, person stumbling upon this post, are curious and wanna learn more, my askbox is open >:3c

#body horror #oc-tober #bweirdOCtober #kyeterna oc #gondeil aspirations #I am not tagging her actual name because that is spoilers ehe #she is so cool she is so cool she is so fucking cool and I LOVE the lead up to her first appearance #yeah it takes like half the story but GOD it's so good #the god of destruction resembles another character from the story? PFFFF NO- #i had to read back some stuff i had written to get the text and edit it a bit and maaaan it was so cool anyways

[in-maidjan]

Aeca Isaios     » Student of the Aelwynne Academy

open images in new tab to view details at a higher resolution because tumblr thinks its funny to eat image quality

#kite draws #kites ocs #oc; aeca #dnd campaign; aelwynne academy #i thought i was ready to post this last night but tumblr said 'fuck you' and ate... Everything.... #so i spent a proper hour moving things around pixel by fucking pixel to make sure shit was symmetrical for when i posted this #turning it into a gif was the last thing i could think of to make the top image not fucking.. Devour itself in the format #BUT THE LAYOUT IS DONE THANK FUCK i had no idea just Posting this was going to be so much hassle lol #anyway its my boy! my lil nonbinary air genasi baby!! #he's been an absolute labour of love and there's parts that aren't one hundred per cent but! i happy with the final result! #my boy is done!! all ready for this weekend AAA!! #god i've been working on this since the start of May but then i had some difficulty with his design and dropped it until july #and then i've done a majority of the final designs on all outfits and the colours in the last like Week just about #god im so happy with this. this is only the Second Time i've tried to paint metal like this and it turned out so nice #can't believe i was gonna post this with no shading im glad i stuck it out im so proud aaaaa #tumblr i am Begging you do not devour this when i post it i Will cry

[chuckbass-love]

hii! I have a request for prompt 71 with Andy or ransom ☺️

Hey lovely, thank you so much for waiting this long for me to post this and i really hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it.

Prompt #71: "I'm gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you're spreading your legs for me"

Disclaimer: My work is not to be translated or to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, unprotected sex, rough sex, ass spanking, vagina spanking, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, daddy kink, breeding kink and angst.

Word Count: 3,486

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @sergeantbuckybarnes go check them out💜

In The Mirror

Standing in the middle of the master bedroom, you start to fold the freshly washed clothes before putting them away neatly in the closet. You start off by putting shirts away, Andy’s and then yours before moving on to jeans. Sometimes you wonder how he even has the room for his own clothes since you take up the majority of the space. But you just put that down to shopping trips he's so insistent on treating you to.

As you’re just finishing up, you hear the front door open before it slams shut so hard that the anger fuelling the slam of it can be felt even upstairs where you are.

Looks like Andy is finally home...

You decide to finish up with what you’re currently doing, taking your time before approaching your husband with caution. It was probably another run in with Neil, something you’ve grown accustom to dealing with ever since you met him. Doesn’t mean you don’t run out of ways to handle it occasionally though, your best option is to just allow him to vent before you distract him. Usually distracting him requires an old movie and takeout but other times it requires rough and needy sex.

“Andy” you call out as you pad down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to find him practically chugging a beer way to quickly. It must be bad if he couldn’t even wait until dinner to drink alcohol.

“You know sometimes i think why do i even bother going to work. I mean, Lynn sure seems to enjoy screwing me over for that fucking prick Neil and i’ve had just about enough of it”

Okay, now he’s really angry. You have no idea what to do or even what to say to him, you’re rendered speechless by his cursing and boiling temper.

“I was just about to make dinner, uh, lasagne perhaps. Or maybe we could order takeout again and rent that movie you were telling me about. It’s up to y-“

“Did you not listen to a goddam word i said? I don’t give a shit about dinner, do whatever. I’m going to take a shower” his decibels rise, his tone scolding as he storms past you and up the stairs taking two at a time until he reaches the top. You hear his heavy footsteps stomping to the bedroom and then suddenly it all turns quiet until the shower water starts to run.

Rather than leaving him to cool off, you decide to head up to check on him.

In a way, he was right. You practically ignored his annoyed state and changed the subject, in fact you couldn’t have changed it fast enough. But that’s only because you didn’t know what to say. When he gets like that, there’s not a lot you can say.

“Andy, i’m sorry” you squeak, stepping into the master bedroom to find him stood with his back to you as he removes his dress shirt and tie. His back muscles tense as he stands still for a second before turning around and tossing his clothes to the floor before starting on his belt.

“Andy” you mumble, desperate for him to acknowledge you.

“What?” he snaps, slipping out of all clothes until he’s in nothing but his birthday suit, his impressive size dangling between his legs.

“I’m sor-“

“I heard you”

You gently step closer to him, examining his face for any tell tale signs of discomfort before you rest your hand on his right forearm, “please, just talk to me. What happened today?”

“Like you care, all you seemed to give a shit about was dinner, so how about you go focus on that like a good little house wife and leave me to deal with the tough shit... does that sound like a deal?”

“That’s not fair, Andy. I didn’t know what to say to you, that’s all. You’ve had that many run ins with Neil lately that i lose sight of how to help you. But i’m here now, just talk to me. Tell me what i can do to make it better”

Silence.

His hand pulls from your touch, but before you can even understand what’s going on you’re back is already touching his toned tatted chest. His arms rest on your shoulders, keeping you pressed against him.

“Well, there is one thing...” he starts, moving your hair to the other side of your neck, freeing up some skin for him to feast on. His mouth nears closer, his hot breath fanning you torturously as his nose nudges at you. That’s when you feel his hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt teasingly, slowly lifting it up your torso with ease. You lift your arms in the air, allowing him to remove it before he discards it behind him without a care.

“Such a beautiful body, honey. Be a shame to waste it fretting away about dinner in that kitchen” you gulp in response, feeling his lips barely grazing the nape of your neck, the action causes a shiver to dance down your spine as his beard scratches you.

“Andy” your voice is nothing but a breathless whimper as you turn to face him, his hands instantly rest on your waist at the band of your booty shorts. Of course when he tugs at them, you know what he’s after now and you also know that no matter what you do or say, he’ll take it regardless.

He drops down to his knees, surrendering to your body and dragging your shorts down your legs as he sinks to the floor. You step out of them for him, even going as far as to kick them to one side before he pushes you back to the wall.

The palm of his hand gives your calf a soft squeeze as the other lifts your leg up to drape over his shoulder, your aching sex on show for his lustful orbs to focus on. The insatiable hunger is starting to drown out his mind, body and soul, he’s incapable of thinking of anything else but you, craving anything else but you.

He’s starving, desperate to taste you.

A couple more minutes pass with him peppering kisses along your ankle at first before moving up to your calf and then your thigh. You try to push him away due to the sensitivity there but he only forces you off him, he’s so much stronger than you could ever be and you know now that you’ve lost.

He presses another chaste kiss to your bundle of nerves before pausing and feeling your body react to his touch. Your shaking body begs to be worshipped and devoured whilst he begs to drink and breathe you in like you’re his only lifeline.

“Smell so good” he coos, poking his tongue out to give your clit a kitten lick as his nose nudges at your mound, the action causes you to roll your eyes to the back of your head. Whatever you did to deserve this agonising torture, you will make sure to never do it again. This is teasing at its peak.

“Please, Andy. I need you”

“Oh you’ll have me, alright” his response is quick yet snappy as he dives into you. His mouth latches onto your sex aggressively, sucking, slurping and biting. His beard scratching your inner thighs and it's sure to leave a burn there.

The tip of his tongue points all the more as he winds it around your clit rapidly and even with one hand gripping your hips roughly whilst the other strokes your leg up and down before settling on your ass, you still feel unsteady as if the smallest wave of pleasure could knock you to the floor.

His mouth right where you want him comes and goes as he takes breaks in between to come up for air, but right when you feel yourself getting lost in the feeling, it comes to a complete halt.

You glance down at him, eyelids heavy, chest rising and falling, only to find him rising to his feet.

“What the hell, Andy?” you ask, your entire body heating up.

“You sound angry” he cocks his head to the side as he grazes his hand across your hardened nipple.

“I am”

“Now, that’s exactly how i felt when i came home. Yet instead of comforting me like a good little wife should do, you made me feel worse. So therefore, you don’t deserve to cum”

What the hell is wrong with him tonight?

He shoots you a wink before padding into the bathroom, the shower water still running and steaming up all of the mirrors in your eye-line until he closes the door, locking it to prevent you from entering and leaving you standing there perplexed at his actions.

He did all of that on purpose. He built you up to the edge of ecstasy before leaving you to come crashing down all alone, all in the name of proving a point.

You reach for your robe off the hook on the bedroom door before storming out, brimming with frustration as you make a start on the dinner. Lasagne will do for tonight.

You prep it as fast as you can whilst the oven preheats to the correct temperature before putting it in and setting the timer. Now you can relax.

As soon as you throw yourself down onto the couch and flick the tv on, you hear the bathroom door open. You’re almost certain that he expected you to wait for him like a lost puppy dog but you refuse to play into his petty games of revenge. All because you didn’t comfort him. It was silly and unnecessary.

So for now, you’ll indulge in some reality television whilst you wait for dinner to cook and if there’s one thing that’s for certain, it’s that you are most definitely not putting out for him tonight. No matter what he says or how much he sweet talks you. It’s not good enough for him to treat you like that.

Whatever Neil did or said, that’s a work problem.

Andy can’t believe his eyes when he comes back into the bedroom only to find it empty. He wraps his white towel around his waist, covering up his modesty before heading out into the hallway and down the stairs. As he reaches the bottom of them, he spots you watching tv in the lounge, giggling away at whatever The Kardashian family are doing now, but whatever it is, he doesn’t care.

Instead of leaving you be, he stomps over “what do you think you’re doing?” he inquires, voice bellowing more than he intended “i’m waiting for the lasagne to cook, it’s in the oven. Enjoy your shower, honey?” you probe sarcastically, a rhetorical question. However your sarcasm infuriates him further as he picks you up with ease.

“Andy, put me down. NOW” you shout, kicking your legs and slapping his upper back as he drapes you over like you weigh nothing.

“Dinner is in the oven” you remind him, desperate to avoid burning it. But that’s when he puts you down before walking over to the kitchen and turning the oven off.

Your eyes widen as he approaches you once again, picking you up and carrying you up the stairs, taking them two at a time as he always does.

“Andy” you groan until he places you back onto your own two feet, his hands practically rip your robe off to expose your naked body before he does the same to the towel covering his manhood up.

“I’ll tell you what’s about to happen, honey and you’re going to listen” he informs you, stepping closer and moving you to stand in front of the mirror. You correct your abysmal posture as you look back at him in the mirror. A sinister glint in his eyes becomes crystal clear as a wicked grin graces his handsome face. His beard full, his hair still wet from the shower as droplets of water drip down his chest.

“I’m gonna fuck you in front of the mirror, i want you to see how pretty you look when you’re spreading your legs for me” the pure filth has you holding your breath in shock before exhaling dramatically.

He’s always been kinky but sometimes he still manages to leave you shocked. Although it’s times like these that you love him the most, the whines and whimpers he draws from you so effortlessly, the way he causes your body to tremble raggedly and most of all the way your entire world stops turning as he brings you to that cliff edge, pushing you off of it with his two large menacing hands.

He kicks your legs apart further before pulling your arms to the back of you. He hooks his arm inside of them to prevent you from moving away from him whilst his other hand massages your puffy petal like folds before circling your dripping entrance.

Once his tip is resting directly at the tight hole, he proceeds to move forward, the skin around your entrance catching onto him as your walls welcome him inside.

“Oh, fuckkk” he draws out the word, groaning and gasping for air as he drives home, the feeling overwhelming you to the limit.

How can one man have such a firm and tight grip on you like this?

How did you end up here, unable to utter out a single word as his pace picks up before he’s fucking into you so violently, snapping his hips with no signs of slowing down.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, honey, do as i say” he warns, and the moment you look up at him, you see the darkness and it causes you to look away, focusing back on yourself just like he instructed you to do.

The feeling of his cock dragging along your walls so fast is enough to cause the knot in your stomach to tighten painfully. The pleasure is almost too intense to bare, too much for your fragile body to handle. Yet you continue to take it, allowing him to fuck away his anger, channeling it into this moment.

His arm and hand tightens around your arms, holding you in place as he keeps his sights on you, watching as your mouth hangs open in the perfect O shape. Fuck, you look perfect like this with him bending you to his will, using you for the sole purpose of his pleasure and his pleasure only.

How did he get so lucky to be graced with you’re beauty?

The harder he snaps his hips into you, the more the coil tightens and the all too familiar feeling builds all the more inside of you. An ongoing reminder of your impending orgasm.

“Andy, i-i’m gonna c-cum” you tell him, begging for him to allow you the privilege of releasing, the privilege of creaming all over his rock hard cock.

A dark chuckle erupts from his throat, mocking your pleas for a release before tutting at you, the torment continuing.

“Please” you beg once again, only to be reprimanded with the harsh sting of his hand landing on your ass cheek “keep your eyes on the mirror, honey. You’ll come when i tell you to, quit being a brat”

The need to release is almost unbearable, tears of pleasure welling in your eyes and drowning out your vision before you blink, allowing them to stream down your innocent looking face for him to see. It only spurs him on more as he moves his free hand in from of you, kicking your legs further apart before smacking down on your sex brutally. Your body jerks in response before somewhat relaxing at the feel of him rubbing briskly at your pulsating clit.

“That’s it, honey. Taking that cock so fucking well”

“I need to c-cum, A-Andy” your voice trembles frantically in hopes of him taking pity upon you.

“Shhh, baby. Just let daddy fuck the frustration away, gotta fuck it all away” his words are pure filth but his tone is gentle and needy. He just wants to take his anger out on your body, channel it into something.

You can imagine that with the field of work he’s in that he finds it hard to keep his cool with Neil every day. Which is a shame because they used to be close.

Granted that was back when Neil first started and Andy mentored him, whipped him into shape and taught him everything he knows. And Neil is a better lawyer because of it. However, it also means that he’s just rude, obnoxious and cocky towards Andy, pushing him to the edge and taunting him a little more every day.

“Hold yourself back for daddy, you’ll cum when i give you permission to. Is that clear, honey?”

“Yes” you mumble, barely audible.

“What was that?”

“I mean, yes daddy” you correct, watching his eyes intently, searching for any sign of him letting up his tight hold and hard thrusts.

“Good girl, being so perfect for daddy and taking this fucking like a pro, huh?”

“Yes daddy”

Your eyes glaze over as you struggle to keep yourself in tact, the hold you have on your orgasm is slipping from your control slowly but surely and you know that if he doesn’t give you the go ahead soon then you’ll end up breaking the rules.

Something that will surely earn you a painful punishment.

“God, fuck. I’m gonna cum, you gonna cum with me, honey?” he asks, gasping. You throw your head back onto his chest, arching your back into him further. You nod your head as quickly as you can as you feel your knees turning weak.

“Count down with me”

“10’ you say in unison, his fingers rubbing furiously at your sex.

“9” the sound of your skin slapping together bounces off of the walls.

“8” the feel of his mouth latching onto the sweet spot on your neck, pearly white teeth sinking in to mark you up.

“7” the moans he’s eliciting are now flowing out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“6” deep grunts escape him as he pushes you against the mirror, causing your cheek to push up against it.

“5” the feel of him fucking into you tightens the coil for the final time, the feeling agonising.

“4” you scrunch your eyes closed, seeing stars as you arrive at the cliff edge.

“3” you say in unison as his thrusts turn from fast and rough to slow and hard.

“2” his cock twitches inside of you, your walls flutter around him over and over.

“1”

“That’s it, baby, cream all over that cock for me”

You let go, body shuttering as you stand up onto your tip toes. His grip on your arms lets up, causing you to fall forward, hands resting on the wall either side of the mirror.

“Oh god” he growls, hands splaying across the soft globes of your ass before he fills you with hot ropes of cum, breeding you unofficially.

He remains seated deep inside of you for a minute or two whilst the two of you struggle to regain control of your breathing, both of your hearts beating so fast that it feels as though they are on the cusp of exploding out of your chest.

“How are you feeling now?” you ask as he pulls out, turning to face him.

“Hungry for Chinese takeout and a night filled with fucking that tight cunt”

“Was that not enough?”

“I’ll never get my fill of you” he says, pulling your naked body flush against his “i want you all of the time and besides, that was just to channel my anger into something. The next time will be to make a baby”

“W-what?” your voice shaky as you raise your eyebrows at him.

“You heard me, i’m gonna spend all night breeding you, honey. Gonna make you all nice and round with my child. Gives me a chance to take my mind of that cunt Neil”

You nod your head, humming your agreement before pressing your lips to his.

Sure, you’ve had chats about kids before but this is the first time he’s openly suggested trying and even after his outburst, your love for him remains.

You can’t wait to spend the night tangled up in the crisp white sheets of your bed, filled with his cum.

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

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LMK if you want to be added to my tag lists...

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy babrber x fem!reader #andy barber x female reader #reader inserts #requests #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans x fem!reader #chris evans x female reader #defending jacob #smut #angst #x fem!reader #x female reader

[lustbile]

Pssssstttt Tumblr user lustbile….. so today I watched a reel from this sex toy company I follow (fine, it was a tiktok they cross posted) and it was a duet of a duet or whatever and it starts with a woman asking “men when you say you want us to sit on your face, do you mean sit, or hover?”, then cuts to a man responding very emphatically “what am I— what am I doing in this chair right now? I’m SITTING IN IT— I’m SITTING— don’t, don’t hover, SIT, PLEA—” and then cuts to a woman highlighting the comments under his video which are more women being like “y’all need AIR” And “sorry I’m afraid of crushing him like 😭” and there are responses from men that are: “let me decided what I need” “we don’t need to breathe, breathing is a myth” “if I died due to lack of air please tell my family I died doing what I love.” “No no break it, it’s fine, break it” “listen choosing between oxygen and good food is not a hard decision”

ANYWAYS I love ur brain do u have thoughts on who in NCT would like, have strong feelings about this,,, and what those feelings are ,,, please let me be a little delulu and think that Jaehyun’s the type to beg for you to actually put your weight on him … John would make a joke about being a growing boy that needs a good meal…. Mark (and this is def your influence from a drabble you once did I’m pretty sure it was you) would just devour and like, get almost angry if you wouldn’t let him…. Jdjshshehejebebrjrnfn

-melts-

I’ve actually seen the exact tiktok you’re talking about and can I just say it’s really refreshing seeing how many men are willing to suffocate for the greater good

anyways on the topic of nct, I think a lot of members would fit this criteria honestly like. especially in 127 cause I just think that’s the pussy group but regardless a read more cause I don’t want this to be insanely long

Johnny of course because he’s a sadist and really love pushing pleasure into pain and I think having you on his face would kind of have you in another position where you can’t run away. like fully seated he’s pulling you down, you’ll probably end up crying

Taeyong is such a huge pleaser like face sitting or not he just love to provide and make you come so if anyone’s offering a seat it’s him

Ten just comes off as an oral freak to me. like very promiscuous guy so he loves the playfulness of it especially when it leads to 69ing

Jaehyun yes because I think he’s so cocky about it. like ‘want to take a ride?’ type and just always suggestive in every thing he says because I think he’d like to get a rise and just be super playful with his partner and also he knows it will make you come hard and a lot so he’d get to tease you about how insatiable you are for him

Jungwoo I just think is a sex freak. there I said it I spoke my truth. I just think he’s a little odd in a very endearing and entertaining way and has so much energy and can really just go to work and having your full weight on him is a god sent

Mark I think is widely accepted as a fucking insatiable dude when it comes to oral idk when this happened but I think so many people write him as just loving to give oral sex and just. face sitting is just a wonderful pastime for him especially if you pull his hair

Haechan. like I have a time stamp on this like he loves it. similar to Johnny I think just wants to make you cry but also likes the flex of being someone that’s into it. like he wears it like a badge of honor that he lets you sit nice and pretty on his face.

#sorry this was late I had a very long day and also sorry #if it’s a bit jumbled lmao my brain is not fully fried but perhaps a little seared #nct smut #Johnny smut #taeyong smut #ten smut #jaehyun smut #jungwoo smut #mark smut #Haechan smut #also I think I could have added a few members but that would be more nuanced and I’m sleepy so sorry #ask

[whiteheartlight]

hey pst hey yeah you here is a secret snippet of the next section of the Toa Mata Hagah au because I have been very busy with a new job and moving to a new state so I am not ready to post a full story on ao3 but u can have an intro if you want just cause it's been a while and we're tumblr pals okay byeee

.

“I wanted one so bad. I don't think he even thought of me. Can't I have yours? Come on, Krika, can't I have that one?”

The Makuta is scanning him with eyes like he wants to devour him. Kopaka meets his gaze coldly. His hands are full of ice. Just in case. He hates the way he looks at him. He hates him, period.

“It's pretty! I like Ice Toa. I guess a dark one maybe would match me better. But come on. You're not using it, are you? I bet you're not. I bet you hardly get into fights at all on Zakaz.”

Actually, they've squashed two civil wars in the past three months alone. Then again, that mostly just involves showing up in the middle of a battle and sending both sides scattering before they can all kill each other.

“Krika, you're not even listening!”

“No, I'm not,” Kopaka's Makuta responds finally, sipping from his drink on the other side of the table. “I never listen to you when you're whining.”

The yellow and black Makuta sitting across from Kopaka deflates, letting himself sink down over the table.

“Miserix was always giving me presents,” he says. “Miserix said I was one of his favorites. I can't even get Teridax to look at me twice! I should have gotten one. I would have really liked one. Miserix would have given me one.”

“Your brother's death has been hugely inconvenient for you, then,” Krika returns scathingly.

“It really has been,” Bitil mopes. “It's terrible.”

“Can I be excused?” Kopaka interrupts them both irritably.

“Oh, it talks,” gasps Bitil.

“What did you think it did?”

“I thought Ice Toa didn't ever talk.”

“I think I'm starting to see why Teridax doesn't notice you,” snaps Kopaka. “Your head's so full of rocks it's astonishing he even allows you to run this backwater junkyard.”

Bitil gapes openly at him, but he's smiling a fang-toothed smile as he does, rocking back from the table in delight. “It sassed me! Krika, it talks back. That's so funny. Oh, I want one so bad.”

Kopaka gets up, shoving his over-sized chair out from behind him and stalking away from the table. Bitil's cackling laughter follows him as he goes.

“If the rest of your siblings are all like this, I'm going to be cutting this trip very short,” he shouts back at Krika.

“You wanted to come,” his Makuta retorts. “So keep your damn mouth shut.”

But they both know that he never has kept his damn mouth shut when he had something to say, and he probably never will.

“You're a little shit, you know that?” Krika sighs, looking back at his brother. “You still act like you were just pulled out of the pool yesterday.”

Bitil sighs back at him, putting his chin in his hand. “I'm bored, Krika,” he says. “Miserix always asked me to do stuff... Miserix trusted me. And I trusted him. He always brought me good things to eat so I got bigger than the others. Teridax just leaves me here. I feel like I'm rotting. I really do wish I could have a Toa or something to play with. How am I ever going to make any progress in the Brotherhood now?”

“Do your duty quietly and well,” Krika replies. “If you see an opportunity to prove your loyalty to Teridax, take it. That's all you can do. Complaining and begging, however, will not get you anywhere.”

“You'll put in a good word for me with him if he needs something done, won't you, Krika? He likes you. And you know I'm a good fighter.”

“A brutal one,” replies Krika, glancing him over. “But yes, a good fighter. Although I wonder where that bruise down the side of your face is from.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bitil pokes forlornly at his miscolored face, grey in places it's usually green. “It's the mask. I just wake up with bruises, cuts, everything. I'm barely tolerating it anymore, honestly. The other day I dropped a specimen and killed it because suddenly my whole arm was broken.”

“You use it too often.”

“Maybe. But like you said, I'm a good warrior. Don't have much else going for me.”

“Your cats are very good, Bitil.”

“Awww. Thank you. Yeah, they're getting better. Working on smaller ones, but equally deadly. You think Teridax would like that?”

Krika takes another drink from his cup. “Don't create for Teridax. Work for Teridax – create for Matoran.”

“Matoran.” Bitil's back to his nasally whine, picking at the table with his claws. “I'm sick of Matoran. I don't even see any anymore. I ship all my Rahi out. You think Matoran are sending me thank you notes back because I took care of their problem with the thigh-sized rats or sent something to eat all the birds with diseases? Not a chance. It would be nice to have a Toa, really. Then the Matoran would want to come see us. And he could take care of some of my battles for me so I don't have to wake up in random pain every week. It's not fair. Antroz got two. That's not fair.”

“Bitil,” warns Krika. “Complaining.”

“I wish Miserix was here,” he sulks. “I hate Teridax.”

Bitil sees Krika's gaze narrow a half-second before he realizes he probably shouldn't have said that.

A flare of repulsion throws him mask over heels from his chair and crashing into the wall hard enough to crack stone. The ceiling shakes above them. As soon as he's blinked his eyes open again, Krika is there, grabbing him by his chest piece and hauling him into the air, red eyes burning. Bitil pants, grabbing his hand, and lets out a flimsy growl.

“Don't,” snaps Krika, cuffing him over the mask. “Don't you ever snarl at me for trying to keep your stupid head on your shoulders. You never say things like that. Do you understand me, Bitil? You never, ever say things like that about Teridax. About any of your leaders. Not to Makuta you trust, not to Makuta you hear saying similar things, not to beings who will never even have the chance to whisper in Teridax's audio receptor. You don't say things like that.”

Okay, so he definitely shouldn't have said that. Krika watches Bitil's expression flashes between angry and guilty for a few seconds before he finally settles back into his usual sulking. Krika sets him back on his feet, putting his hands on his hips. “You've always been too self-absorbed, Bitil. If you had any wisdom, you'd have realized that words like those could destroy you.”

“So we're not even pretending anymore,” says Bitil sullenly.

“Pretending what?”

“That Teridax isn't killing those of us who talk back to him.”

“Bitil. Add that to the list of shit you don't say.”

Bitil looks up at him, his mouth slightly twisted. He shrugs his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, shrinking in on himself a little. “She says that stuff.”

Krika frowns at Bitil. “What? Who does?”

Bitil rubs at the bruise on his face again, shifting in place.

“Bitil,” warns Krika.

“You know who, okay? She came to visit me, you know. Zarin.”

“No. I didn't know.”

“You didn't? I thought you and her and Antroz were always talking shit about the rest of us. Making all the real decisions since Miserix was never interested in the political side of anything. I used to think if anyone was ever to take over from Miserix, it would be one of the three of you. Well, not you, Krika. Maybe her or Antroz, though. I guess Teridax was just biding his time, letting you four be in charge until he was ready.”

Krika doesn't reply. Bitil moves back towards his chair, picking it up off the ground.

“She isn't the same since the others disappeared, Krika. She won't forgive that. If she truly believes Teridax did it – hypothetically – ”

“What did she say, Bitil?”

Krika wishes that the very asking of the question didn't make his ichor seem cold.

Bitil won't turn to him.

“Bitil.”

“Just one thing,” says Bitil gruffly. “I don't care that much, I just – I don't know. If Teridax comes asking, you can back me up, say that I didn't encourage it. She just said that if I was upset about Mir dying, I shouldn't do anything reckless. Instead, she said I could come talk to her about it, and we would work on it together. She said she understood if I was upset about Mir. That's all.”

Krika runs his hands over his mask, his spines raised at the back of his neck. For the sake of the Spirit, isn't she smarter than this? To speak words like this, no matter how ambiguous, to Bitil of all Makuta? She could have come to him. She always used to. Could she really have been so reckless?

“Have you told anyone else about this?” he asks shortly, dropping his hand from his mask.

“No,” grumbles Bitil. “Not that stupid.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Don't even tell anyone she visited. She was just talking about helping you with your grief. That's all. There was nothing rebellious in that, brother.”

“Right,” mutters Bitil. “That's why we can't talk about it. But don't worry. I'm not going to go see her or anything, either. I just want to forget that it happened. I would forget Mir too if I could. I don't ever want to think about him again.”

Krika stares at the back of his head as Bitil sits back in his chair. Rumor has it he was the one who found Mir's ichor still fresh on the floor of his keep, his body taken up to the Star before any evidence could be found. Bitil, Gorast, and Mir visited each other frequently, so it's perfectly believable, if you ask him. They were always tight as Toa. Now he never wants to think of him again?

“Good,” Krika says finally. “I'll speak with her. Just to double-check. But putting it out of your mind is for the best. Like I said, just do your duty.”

“And prove my loyalty to Teridax if I get a chance.”

“Right. Look, just be good. I need to go. I want to be in Xia by evening.”

“Why?”

“Don't worry about it, Bitil. Just something Antroz called me for.”

Bitil shakes his head at him, smiling. “Have fun talking shit and making decisions. Say hi to Antroz and Zarin. You three... the unholy trinity of the Brotherhood.”

Krika gives him a second cuff on the mask, just for good measure, and gathers up his things. Bitil walks him to the door of his keep, stepping out into the sunlight with him. After a minute of squinting against the bright sun, they can make out the tallest ship in the bay of Bitil's island, and a white Toa sitting on the prow, looking out at the morning light.

“Really wanted one of those Toa,” sighs Bitil yet again. “You sure I can't keep it?”

“Bye, Bitil.”

“Hey, hey! Where's my bite?”

Krika scoffs, considering telling him no. Bitil's about three times the size of a Toa these days, and only a couple feet smaller than Krika himself. He doesn't need to be sneaking energy from his larger siblings. But he supposes it's symbolic. Krika himself used to take a bite from Miserix. It was a sign of deference. A sign of respect for the hierarchy of their Brotherhood. Maybe a tiny sign of some form of affection too. Miserix always offered him his wrist.

Krika never quite has it in him to tell the others no.

“You take more than a nip and I'm going to hit you,” he warns, reaching out his wrist.

Bitil grins devilishly and sinks his fangs into Krika's wrist. Right on schedule, he takes a drain of energy so intense it makes Krika's fingers go slightly numb.

Krika sighs and activates his mask again. Bitil goes flying back into his fortress. Even from the rubble of the nearest wall, Krika hears him laughing loudly. He always takes too much and he's never sorry.

“Greedy jay-cat.”

“Bye, brother!”

Krika leaves the fortress behind, walking down towards the water. Sailors from all over the world stare at him as he goes or duck quickly back into boats or huts. He steadily ignores all of them, heading up the walkway of his ship.

“Finally.” Kopaka is waiting for him, but he looks like he's about to take off all on his own, a waft of impatient chill following him as he approaches. “Can we go now, or do we have more breakfasts to attend?”

Krika ignores him, giving the signal for the Skakdi sailors he employs for short trips to get going. He stands observing the work, watching Kopaka run among the sailors and help release the sails, half as strong but twice as lithe. He knows Kopaka is excited to go to Xia, to see his siblings – knows that the Ice Toa has been circling back to questions about Xia, Vortixx, and Antroz on repeat ever since Krika told him they were taking a trip – but as he stands there watching his Toa Hagah bask in the gold light and the spray off the silver protodermis sea, he thinks that it's probably easier not to have brothers and sisters at all. You don't have to worry about any of the stupid trouble they get themselves into.

And you never have to grieve their loss, either.

#hagah kopaka #may be subject to small changes as i go

[juuls]

Podfics, podfics, podfics...

I'm looking to do some podfics of fics that have really hit me in strong (good) ways, and they're one of those I can't seem to track down in my usual manner (which is... probably on purpose, considering their received comments are set to be moderated and that they likely put up with a toooon of bullshit from people with Opinions.

(Keep reading to see which fics I'd love to podfic and why, and how you can help me find them!)

Also. Recs. Lots of really awesome fic recs, specifically for Tony-centric readers and those who really hit it off with Civil War Team Iron Man!

Does anyone know the Tumblr or Discord of: @TheSovereignofReality or @Wix from AO3?

Anyway, I'm a fan, and I just wanted to discuss maybe doing one podfic on a trial sorta thing, and then maybe doing a couple of my other major faves or a series of fics. As of my last major read-through of their fics, my favourite was definitely Mutantkind (this fic is so kickass, I love Logan). Not trying to spoil anything for any of this or the other fics, but taking up the chance at exploring the links between the X-Men and the Avengers (more Tony and even Pepper and Rhodey and such) was such a great move. A power move in so many ways, and I'm also really really eyeing the Transcendent Souls series that leads into the author's OC-linked series, Lennie Alice, and it all sounds like it's phenomenal and I just want to READ it, who cares about podficcing it??? I mean, I do, but most important of all: I'm just a fan who sees shiny fics all in a pretty series-row that I hadn't gotten around to yet (too busy reading Ramblings for the 10th time and wincing with each successive hit to the gut. Ouchies. But poor Tony too, woW. That one just hurts. In a cathartic way (even though I love Peggy, it's fascinating to explore these things!!)

Like Disney's "What If?" series if they weren't too scared to explore the really interesting things that make people tick and feel betrayed even decades later.

All of these authors, above and below, sure know how to throw those punches, and I like that.

I do have other podfic projects on the go, as well, yes, but spring is a great time for me and I get a lot of projects done pretty well on the regular. The Night King has been vanquished and the sun shines upon us again and offers me much Vitamin D and happy-stuff. :) :P

Doing a fic by @Wix would be awesome too, but I'm also not sure of their handle, unfortunately. Plus I've rarely spoken to them! Believe it or not, I can be shy. xD But there are so many of Wix's CW Team IM fics that I would just love to podfic and really sink my teeth into for the absolute wreckage and carnage that some of these characters would be feeling. Righteous anger, true anger, when you know you're right, when you just think you're right and the world crumbles down around you.... god I would love to really act those fics out and make people feel, just like we do and more when we're actually reading Wix's awesome body of work. It could be a real experience, and I would love to be able to help share that. All else fails, I'll just give these last two a message in their comments. ;)

And maybe @rayshippouuchiha might be interested in chatting with me about doing a (second) podfic of Hide a Heart of War? There can never be enough podfics of awesome Stuckony (or any ship, really), but I do also have my eyes on another few of yours that you don't have podficced, m'dear. :) I mean, Sore Must Be The Storm (wow, I relate to that title---and the fic itself---hard) would be really cool to do if the second chapter was up, (wing fics! CW Team IM! Woo!) Or the ever-so-classic "Assassination Attempts Are Not Flirting Toni" tag that epitomizes The Devouring of Hearts (which is hoestly epic and I am going to go re-read asap) or The (Not So) Great Pretender (it has a TextToSpeech podfic but those are hard for some people to follow along to --- I know my hearing issues mean I can't catch all of it, sadly, and none of it clearly! =/). Let's talk, if you're cool with me doing one of yours?? :) I would be so thrilled!

And @not-close-to-straight I cannot forget about you (ever) in this season of big eyes and planning out podfics all excited-like. Has anyone ever approached you about podficcing the entirety of your 3-part series Of Gods and Men that is ThunderIron, ThunderIron & FrostIron & Thorki, and then is PURE ThunderFrostIron with a super. special. twist. at the end omg???? Can we talk about that sometime? Whenever is good for you, if you're at all interested? Because there is NOT enough ThunderIron in the MCU, because I love Tony, because there is not enough FrostIron with Thor and Loki being awesome (usually), and then especially because there is NEVER enough poly ThunderFrostIron for my tastes and I just cannot when it comes to these fics. I just really would please love to podfic it, out of all your awesome fics this one just strikes right deep at the heart of me.

So. Um. Yeah.

This was going to be a quick "do you know this person!?!?! I'm desperate!" kind of Tumblr post, but it turned into me somewhat begging and complimenting at the same time, and it sounds totally shameless but I also haven't slept for about 48+ hours properly and I am in severe pain so the mania tends to be the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse with all that.

So. Yeah. Just let me know what you think, preferably via DM here or on Discord (Juulna#0508) or Ask or whatever. I'm happy however. And these are YOUR fics, I have zero claim to them whatsoever no matter how I may strongly relate to them or love them or think they should have their own awesome experience with me spitting angry lines back when required in response to pure sass. I would love to try/do it all. :) Spring and Summer is my podfic season, and I'm going to have a lot of fun with current and potential projects alike!

Ta, loves. And thank you for considering me for podficcing these awesome works! If you want a recent example of a fairly quick (and porny, hah) oneshot I did, I think you'd like what I did with @tsuki-chibi's The Shirt [fic]. Check the podfic out here, and then give the original author love because it is a DAMN FINE fic (and I want the shirt, hah).

#marvel #tony stark #thor #steve rogers #bucky barnes #loki #female tony stark #there's also some #civil war team iron man #in here because yes. there is. #x-men #thesovereignofroyalty #wix #wix fanfic #not-close-to-straight #rayshippouuchiha #hide a heart of war #going old school #podfics #marvel podfic #mcu #fanfiction #podfic request #looking to podfic #stuckony #frostiron #thunderiron #thorki #thunderfrostiron #stony

[yellowocaballero]

Continuation of Human Relations (Oh My God, They Were Roommates)

This is a 16k story that’s a bit too short for AO3 but a bit too long for Tumblr that acts as a continuation of my Archivist!Sasha and Immortal!Jon fic Human Relations. I recommend that you read that before this. This story takes place between S2 and S3, and is about Sasha and Georgie’s roommate adventures. I’m uncertain if I’ll continue this and post it on AO3, post it on AO3 as it is, or what, but for the time being I’ll at least post it here. 

Serious content warnings for discussion of abusive friendships, gaslighting, discussion of 19th century racism, implied transphobia, and discussion of police brutality. Nothing more serious than what we saw in Human Relations, but it does have a much more explicit investigation of Jon and Elias’ relationship. Rest under the cut. Happy Birthday, @magickko. 

EDIT: HAHA READMORE DIDN’T WORK, YIKES. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Sasha dreams, every night.

Nightmares, mostly. Statements given and Statements stolen run endlessly through her head in a scrolling loop, crying out for mercy, as its figures cry and scream. Sasha looks at them through a camera, pushing the button and clicking the shutter again and again and again, searching for that perfect shot frozen in time. 

A woman, trapped under a thousand pounds of dirt and crumpling metal. Snap. A woman, chewing keycaps, eyes riveted on a flickering screen. Snap. A woman, lost in her fiance’s grave, pleading for someone to find her. Snap. 

A man, eating canned peaches, alone. Snap. A man, swinging an axe with a frantic strength born of terror. Snap. A man, and the look in his eyes, betrayed. Snap. A man, gunshot wound leaking blood out of his chest, eyes rolling in the fluorescent lights. Snap.

When Sasha wakes up she is always surprised to find herself in a guest room, always out of place and out of time as she stares up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Maybe the worst part is those two seconds after waking, where she doesn’t know where she is, adrift in time and space. Then she remembers, and she’s faced with the situation all over again. 

Namely, the fact that she was couch surfing in the Grim Reaper’s guest bedroom. 

Georgie Barker wasn’t a mystery, and she’d be the first to tell you.

Of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you need, honey! I always love having Jonah owe me a favor. Don’t worry about the cops and the law, nobody will ever find you here. Seriously, the entire department’s in my pocket. It’s no hassle having you here, it’s a big flat! It’s been years since I’ve had a roommate, this’ll be fun!

The one thing she hadn’t understood was Sasha begging her not to let Jon in to see her. He knows exactly where you are, Georgie pointed out. He knows you’re not actually a murderer, Georgie said. He might be able to help explain some of what’s going on, Georgie hinted. Jon would respect my wishes, but if Jonah really wants him to talk to you, he’ll definitely do it...

“Please,” Sasha had croaked, the uncomfortable morning after she had stumbled into Georgie’s flat. The Admiral wove around her legs, purring up a storm, and Georgie was munching on avocado toast and sipping pomegranate juice. “I just - I just need some space.”

“Why?” Georgie asked obliviously. That was something that Sasha was rapidly learning about Georgie - she didn’t hold back with impolite questions, or her opinion. She seemed to be regarding Sasha’s life as her own personal Youtuber Drama, which Sasha really didn’t know how she felt about. Her life wasn’t a spectacle, but she guessed even the warfare and tragedy of ants were of obscure and strange interest to humanity. “He’s feeling, like, totally bad about framing you for murder. I can tell he super wants to apologize to you about everything.”

Martin’s words echoed through her mind, from what felt like a decade ago: Jon had ruined Martin’s life, but to him it was as simple as a momentary inconvenience. “I don’t want his apology,” Sasha croaked. “I want not to be on the run from the police. I want to go back to my flat. Unless he’s going to make me human again I don’t want any stupid apologies. They’re useless.”

“Hm. Well, you’re free to stay here as long as you need to, of course.” Georgie sipped at her tea. They were sitting around the breakfast table, Sasha desolately shoving eggs into her mouth as Georgie drank her tea that Sasha was reasonably sure was spiked with brandy. Rich people were literally never sober. “It’ll be so much fun, like a sleepover. We can do each other’s nails and talk about boys!”

“My boyfriend thought I was a monster for the past month and now thinks I’m a murderer,” Sasha said flatly. 

“Oh, I see.” Georgie tapped her lips thoughtfully. “We have to get you laid, huh?”

“I am literally on the run from the cops.”

“That’s very sexy to some people,” Georgie assured her. 

After that, Georgie waved goodbye and swanned out of the house, either going to her studio to work on her podcast or doing some work for her real estate empire or writing a best-selling book or schmoozing with celebrities or attending parties at exclusive nightclubs or working part-time as a bartender just for gossip or devouring souls. Just from Sasha’s one day at Georgie’s flat, she knew that she did all of these things and then some. It was a stunning contrast to Jon’s laziness, or Elias (Jonah’s) single-mindedness. 

Maybe you lost the energy to be so productive after your two hundredth year. Sasha didn’t fucking know. Hopefully she would never know. Or maybe Jon just appeared to be lazy, and every moment that he was complaining about being bored he was secretly manipulating world leaders. Maybe Jonah’s dedication to spreadsheets and dress code was a front, and he was secretly pulling the puppet strings of her entire life…

In the empty spaces of Georgie’s spacious flat, it was easy to be paranoid. Sasha lay on her luxurious couch, hands folded across her chest like a corpse, trying not to think of anything, thinking of everything. Thinking of Tim: of his smile, of his scowl, of his cold looks given to someone he had thought was a stranger. Thinking of Martin: his warm smile, his sharp looks. 

She struggled to think of other friends, other family members who gave her comfort, but drew up a blank. Her parent’s faces were blurred after ten years of no contact, not so much forgotten as repressed, and her baby siblings were likely unrecognizable to her now. Almost as unrecognizable as she was to them, probably. Tim, her boyfriend who hated her, and Martin, her subordinate who she had almost never had a conversation with that wasn’t about work or Jon...that was it. All the friends she had in the world. She was sleeping in the guest room of a podcast host/Grim Reaper whom she had met once, and that was all she had.

Loneliness was Sasha’s constant companion. In a crowd, in her family, in the world - no matter how many people she had been surrounded by, she had always been alone. She had never had anybody in the world to rely on besides herself, and for the first time in a long time she was achingly aware of it. Nobody who loved her was going to help her. She was alone now.

After an hour of lying on the couch and crying, Sasha desolately watched Netflix cooking shows on Georgie’s gigantic flat-screen TV, trying very hard to think of absolutely nothing at all. She only moved to pet Georgie’s silky long-haired cat whose name she had already forgotten, and even he left quickly once she lost the energy to give him attention.

That was how Georgie found Sasha when she came home: lying on the couch, still dressed in borrowed silk pyjamas, watching idiots on television fuck up cakes. Georgie’s arms were laden with shopping bags, with names of exclusive London boutiques sprawled along the side, her deep black pits of eyes hidden by designer sunglasses. She burst through the door happily, her cat running up to her and winding through her laps as he purred, and easily kicked off her red pumps. She stopped in the doorway of the living room, looking strangely excited. 

“Sorry I’m back to late! Utterly bogged up at work, there was a plane crash and I was processing corpses for hours. I had to do some serious retail therapy just to deal with the tedium - darling, have you moved?”

Sasha grunted. 

“You look like Mikey Crew threw you off the Shard,” Georgie said sympathetically. “Utterly disastrous. Don’t worry, Aunt Georgie’s here to make you feel better.” She lifted her bag triumphantly. “I bought you new outfits!”

Sasha eyed her warily. 

“You get no say in this,” Georgie said kindly. “Chop chop, we’re doing face masks too.”

That’s how, somehow, Sasha found herself playing an unwilling dress-up doll for the Grim Reaper. Georgie had taken Sasha’s casual mention that she had no clothing besides her work pantsuit to heart, and had hit up her favorite boutiques for ‘cute outfits that accentuated her figure and made her eyes pop!’. Or something. Sasha wasn’t much one for fashion. 

As it turned out, Georgie Barker had a walk-in closet. Because of course she did. 

The looks ranged from Sasha’s usual, as Georgie put it, ‘sexy librarian’ look, to ballgowns, to tennis outfits, to moddish, to vintage, to wintery. It was February, the seasons lingering in British chill, and according to Georgie the perfect solution to this was a mink coat that was probably worth a month’s rent on her flat. 

Strangely, all of the outfits fit perfectly - and Sasha knew that her measurements were difficult to find. Georgie took it in stride, clapping enthusiastically each time and suggesting accessories and how to mix and match the outfits. 

She would have thought that she was too dead inside to actually enjoy it, but so far as distractions went it actually worked pretty well. Georgie chatted about everything but their actual problems, and Sasha had absolutely no input or choice in what Georgie decided to dress her in, and by the time they had transitioned from nail painting to watching Legally Blonde and eating ice cream from the carton Sasha was actually feeling a little relaxed. 

“The musical’s better,” Georgie informed Sasha imperiously as Sasha dug around in her carton for chunks of cookie dough. Georgie was clutching a glass of wine in one hand, while Sasha was contenting herself with ice cream. Best not to drink when she was this sad. “Reese is such a doll, though. Allergic to shellfish, poor dear, but I told her not to let Leo pick the restaurant.”

“What I’m wondering,” Sasha said carefully, teeth cracking into the frozen chunk of cookie dough, “is that half the time when I see you, you’re dressed like a 2008 goth in jeans and t-shirts.”

“Oh, honey,” Georgie said pityingly, patting her hand. “I used to spend two hours getting dressed each morning. I’m never doing that to myself again. You, however, clearly have never had nice clothing in your life. It’s written all over your face. People’ll walk all over you if you always look like you’re straight from a charity shop. We gotta buy you some self-confidence.”

“Thanks. I think.” On screen, Elle flourished and achieved her dreams. Sasha tried not to feel jealous. “It’s not really as if I had a lot of girly sleepovers as a kid…”

“Word,” Georgie said sympathetically. She patted Sasha’s hand again. “Jon was the same way, you know. I can’t count the number of times I’ve had to renovate that boy’s wardrobe. He has no idea how to dress to impress.”

“Do we have to talk about Jon right now,” Sasha groused. “He’s the last person I want to think about.”

“He means well,” Georgie soothed, as Elle Woods proudly proclaimed on television how she, yes, she, was a strong independent woman - who didn’t need a man! “It’s not his fault he’s stupid. He’s just so helpless on his own, you know, he needs girls like you and me to make sure he’s not wasting a decade fixating on obscure Bolivian religious practices or whatever.”

“Helpless? He’s a two hundred year old man.” Sasha spitefully grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table, pouring it into a spare glass and drinking it quickly. It probably cost thousands of pounds, but it just tasted like wine to her. “It’s not my job to make sure his little feelings aren’t hurt.”

“Of course not,” Georgie said, but Sasha had the sense she was being calmed instead of listened to. “But Jon’s...you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Georgie made an interpretive hand gesture. Sasha stared at her blankly. 

“...I still don’t.”

Georgie sighed. “He’s delicate. Jonah babies him, honestly.” She patted Sasha’s hand for the third time, making her skin crawl. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you until you’re ready to forgive him. Every woman has the right to some time to herself after a guy fucks her over. You two’ll patch things up, right as rain.”

There was nothing Sasha wanted to say to that, nothing she wanted to think about, and she kept drinking her wine and watching the movie, out of lack of any other options.

That night, she drunkenly tipped into bed, so blasted that she slid immediately into sleep and did not dream. It was the first relief she’d had in what felt like a very long time. 

It wasn’t Sasha’s job to fix Jonathan Sims. 

It really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t her job to make him feel better, or forgive him, or save him from himself. If Martin wanted to waste his time and energy doing that, then god fucking speed, but Sasha had other priorities. She had been profoundly fucked over and had her trust abused by three different men lately, and she wasn’t going to be the one to patch things up.

Two of them she had no desire to patch things up with at all. Two of them she’d be perfectly happy if she never saw again. The last one...Sasha didn’t know what she felt. But that was nothing new. 

That being said, as Sasha chewed her way through hangover medication and an acai bowl the next morning, Georgie’s inane chattering about tricking some celebrity or another into taking her to Hungary for authentic Hungarian food didn’t register nearly as loudly in Sasha’s mind as her words about Jonah and Jon. 

Jonah babies Jon. That was what she had said. It...it was accurate, right? It had to be. Georgie had known Jonah and Jon for a hundred years, and Sasha had barely heard one authentic conversation between them. She’d known them for a year, and known Jonah’s true nature for maybe a few days. There was no way Sasha understood their relationship better than Georgie did. It just didn’t make sense. 

Finally, she put her spoon down, cutting Georgie off in the middle of her ramble about the majesty of Hungarian food made by genuine Hungarian grandma hands. “What did you mean, ‘Jonah babies Jon’?”

Georgie blinked at her, clearly barely remembering the conversation, before recognition dawned. Then she shrugged, sipping her protein smoothie. Which may or may not be spiked. It seemed as if her solution to hangovers was to just not stop being drunk. “Oh, you know how those two are. Jon swans around the world doing whatever he wants, Jonah holds the fort down at home. That’s why Jon’s fun, you know.” She sighed nostalgically. “Romantic cruises to the Bahamas for two months, we tear up the Bahaman government and start a minor military coup, then we take a tour of the beaches. You haven’t lived until you’ve dug your toes into Bahaman sand.” 

That was something Georgie said frequently: you haven’t lived until you’ve done X, Y, or Z. It seemed as if Georgie was very intent on living, and very intent on defining it in discretionary ways. To Sasha, living was simply the act of not being dead, but Georgie was almost fanatical about experiencing life. 

“If he’s so much fun, then why did you break up?” Sasha asked, before she realized what she said. “I mean, it’s really none of my business, feel free not to answer that -”

But Georgie just laughed lightly. “That’s just how Jon and I work. We spend a few weeks together in bliss, and then we go our separate ways for six months or a year or whatever. Work’s always taking us different places, and seeing each other all day would make us hate each other. Some people work best when they’re not in each other’s pocket.” She took a long drag of the smoothie before speaking again. “Besides, he’ll always be second in my life to having fun. And I’ll always be second in his life to Jonah. It’s just how we work. It works for us!”

It seemed to. Last Sasha checked, Georgie and Jon seemed to be very amicable despite being exes. Lackadaisical, on-and-off, passionate yet going years without seeing each other - it was a relationship uniquely in the providence of workaholic immortals. 

It wasn’t until Georgie had already waved goodbye, making Sasha promise not to spend all day on the couch again, that she realized that Georgie hadn’t quite answered her question. 

An image flashed through Sasha’s mind - Jon’s face, as he dared to disagree with Jonah, and was utterly ground into the dust for it. 

There was something more to this. Something that wasn’t obvious on the surface, something that was so well hidden maybe nobody even knew it was going on. Or maybe it was deeper than that, more insidious: maybe whatever was going on was so well-known and pervasive that it simply wasn’t spoken about. Not polite, not the kind of thing you say about your friends, not normal. Not in polite company. Not vocalized. Utterly taken for granted. 

Sasha walked into the guest room, pulling out her phone from her bag and staring at its blank screen. Holding her breath, she hesitantly turned it on, staring at it blankly as it slowly booted up. 

She shouldn’t be turning it on. She was perfectly aware of how, given a warrant, the police could track cell phone location, texts sent and received, everything. She could do it herself. The crushing weight of surveillance, the fear of being found and seen and rooted out, settled over her shoulders like an old, familiar friend. A comforting blanket to wrap herself up in at night: where, even if the fear was terrible and awful, at least it was familiar. 

You could get used to anything, Sasha thought. Any behavior, any fears, any horrors or tragedies - anything could become normal, given enough time. A year. A hundred years. After two hundred years, maybe you wouldn’t even recognize it as happening at all.

Like a flood, the text messages poured in. Notifications chimed in a cacophony, as text after text after text popped up on her phone. Missed calls. Emails popped up, notifications from the doorbell camera, reminders from her fucking Duolingo...

Dizzily, Sasha scrolled through the texts. Lots from Tim, as expected, and a few from Martin, as expected. Some texts from her mother, which - which wasn’t expected. At all. Sasha hadn’t even known that she knew her number. 

Sasha’s brain stuttered over the Spanish, having been years since she spoke it. Her brain also stuttered over the gratuitous misgendering, which was also blissfully novel yet just as uncomfortable and upsetting as ever. Translated, it was a slightly accusatory question about why the police had been calling them about her whereabouts. What had she done? Had she gotten in trouble?

No matter what you did, the text read, God will forgive you. Just call them back. 

Sasha stared at the texts, brain buzzing. She felt sick. Forgive her? They’d forgive her? They thought she’d done it? They thought she was capable of -

Horribly, awfully, tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe you never really grew accustomed to pain, even if it was felt a thousand times. Maybe some pain you never acclimated to, never scarred over or calloused. Maybe sometimes the more you were hurt, the worse it hurt. The pain her parents gave her - how they cut off contact, the misgendering, the coldness - hurt just as badly at thirty six as it had at twenty six, at twenty, at fifteen, at nine. It had always hurt. 

So stupid. Sasha deleted the text messages. She didn’t have time for this. She wasn’t a child. She was thirty six goddamn years old, that was way too old to still care about your parents. To still need them.

She clicked on Martin’s texts next. The first one had a timestamp before the murder, the rest afterwards.

Martin: where are you?? I found Tim (he tried to kill me w/an axe but we’re ok now) and were trying to get out of here. I explained everything to him. We’ll meet you in the archives. 

Martin: Police are looking for you. I know you didn’t do it so call me back. Tim’s worried. Jon doesn’t seem that worried...

Martin: Shouldn’t text you anymore. Please be safe & careful. 

Jesus. Jesus, she had been terrible to Martin. She was a rotten friend. Sasha hiccuped, rubbing at her eyes. She needed to get him a gift basket. Five. He was a freak, but he was her freak. Maybe. 

Finally, almost holding her breath, she pressed on Tim’s messages. There were a lot of them - more than was safe, Sasha distantly registered. The first five were from the same time Martin had sent the second text. She guessed it was right after the police finished talking to them. He had called her slightly before - likely when they found the body - but there were also two texts from two am last night. 

Tim: pick up your phone

Tim: pick up your phone are you okay im so sorry

Tim: baby please please pick up

Tim: we need to talk & im sorry & i hope ur safe

Tim: dont text me back 

Then two texts from two am:

Tim: to warn you im drunk but im sorry (AND DRUNK) but in my defense im a shitty boyfriend. If you want to break up its fine but id like to make it work but i get if you cant because cops i guess. Bitch tonner wont stop bothering me make her stoppp

Tim: I love you and I wish that was enough. 

Sasha rubbed at her eyes, exhausted. She wished it was enough too. She knew it wasn’t. Strongly, like burning, Sasha wished so desperately that she had never met Jonathan Sims. Maybe, in that world, things were okay. She and Tim were happy. 

She scrolled through the rest of the notifications. Strangely, she even had two texts from Melanie. 

Melanie: Hey, I heard what’s going on. I know you couldn’t have done it. A LOT of cops are bothering me - Hussein and Tonner have called like five times. I think you know them? For legal purposes I’ll say that you should turn yourself in or whatever. 

Melanie: oh and Martin said to tell you that Mr. Bouchard’s been asking me a lot of questions about what im doing and my job situation - dunno y tho

That….probably wasn’t good. 

No texts from Jon. She wouldn’t know what to do if he had. She doubted he knew her number, or how to work a phone. The last thing she could deal with emotionally right now was an apology. She didn’t know what to do about Tonner or Hussein or Melanie. Those were all problems she couldn’t fix right now. 

Really, there was only one problem she could fix right now. She walked over to the door to the balcony, carefully stepping out onto the 20th story balcony. She carefully ejected her SIM card, snapped it in half, looked underneath her to make sure there were no passerby in the exclusive London neighborhood, and forced her fingers to release from the phone so she could watch it fall twenty stories onto the concrete. 

She imagined a smash, a crack, but it didn’t make any sound at all. Sasha forced herself to step back inside, leaving the past behind her. 

There was a lot Sasha had to force herself to do that day. Georgie owned a few laptops, but she hadn’t given Sasha permission to use any of them yet, and she didn’t want to intrude. Despite Sasha’s own...reservations about her personality, she really was being incredibly kind by letting her stay and trying to cheer her up. She did, however, have a great deal of antique books, and Sasha eagerly cracked open the first edition copies of fiction novels from the 19th century. Was that a first edition Pride & Prejudice? Oh, score!

She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, but that always happened whenever she was upset. She forced herself to take a shower, impossibly intimidated by Georgie’s small army of hair care and hygiene products, and even cautiously let herself take a bubble bath with a bath bomb. It was...weirdly luxurious, but maybe not surprisingly. Georgie’s bathroom was like the Queen’s, and you could practically swim in the bathtub. It was intimidating and weird and uncomfortable, but Sasha forced herself to appreciate it. How many people got to take a shower in a stall with five different showerheads?

Halfway through the day the housekeeper came in, terrifying Sasha deeply, and she retreated to her guest bedroom to let the woman work. She inspected her newly painted toenails glumly, halfway through Pride & Prejudice, forcing herself not to think about how Jon could have been a background character in the novel. Wasn’t he in his twenties in this time period? Wasn’t that when he and Jonah Magnus had -

Sasha drank more wine, and put on another cooking program. She hadn’t watched telly all day, so technically she could tell Georgie that. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anything productive to do. No work, which sucked when she was a workaholic. No computer to waste time on. No friends she could talk to without the police investigating her. She couldn’t go outside, again due to the aforementioned cop situation. Her life was her work, and her bosses had just framed her for murder. 

Somewhat buzzed, Sasha stole several pieces of intricate stationary and wrote down everything Leitner had told her before he was murdered. It wasn’t nearly as much as she wanted, yet far more than she knew what to do with. Halfway through her notes deteriorated into a bizarre sort of mind map, lists of cases connected together and obscure monsters and figures pointing to each other. Salasea and his endless array of dangerous trinkets, mysterious yet lonely ship captains, Michael and his gently twisting deceit, Gerry Keay and his bizarre heroism, Leitner and his ruinous imprints, Agnes and her desolate fate, and the oft-mentioned yet barely understood man, whose name was whispered by shadowy figures entrenched in  the supernatural world, Jonathan Sims…

Did he know? How often his shadow stained her statements? Did he care? Did he know how thoroughly he had ruined her life? 

She scoured her memory for hints, writing down everything she could remember of his cameos in random statements. Of Leitner’s testimony, the immortal figure who so easily attained what Leitner and Mary Keay had spent their entire lives grasping for. Was there a hint to his true nature, his true allegiance? 

In the corners of the cute stationary, Sasha doodled a small eye. She stared at it, and couldn’t help but fight the notion that it was staring back. 

She scratched it out, feeling paranoid, not feeling paranoid enough. 

A few hours later, Georgie came home, and Sasha fought the pathetically hopeful trepidation. When she heard the front door rattle she left her room, intending on welcoming Georgie back and proving that she hadn’t been watching telly all day, but she stopped short in the hallway when she heard the loud sound of voices. Specifically, the loud sound of Georgie’s still slightly unfamiliar voice, and the quieter tones of a voice that was far too familiar to her.  

“ - if you’ll just let me talk to her, she’ll understand.”

“And she said that she’s not seeing you,” Georgie said firmly. Sasha held her breath, pressing herself up against the hallway wall. Next to her was a doorway that led to the living room, that led to a foyer. If she craned her head she could just barely see Georgie standing in the foyer, arguing with a figure holding a leather briefcase that made Sasha’s heart leap into her throat. “You really did screw her over, you know.”

“I know,” Jonathan Sims whined. “I want to apologize. It’s not my fault. Jonah got pushy again, you know how he is.”

“Ugh, tell me about it.” Georgie scoffed. “Did something happen between you two? Sasha was asking all sorts of weird questions.”

“Just Jonah being his usual insufferable self,” Jon said, so carelessly and casually that if Sasha hadn’t known better she would have believed him. “It probably alarmed her, seeing how that man really is. I’m sure she’s feeling very overwhelmed right now.”

“She really is, the poor dear,” Georgie said sympathetically. Sasha’s hands clenched into fists. “But you aren’t getting past this foyer, honey. I’m sure she’ll want to be friends again once Jonah gets the cops off her case.”

“Martin’s giving me a hard time,” Jon sulked. “Says this is all my fault that the dreadful little wolf girl is sniffing around. It’s not my fault. If my Archivist just let me explain, she’d see that it’s not my fault.”

“That Blackwood boy’s always giving you a hard time,” Georgie sniffed. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with him. He’s overly moralistic and doesn’t know how to have fun. You spend too much time with him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Georgina Barker,” Jon teased. He stepped forward a little closer, and although Sasah couldn’t see his face she had the feeling he was smiling. “It’s a bad look on you.”

“Idiot,” Georgie said fondly, “everything’s a good look on me.” She stretched up on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Ditch him and come party with me, darling, I’ll show you a wonderful time. Maybe after all of this nonsense blows over.”

“Judging from what I can make out of Jonah’s monologuing, we ought to get our parties in while we still can,” Jon said glumly. He opened his briefcase, passing a manila folder to Georgie. “Give her these. She’ll be getting hungry. Tell her that the top one is from work, and the second is from me.” He hesitated for a second. “You really think she’ll forgive me?”

“If it’s not your fault, then why do you need to be forgiven?”

Jon was silent for a long minute. Finally, he said, “I’ll talk to you later, Georgie. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie said easily, casually, as if she had said it a thousand times, a million times. “Take care of yourself.”

She stood in the foyer after he left, arms folded, one delicately manicured finger tapping against her arm. She eventually turned around, poking her head into the living room. 

“You can come out, darling, I don’t bite.”

Sasha guiltily stepped into the living room, crossing her arms defensively. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

But Georgie just rolled her eyes. “Please. My best friends are Jonathan Sims and Jonah Magnus.” She looked thoughtful for a second. “Well. My oldest friends. Anyway, if you’re in the same house as one of those Beholding types you aren’t getting a private conversation. I’m super used to it.” She held out the manila folder, and Sasha cautiously stepped forward and took it from her. 

“Beholding types?” 

“Oh, you know, you and your lot,” Georgie said dismissively. “Can’t do anything about that annoying little megalomania the Eye gives you. Have fun with lunch, I have to freshen up. It takes ages to get the scent of Jon’s musty old books off me.”

But Sasha was already tuning her out, because in the manilla envelope there were two Statements. They thrummed under her fingers, charged with energy and power and fear, and Sasha could feel herself gripping them. The first one was a classic Magnus Institute Statement, just like she would have read at work, but the second was what looked like a photocopy of a piece of paper. Judging from the ornate script, it was old, and when Sasha’s eyes wandered to the date her eyes widened. July 21st, 1823. 

She looked up, already frantically searching for a tape recorder, and immediately saw one sitting on the coffee table. She didn’t think twice about it, already sitting on the plush white couch and setting the papers out. Which one first - oh man, they were both so exciting - her fingers drifted to the one Jon gave her, and she picked it up. That one, then. 

Sasha James pressed play on the tape deck, feeling a familiar thrill go through her at the gentle whirring. She cleared her throat. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, regarding a letter sent by Barnabas Bennet to Jonah Magnus. Statement begins.”

And, as Sasha’s blood ran cold, she began to read. 

My dearest Jonah,

I hope you are well. It was an absolute pleasure to vacation at your estate this summer. I’ve never had such interesting conversations with a like-minded individual, and since returning to my own estate I have been sorely missing your company. You have introduced a great deal of brightness and acute interest to my life, and without you the luminescence of Heaven does not thrill me. How I wish you were around to thrill me again!

Do not concern yourself - I have maintained my studies. The library you loaned me is of great interest, and I have been spending many a quiet night bent over one of your occult tomes. I have never felt so enlightened. A world is opening up before us, Jonah, one of richness and wonder, and for the first time in many years I find myself excited to rise each morning. I thank our Heavenly Father each day that I was so fortunate as to cross your path. You must remind me to discuss with you the report by Smirke in detail - fascinating! Theoretical, of course, all theoretical - but the concept of classifying the devils that so bewitch man into fourteen unique taxonomies fascinates me. We must discuss it. 

Jonah, I trust that this letter reaches you in private, and that you shall not betray my confidence by discussing it with anyone. I have a private grievance I wish to address with you. It is regarding your boy, the one kept so close in your confidence and trust. 

I would never hasten to question any of your decisions, for I trust they are made with great deliberation and forethought. But I must question why you keep that boy so close to you. His air is strange and fey. While summering at your estate, I would frequently see him awake at late hours, pouring over some tome or report or another (I would swear that he reads better than I!). I know he’s somewhat of a project of yours, bringing him into Christianity and your charity, which will surely be rewarded etc etc, but I cannot shake my strange trepidation. 

If I were to be quite honest, my fear of him. 

He always asks questions. Disturbing and distressing questions. And when I deign to answer them, he acts as if he truly understands. Moreover, that he understands more than me - that he possesses some secret knowledge that only he has obtained. I catch him listening at doorways and around corners frequently, and no matter how many times I box him about the ears for it he will not cease. You encourage it, allowing this behavior. Even after I reported to you the pagan rituals which I am confident he is performing, you brush me off. You two are strangely close. I’m simply concerned for you, Jonah. Please heed my advice: that boy is trouble. I fear that he will bring you into trouble also. Do not allow this paganism to steer you away from the light of our heavenly Father. I understand that the occult is of great interest to all of us, discovering the secrets of the world and its many mysteries, but it is only an academic interest. I would never go so far as to partake of these devilish rituals myself, and you ought to dissuade yourself of such a notion also. Do not allow that John to lead you astray. 

I wish you most well. I am encountering some trouble of my own - debts and such - but do not concern yourself with them. The situation is well-handled. I hope to write to you again soon.

Yours, faithfully,

Barnabas

...supplemental.

Jon. Why did you show me this?

Is this your definition of vulnerability? Of honesty? What, are you trying to justify your decisions to me? I get it, it’s disgusting. These people were disgusting to you. I can’t know how you feel, but I think I - my parents -

What I mean is, I can’t understand. I can’t imagine how hard this must have been. I understand how Jonah was the only one to… ‘get’ you or whatever. How he was the only person to see how brilliant you are, how much you have to give. 

But, Jon - I don’t think Jonah thought any better of you than Barnabas did. He was just better at hiding it. I don’t know, I didn’t know him and I still don’t know him - but you get that the way he talked to you back then wasn’t right, right? You get that it was fucked up, right?

I don’t know. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think anybody does. Georgie’s too close to it, too used to you and Jonah’s ‘quirks’ or whatever. I...don’t know anything Martin thinks, but I feel as if you’d be pretty invested in keeping this from him. But I’m close enough to you to see it, and I’m far enough away from this that I understand. Something’s really fucked up about this situation. I’m worried I’m the only person who sees it. I hate being that person, the person who Sees it all, who knows it all, but is powerless to do anything about it. You understand, right? You understand how much this is hurting me?

I’m not sure you do. If you’re showing me this, trying to show me how hard you had it, how misunderstood you were, just so I forgive you...I don’t. And it’s manipulative, so cut it out. I’m not sure if you’re consciously doing that, I really don’t think you’re emotionally intelligent enough.

But you aren’t dumb, Jon. I know it’s a defence mechanism or whatever to pretend that you are, to act childish, but you aren’t. 

Ugh, listen to me. I sound like Martin. Disgusting. I don’t give a shit about this, I’m not your therapist. But you keep on making your problems my problems, and I’m not tolerating that. We’ll talk when I’m not fucking wanted for murder for something you were complicit in. 

Get your act together. I don’t forgive you. Statement fucking ends. 

As if Sasha’s life wasn’t hard enough, Georgie wanted to go dancing. 

“I am literally wanted by the police.”

“The nightclub’s so dark, nobody’ll even see your face,” Georgie promised. 

“Shouldn’t I be spending my time working on my conspiracy theory board?”

“Honey, no offence, that thing is so tacky.”

“I hate clubbing.”

“You’ll like the way I do it!”

“I really don’t want to -”

“Tough nuts.”

So, of course, that’s how Sasha ended up shoved into a tight dress, heels, and makeup, pushed into a taxi, and quickly deposited in front of a warehouse looking building. There was a long line out the door, of women with straightened hair dressed somehow identically, yet way worse, than Sasha, all looking very cold. Georgie looped her arm through Sasha’s, white teeth flashing as she grinned widely, and escorted them both straight through the doors and past security. 

She, it seemed, was a known quantity. Sasha, who had spent the last year working in a mill to feed evil psychic vampires and the ten years before that locked in academia, which was basically the same thing, was not a known quantity to any nightclub. She had not been clubbing since uni, which was approximately five lifetimes ago.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Sasha said into Georgie’s ear as they transitioned from the furiously cold February air into the swelteringly hot club. It was dim and smoky, the noise overwhelmingly grating at her ears. After so long in a quiet office, in a silent flat, she could barely handle it. 

Georgie said something to her. 

“What?” Sasha yelled. “Georgie, I don’t want to be here!”

Georgie frowned at her, and unlinked their arms so she could reach up on her tiptoes and clasp Sasha on the shoulders. “You have been accused of murder! You just split with your boyfriend because of clown trauma! You haven’t had fun in years! You deserve this, queen!”

You know...maybe she did. 

Georgie pressed a drink into her hands, mysteriously procured from somewhere, and without thinking too hard about it Sasha downed it in one gulp. Georgie whooped, clapping her on the back, and directed her towards the bar. She flashed her platinum credit card at the bartender, and suddenly Sasha was MVP of the night. 

You know, Sasha thought dizzily as she was given a toxic blue drink and pushed onto the dance floor, maybe she did deserve this. Didn’t she deserve to have fun? After the way things ended with Tim, couldn’t she just act like a normal girl and go clubbing with her friends to dance away the pain? She was almost forty, way too old for this, but maybe she could forget for a little bit. She had never had the opportunity as a teenager, not even as a young adult. Couldn’t she do this, before she died?

Maybe women closer to forty than thirty dealt with this with - with book clubs, with sisterhood, whatever. Maybe women closer to forty than thirty were married, had kids of their own. But Sasha was just Sasha, stuck in a literal dead-end job, going nowhere good, and this was all she would ever have. 

Maybe Georgie was right. Why not live, before she died? Everybody on earth died - everybody, that is, except for a small group of people who were willing to sell their soul for the privilege.  At least maybe this way she could have whatever joy she could fit into her life before all opportunity was lost, and she was lost. 

A man sidled up to her, asking for a dance, and she evaded him. But then there was another one, and another one, and Sasha found herself fleeing back to the bar and ordering another drink. Too soon. Way too soon. She found herself digging in her borrowed purse, searching for her phone, wanting to call Tim or talk to him or ask him if they really were broken up so she could have rebound sex with random dudes in bars, but the purse was empty of both a phone and a wallet. That’s right - she had destroyed it. Because the cops were after her. 

Next to her, out of the corner of her eye, a man sat down at a barstool. He said something to the bartender and leaned towards her, mouth spilling something obscured by the crush and heat and sound of the club. He seemed to be asking if he could buy her a drink. Sasha shook her head dizzily, confused and lost. Then he leaned in closer, and Sasha could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Are you sure? I’d like to dance with you!”

Sasha shook her head no again, frantically. 

“Aw, come on -”

Then, as if by magic, Georgie was at her elbow. Unintimidating, not more than one hundred and seventy centimeters, with teased hair and sharp black lipstick and eyeliner, she raised an eyebrow at the guy. But there must have been something in her eyes, or a lack of something, because the guy rapidly slipped off the barstool and melted into the crowd, leaving the drink the bartender slid onto the counter behind. 

As if she had planned it, Georgie easily stole the drink and knocked it back. She tugged Sasha down, yelling into her ear. “Come with me, darling, let’s check out where the real party is.”

Without taking no for an answer, Georgie grabbed Sasha’s hand and tugged her through the outskirts of the crowd, ducking and weaving between small clusters of people and women dancing the night away. Sasha’s vision swam, details and faces lost in the endless ripple of flashing lights and sound, until all she felt was Georgie’s cool hand in hers, and it wasn’t until they emerged from the choppy sea of people into a small hallway off the main room that she felt like she could breathe. Sasha’s head swam with movement and smoke, and she was barely cognizant that they were in a hallway for a bathroom or something. 

But Georgie walked confidently past the bathrooms, into what appeared to be a storage closet. She confidently opened it, halting at the door frame to glance backwards at Sasha. A smile quirked at her bow lips. 

“You coming?”

Sasha, slightly intoxicated though she was, couldn’t fight the skepticism. “This is where the real party is? A supply closet?”

“Oh, my dear Archivist,” Georgie said, smirking slightly. “The world is full of far more delights than you could understand. Follow me, and stay close.”

Then Georgie stepped forward, disappearing into the closet, and as little as Sasha wanted to step inside more dubiously supernatural hallways she wanted to be left alone in this club even less, and she ducked after Georgie into the unknown. 

The unknown, as it turned out, was another club. 

Or, more accurately, a pub. It was a nice pub too, all smoky yellow lights and burnished wood booths. The booths were upholstered in soft and cushy looking brown leather, and the sound where nowhere above a quiet murmur. It didn’t seem to be abandoned, the shadows at some booths deeper than others, but for the life of her Sasha couldn’t puzzle out the faces or figures of anybody at these shadowy corners. There was a single bartender, wiping a grimy glass over and over. He nodded at Georgie when he walked in, and Sasha was forced to wonder how many dubiously physical supernatural bars and hang-outs existed in random back rooms of mundane stores. Were these things just everywhere? Or were there only a few, and so long as you had the right key any door could be an entrance? It was just Sasha’s intuition, but she felt as if it was the latter. 

What would, could Georgie open up for her? What power, what majesty? What world of power and control could Jon give her, that Jon was trying to hard to give her that she kept refusing? Nobody was telling her the cost. Nobody was letting her make a decision. She was being swept up in the wake of giants, and Sasha was just trying to keep her head above water. 

Georgie was still walking confidently down the aisles, and Sasha stumbled trying to keep up. Finally, she came to a stop in a back corner, utterly secluded with a booth that stretched the entire corner, large enough for seven or more people. Georgie turned to Sasha, smiling broadly, and Sasha tried not to feel intimidated. 

“Honey, these are my friends. Girls, this is my new roommate, Sasha James!”

With a flourish, she made a little tah-dah motion, and the smoky yellow lamp above the table flickered on. 

The table was crowded with women, or women appearing people. Absolutely none of them were familiar. No - in the corner, there was one person who was familiar. Michael, blonde hair hurting her eyes in curly ringlets, hands in his coat pockets. He smiled crookedly at her, jarring her adrift. 

“Uh,” Sasha said, confused. Who were these people? “Hello?”

A short East Asian woman in a white tank top and black jeans scowled from where she was slouching in her seat. “One of those Beholding patsies? Please, Georgie, they’re so insufferable.”

“I like this one,” Georgie said cheerfully. She slid into an empty seat, and Sasha cautiously sat next to her. “Play nice, everyone.”

“You’re such a grouch, Jude,” a woman said, leaning forward and looking interestedly at Sasha. Her eyes were dark and big, her head cocked, giving her an almost insectoid air. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person finally, Archivist. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re really making waves in our little community.”

“Patsy Archivist,” a tall and burly white woman with cascading brown hair said shortly, taking long gulps of a pint. “What’s impressive about that?”

“I’m impressed with anyone who puts up with Sims and Magnus long enough,” the insectish woman said. “No offence, Georgie.”

“Oh, they’re insufferable,” Georgie said cheerfully. “Have you heard how those two like to socialize? They go to galas. With those awful little Fairchilds and Lukases and whatever. It’s just tragic.”

“Word,” the insect woman said, raising her glass. The rim seemed to be coated in cobwebs, making Sasha feel vaguely ill. “Much rather have a pint at a nice little pub with friends. But we haven’t introduced ourselves, have we? My name’s Annabelle Cane. I’m sure you’ve heard of me in all those little stories you like.”

Anabelle Cane. Sasha swallowed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“A proxy Archivist she may be,” Michael said serenely, “but perhaps our most successful yet. She’s already coming along so much further than Gertrude ever did.” He winked bizarrely at Sasha. “Michael, but you already know that. They and them, if you please.”

Oh. Sasha blinked at them. “Thanks for...saving my life back there. And Tim’s and Martin’s.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said affably. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in awhile. Always nice to have the Eye owe me a favor.”

“They’re just mad they didn’t get to kill Gertrude,” the brunette said evenly. “Julia Montauk. You should know me too, I think. Is it true you killed someone?”

“I definitely didn’t,” Sasha said heatedly. “It was a set-up.”

“Relax, we’re all killers here,” the woman in a tank top said. She scowled at Sasha. “Jude Perry. What the fuck do those old money ponces think they’re doing, installing another patsy Archivist this late in the game? I would have thought that they learned their lesson after that bitch Gertrude.”

“Archivists are quite slow learners,” a woman piped up. She sat in the corner, strangely oddly. Her skin was shiny and strange in the dim light, almost plasticish, and her dark eyes hadn’t moved from Sasha’s face since she walked in. “Nikola. A pleasure, Archivist.”

“Are you guys all…” Sasha trailed off uncomfortably. “You know?”

“Serial killers?” Julia Mauntauk asked flatly. 

“Inhuman monstrosities of plastic and flesh?” Nikola inquired. 

“Daughters of fear entities that control our every action?” Annabelle said. 

“Embodiments of unknown concepts made sentient, forced into a shape that cannot suit them, locked in flesh and fractal prisons, always screaming in endless turmoil, unable to understand the horrors of the concepts of ourselves, always searching for the sweet release of death that can never quite be obtained, because that which does not live can never die?” Michael said serenely. 

“Assholes?” Jude Perry said flatly. 

“The sexiest Avatars around?” Georgie asked. 

How did Sasha’s life devolve to this point. 

“...yeah,” Sasha said. “Hey, where can I get more drinks?”

Unsurprisingly enough, the drinks came very fast. Service was excellent when you hung out with eldritch women, Sasha supposed. 

The conversion flew thick and fast after that. In Sasha’s experience, joining a new group of established friends meant being ignored for favor of pre-existing dynamics. It was always uncomfortable, and no small part of why she just didn’t join new groups. Tim had never had that problem - he had a loud and persistent personality, the kind that made you pay attention to him. He dominated any room he entered, by force if necessary. It always seemed exhausting to Sasha, but Tim didn’t really seem to have anymore real friends than she did lately. His personality was like an ocean, overwhelming and everywhere, but when his mood turned sour it was just as intense. Gulfs of pleasure, intense pain - it seemed exhausting, to feel so deeply. God knows Sasha didn’t. 

But today, in this group, she seemed to be novel. Maybe new fear avatars were a rare enough thing, or at least ones with Georgie’s seal of approval. They aimed a barrage of questions at her, and Sasha did her best to keep up with each one.

How did Sasha know Georgie? Mostly through a mutual enemy. Oh, fuckin’ Sims, right - you guys friends? No, I hate him. You guys fucking? Ew. Right, right, Sims is a giant prude - actually I heard that he doesn’t really - no, Jon decided a while back he doesn’t do that, and we all respect his decision - ew, though, nobody wants to imagine that. So why are you two friends? We’re roommates, mostly, I’m kinda on the run from the cops. Who’d you kill? Nobody. Who’d that old fucker Bouchard kill? Jurgen Leitner, mostly. 

“Cheers to that!” Julia said abruptly, raising her glass. “Hate that fucker.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Annabelle said, downing her own drink and what seemed like an improbable quantity of spiders. She leaned over the table to where Sasha had hastily been stuffed in, beetle-black eyes gleaming. “But really. What are you doing here?”

“As I said,” Sasha said uncomfortably, “I got framed for murder -”

But Annabelle just waved her hand. “No, no, we know that. I’m asking what are you doing here? With people like us, in a place like us? You’re just a sexy librarian. Your highest goal in life was owning your own cottage house one day. How’d you get wrapped up in the tangled web of our world?”

Sasha’s mouth ran dry, her head spinning in a way that didn’t really seem to have anything to do with the alcohol. How had she ended up like this? Who was to blame?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha said dizzily. “He -”

“Didn’t know you Beholding types were in the process of lying to yourselves,” Annabelle said, casually yet brutally. “No, really.”

Sasha opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally, she said, “I guess I just asked all the wrong questions.”

It was a pretty way of dressing up the real answer: that Sasha didn’t know. 

Maybe her thoughts were obvious, because Georgie cooed sympathetically and slung an arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, honey, it’s not so bad. Not everything happens for a reason. Sometimes it’s just your own rotten luck.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jude called, lifting her glass. “I love my fucking life. It’s hookers, coke, and blow from here to Scotland. The life of a woman with power’s a thousand times better than the life of a woman without, James.”

“What is with you people and hedonism,” Sasha muttered. 

“Why not?” Nikola asked, tilting her head strangely. “Life’s so short when it’s this long. It’s just bread and circuses, Archivist. We all need...entertainment.”

“Humans are always trying to make sense of it all,” Michael said arily. They were digging their fingers into the table, scoring long grooves in it. “When you know there’s no meaning, no purpose, then everything else just...falls away.”

Sasha didn’t know if she believed that, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she said, “What about those Avatars like Magnus or Raynor? They seem really...driven.”

Georgie giggled, light and airy, and leaned in. “That’s because they don’t know.”

She shouldn’t even ask. She shouldn’t - “Know what?”

Georgie smiled, sharp and wicked. “That there’s no point.”

And that was all she would say on that for the night: conversation after that devolved into parties, restaurants, drugs, and conquests. Maybe the women were right, in their own clearly demented way: that without death there was no meaning, when when there was no meaning only pleasure held any significance. If there was no afterlife, no reward or punishment - which Sasha didn’t believe, but they seemed to - then there was no reason not to do what you wanted. To have fun. To take revenge. 

If all Georgie wanted was to have fun, and if all Jon wanted was revenge, then what did Jonah Magnus want? Sasha didn’t know. She had the feeling that if she didn’t figure it out, she wasn’t going to live much longer. 

Why had Jonah Magnus done this to her? What was the point of framing her for murder? She couldn’t do her job like this. What’s the point? 

Half-drunk, head spinning, she found herself vocalizing this. Somehow, Annabelle Cane had ended up sitting next to her, letting spiders run along her slightly too long and too jointed fingers. Annabelle Cane just smiled at her, jaw slightly slacking open to expose teeth. 

“Maybe it’s just to fuck with you,” Annabelle posited. “Why not? Do you think he has another reason?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha groaned. “I don’t know anything. Everything’s confusing and terrible. I could never understand those psychopaths.”

“You won’t make it very far in this line of work if you never ask why,” Annabelle scolded. She paused a second, spider running thoughtfully across her eyeball. “But too many questions damns you just as effectively, I suppose. Hm. Jonah’s quite good, isn’t he.”

“Why me,” Sasha groaned. “Everyone’s trying to keep shit from me, it fuckin’ - it fuckin’ sucks, man. It sucks. Nobody would tell me what’s going on, but I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. Not even Jonah, or Jon, or - or anyone. Nobody but me.”

Annabelle blinked at her, somewhat curiously, before leaning in. Her perfume lingered in the air, a heavy rosy scent. “Do you know something that Jonah doesn’t?”

“Yeah,” Sasha slurred, world fading in and out. “Jonah doesn’t know that Jon -”

Then the world faded into black, and Sasha fell asleep. 

If she had felt too old for this at the nightclub, she definitely felt too old for this hangover. Sasha spent twenty minutes crouched over a toilet bowl, reluctantly shoved the Eggs Benedict in her mouth that Georgie insisted was a hangover cure, somehow, and refused the Bloody Mary that Georgie also insisted was a hangover cure that her Mum used to feed her. The thought of Georgie’s Mum filled Sasha with a deep fear, incapable of imagining somebody who was both likely born in the 1800s and who had raised a hellion like Georgie. 

When Sasha mumbled this to Georgie, she didn’t look offended. She just smiled, strangely fond. “Oh, none of this is my Mum’s fault. She was a darling, her and my Da. My childhood was positively idyllic. All things considered, you know.”

Yes, Sasha thought, struggling to imagine 1910s London in her mind, idyllic. She took another look at Georgie, squinting slightly as her head throbbed. She definitely seemed younger physically than Jon, but Jon had a particular way of carrying age about him that had nothing to do with his appearance. “When did you stop aging?”

“I forget, honestly,” Georgie said airly, sipping her own bloody mary. For some reason, Sasha didn’t believe her. “It always takes a while to notice, you know. I suppose, logically, it would be about when I died the first time.”

That, more than anything, alarmed Sasha. “I thought you couldn’t die.”

“Not permanently,” Georgie said, as if this was somehow obvious. “Eat your eggs, they’ll get cold.” Sasha frantically shoved eggs in her mouth, desperate for the story. But Georgie just sighed and propped her chin on her hand, eyes distant. “You know how it is. Small town girl, grew up in North Birmingham, Alabama - back when it was just a tiny little thing, you know. I wanted to be a star. I always did. Scared of dyin’ in the dirt. If I was gonna die young, I wanted to do it where everybody knew my name. So long as they remember you, it’s no kind of death at all, really.” She sighed, lost in memory. “I could sing so good...so I went to Harlem, ‘cause all my friends and I always had dreams of going to Harlem and making it big singing in the jazz clubs. They didn’t get so far, staying at home with their babies, but I did. Wasn’t really made for babies and such, I think.” Something strange emerged in her words, the last vestiges of a Southern accent. “I was pretty, and I could sing, and I took to the spotlight like a duck to water. It was tough, but man - if it ain’t tough, it ain’t worth it. I worked so hard. Like I was working myself to death, almost.”

She trailed off, birds softly trilling outside, and Sasha was silent. 

Quietly, Georgie began speaking again. “Got into some trouble. You know how it is. I spent dozens of years wondering if it was my fault, if there was something I coulda done differently, zig instead of zag...but now, I don’t think so. Just my own rotten luck, you know. Put my trust in the wrong people. Had the wrong sentence whispered into my ear.” She shrugged listlessly. “Couldn’t handle the truth. Just another girl who couldn’t handle the limelight, that was what they said. But I was set up to fail. All those jazz clubs were ganger run, you couldn’t avoid it. Every girl in that golden age fell prey to those men, same as I did. I just wanted to feel again. Tried everything once, just to feel something.” She sighed, taking another drink. “Got shot. Got back up. I remember it, clear as day. Must have been 1923. I scrubbed the blood out of my show dress and went back on stage that night, cuz you can’t get a rep as a flake. They said, that day...that day was my best performance.”

She trailed off, Sasha finally alert. She wanted more details, almost desperately, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want to risk putting the whammy on her host, even if she wasn’t sure that she could. If Georgie was being purposefully vague...well, Sasha wasn’t entitled to her pain. 

Instead, she said, “I bet you were good.”

Georgie smiled at her wanly, eyes far away. “I was the best.”

They sat in silence for a little while, eating their food, Sasha’s head ringing and mind buzzing. What about this picture was she not understanding? What was so important that she was missing?

Finally, Sasha carefully floated, “I bet you must have met Jon soon after.”

Georgie looked up from her bloody mary, surprised. “Oh, yes. Just a few months after. He must have caught the word on the wind, you know, of that singing girl who got back up after getting shot in the lungs.” She sighed, propping her chin on her hand again. “Saw him in the front row of my club. He was so handsome, and so finely dressed. But there had been something strange in his eyes, you know? Like little marbles, reflecting the lamps. He caught up to me afterwards, and I figured he was just another fan to squeeze dry, but he told me in his funny little accent I’d never heard before that he could help me.” She swallowed, looking away. “That he could help me understand what was happening to me. Why I was having those strange dreams, seeing those strange tendrils. I guess he was right. After I met him, I understood it all. Things moved fast after that.” She smiled weakly at Sasha. “I suppose you know the rest.”

She really didn’t, but Sasha understood the dismissal for what it was. “Yeah. Thanks for telling me all of that.”

“It’s no secret,” Georgie said dismissively. She smiled cunningly. “A hundred years later almost exactly, and what I did to those gangsters was still my finest work. They say that if you pass by an old building on St. Nicholas Avenue, you can still hear the screams. Anyway, I have a meeting with my land development company in an hour, must run, ta!”

On that distressing note Georgie swanned out the door, and Sasha was left alone with nothing but a stack of conspiracy theories, an opulent flat, and bad memories. 

Time seemed to move quickly, yet sluggishly, after that. After another day of writing down literally every Statement she could remember off the top of her head and trying to fit them into the weird and seemingly kind of arbitrary categories that Leitner had given her, she had hit a roadblock. She couldn’t remember any more Statements, she didn’t have access to them, and the ones she did remember she either already sorted or couldn’t dredge up enough memory of them to sort them in a satisfactory way. Either that, or the Statement itself was just incomprehensible - Sasha still didn’t know what the fuck was going on with Tessa’s problem. She tended to have a better memory of the ones that seemingly mentioned the Avatars in the background, just because it had been so startling to actually meet them - and a few even mentioned Jon, usually in context of Salasea or any Eye Statement. 

When Georgie came home that night, they watched another movie and they both studiously avoided mentioning anything supernatural. Best not to take work home with you, even if Sasha had never quite been good at that. 

The next day Sasha did what she should have done in the first place, and hacked into the Magnus Institute server. 

It was seriously, comically easy. Sasha had installed a backdoor connection to the desktop of her work computer from her laptop ages ago, and all she had to do was borrow one of Georgie’s laptops and redownload the program. With an easy virtual desktop she was already in. It was somehow satisfying to see all of her work programs pop up on the borrowed laptop, and it was almost a relief to access the Archive drive that connected all of their computers. More importantly, where they all put their research follow-ups and the spreadsheet that documented the debunked, uncertain, and verified statements. It had gotten to the point where if the statement refused to record on the computer they automatically put it on verified, but what Sasha really wanted from that spreadsheet was the one sentence description they had all put for each Statement. 

From there, it was much easier. Sasha, sick of the disorganized conspiracy theorist aesthetic, made her own spreadsheet and began categorizing the verified Statements that way. Much more reliable than working from memory. 

If only she could actually access the Statements...Sasha’s life would be so much easier if everything could be digitized. The debunked ones were typed up, filed, and recorded, but the verified ones only existed on paper. Couldn’t be typed up, couldn’t be recorded. It was so stupid. 

Sasha checked the clock. Eleven am on a Wednesday. They were definitely all still working. Maybe…

It was an invasion of privacy. Did she actually care about that? No. Was she worried about apparently being locked into an employment contract with an...entity of some sort that preyed on invasions of privacy? No, although she felt like she should. Was she concerned that Jon and Jonah were trying to turn into her a conduit of this entity’s power into the world, probably gradually turning her, if not evil, at least into a giant dick? Somewhat. 

Words echoed through her mind, and Sasha’s fingers halted over the keyboard. Her powers manifesting differently than Jon’s...her unique skill with hacking…

Well, that was just kind of offensive. Sasha had worked hard for her skills. They weren’t given to her by Jon’s weird god. Also - seriously, a god? It was just a malevolent eldritch entity living in a separate dimension that encroached tendrils into Sasha’s life. There was nothing divine about it. That was just offensive. Sasha was a good feminist, transgender Catholic on the run from the law and didn’t worship false idols. 

It was only then that Sasha noticed a folder on the drive that she hadn’t created. It was labelled ‘For the Archivist’. Despite herself, she clicked on it. 

It held a few pdfs. Sasha clicked on one curiously, and saw that they were photocopies of statements. No - of Statements. She was already recognizing this one as one of those spider ones. She quickly printed them all out, conscientious of how easily supernatural files corrupted, and quickly exited the drive and the virtual desktop.

It wasn’t until Sasha was already in the kitchen and pulling down a bottle of Jack that she realized what she was doing. She sighed, replaced it, and fetched herself some sparkling water instead. She drank it slowly as she returned to her laptop and logged remotely into the police database, which she already had a backdoor into. 

It occurred to Sasha, perhaps belatedly, that if the police found her laptop and the incredible variety of highly illegal programs meant explicitly for accessing secure servers she was probably triple going to jail. This time, for something she had actually did. 

All of the hacking had never felt illegal. It had just felt...well, fun and necessary. It had never been about whether or not she should, it had been about if she could. 

Was that how it had started for Jon? Collecting household secrets because he had to, so secure the money and influence he desperately needed, because he could, because it was fun? 

Whatever. Sasha shook herself. She could have her moral crisis after she was no longer on the run from the cops for murder. This wasn’t the time to be squeamish about something that wasn’t hurting anybody. She knew, as Jon probably did, that just because something was illegal didn’t make it wrong. 

It was easy to log onto the police database and check out her own open case. She frequently checked out open homicide cases for fun, but it somehow hit a little different when it was her they were talking about. Incident, Senior Citizen, Offence: First Degree Murder, Location of Arrest: N/A, yeah, yeah, yeah…

One victim, a John Doe. Foul play was suspected...yes that’d be the gunshot wound. No witnesses. Reporting officer’s narrative...Elias Bouchard and Jonathan Sims the Fifth had walked into Head Archivist Sasha James’ office to discuss work with her when they found the body. Both were shocked and called the police...gun found at the scene had her fingerprints and the ballistics matched...suspect still at large. Friends and family had been contacted, everyone denied knowledge of where she was. Suspect had a noted history of mental illness...great…

The officers dispatched had been Alice Tonner and Basira Hussein. Sasha found that strange: Basira had history with one of the witnesses and the suspect, wouldn’t it be unprofessional to send her out? 

There couldn’t be that many sectioned officers, Sasha reasoned. Even if the incident hadn’t officially been sectioned, because the police report still existed, as a general rule if something happened at the Magnus Institute it was sectioned until proven otherwise. Even if the murder itself was seemingly mundane. 

Out of curiosity, she searched up Detective Tonner’s records. Been on the force for a long time, worked her way up the ranks. Very, very few cases and incident reports for a detective who had been on the force as long as she had. Sectioned, obviously, but even Basira had more official cases than she did. When Sasha clicked on the incident reports, they were extremely spotty and strange. Obvious details were omitted or censored. 

Something cold began to creep down Sasha’s spine. She found the arrest records of the latest four people with official records of Detective Tonner arresting them. 

Almost all of them had entered custody with bruises, cuts, and in one case a broken limb. They all had records down as ‘resisting arrest’. Sasha felt sick. 

There was one case that stopped strangely short. A clear perp, a rapist but one with little evidence, who Tonner had quickly caught. That was where the case ended: the report that Tonner had found his hiding spot, but no arrest, no trial, no prison sentence. When Sasha investigated the perp, she found that he had unceremoniously vanished shortly after Tonner had reported that she had found his hiding spot. A month later, a death certificate had been filed. 

Sasha stared at the death certificate, nauseated. This was who she was dealing with. A vigilante, some batshit pig who had obviously decided that the law was best taken into her own hands. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy, but...if anybody looked at Sasha’s case on paper, they’d say the same thing. 

And that was just the cases on record. It was the only obvious instance Sasha could see of Tonner having offed someone just because she felt like it, but cops were good at covering shit like that up. How many other arrest records had fallen in the cracks? How many other dead perps that nobody gave a shit about? How many sectioned cases? 

God, Sasha was fucked. 

She begged off hanging out with Georgie that night, instead staying in bed with the covers pulled tight over her head as if that could ever protect her. Why was Jonah doing this to her? What did he have to gain? If he wanted her to die a mysterious death in the bottom of a ditch, why wasn’t he man enough to do it himself?

Tonner was going to murder her, Sasha thought hysterically, and she was going to pat herself on the back for keeping another monster off the streets. 

And Jon knew. The fucking hypocrite. He wasn’t going to help her. Nobody was. But, god, she was so alone…

The next morning, as if she knew, Georgie slipped Sasha a burner phone over the breakfast table as they both robotically ate quiches. 

“It should be untraceable, but just know that anybody you call you’re putting at serious risk,” Georgie warned, before her expression softened. “This’ll all be over soon, honey. I promise.”

“Did Jonah tell you that?” Sasha asked bitterly. 

“Nah. I just know those two.” Georgie delicately ate a forkful of quiche. “They get bored of terrorizing humans pretty quickly. Now, Michael’s a different story. They’ll terrorize someone for decades. I’ve seen them do it!”

“Great,” Sasha said. 

It seemed to be at this point that Georgie realized she was actually making Sasha feel much worse, because a slightly panicked expression crossed her face and she quickly reached out to pat Sasha on the hand. “But I’m sure they won’t do that to you,” Georgie said quickly. “They love you! Jon especially. Jonah’s just on another of his little power trips right now, he’ll get over it. And Jon, like, feels really bad about this whole thing. He’s been super annoying about it, actually -”

“See,” Sasha said, standing up to clear away her dishes, “I would rather handle an enemy who obviously wants to kill me than a friend whose good side I always have to be careful to stay on, who I can’t afford to ever make mad. I guess that’s the only difference left between me and you people.”

She angrily put her dishes in the sink, where the housekeeper would do them, and stalked to what was rapidly becoming her room, slamming the door. 

Flopping down on the bed, she stared at the burner phone. Tim wouldn’t be at work yet. They could talk. They could - 

Do what? Get back together? Split up? Could he explain, beg for her forgiveness? Did she have to apologize too? Sasha didn’t understand. 

That was rare for her. She understood a lot of things, or at least she thought she did. Maybe she had been lying to herself, about everything: that her and Tim were a good idea, that Martin was sketchy,  that Jon was evil, that Jon was kind, that Georgie just wanted to help her, that there was nothing that Jonah Magnus would do to her, that she was safe and human and a good person. 

God, her capacity for self-delusion was ridiculous. But maybe people needed a little bit of self-delusion to survive. Nobody could live in complete honesty, in full sight of their flaws and shortcomings. You could burn away, living like that. 

No. No time or space for fear. Sasha wasn’t afraid of anything. If she kept telling herself that, maybe it would be true. She desperately punched in a number that she didn’t remember memorizing, holding the phone desperately to her ear, her one connection to humanity. 

It rung, and rung, and one, and Sasha’s heart thumped in her chest. 

Finally, the ringing stopped, and a slightly sleepy voice punctuated the dead air. “Hello?”

“Tim, it’s me,” Sasha burst out, everything she wanted to say to him rushing through her throat and choking her, and she burst into tears. 

Distantly, through the sound of her crying, she could hear Tim on the other side losing his shit, and eventually wrangling himself to calmness. 

It was almost funny, how they could work each other up like that. Eventually, by the time Sasha had managed to wrangle her own crying, Tim had calmed himself down enough that he was able to clumsily try to cheer her up. 

“We’re all fine. Everyone’s perfectly safe. Martin’s gotten, uh, even more annoying since you left, and we’ve technically hired Melanie, which is - not good but it’s funny? Are you still crying? Please don’t still be crying.”

“I’m fine,” Sasha hiccuped. She rubbed at her red eyes. God, she’d missed him. “Tim, what happened?”

The line was silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Is this line secure?”

“Uh - probably? I mean -” Sasha quickly checked herself. She didn’t want to mention Georgie. The less he knew the better. “ - it’s a burner, if that’s what you’re asking, and I’m not the one who bought it.”

“Where are you living?” Tim asked harshly. “Are you homeless? You have to come stay with me, I can -”

“You mean the first place Tonner will look?” Sasha shot back. “No. I’m safe, I’m dry, things are fine. That’s all you need to know.” She softened her voice. “I promise, if it was safe I’d tell you more. I want to see you again. Tim, I - I’m really sorry.”

Tim laughed hoarsely, without humor. “Shouldn’t it be me saying that? I’m the one who thought you were a monster.”

“...yeah, that one’s on you.” Sasha sighed miserably, lying down on her bed, wishing Tim was next to her. “I am, though. A monster, I mean. Tim, I - I’m definitely not entirely human anymore.”

“God, Sash, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Tim said, laughing slightly again. “Can you just tell me what happened? I know you didn’t fucking do it. That dick Bouchard keeps playing dumb and his shitlead lackey keeps on avoiding the Archives. I bet Sims killed that old man, right? He totally did. Martin keeps on saying that his precious Jon wouldn’t let you take the fall for something he did, but I’m not so sure.”

“I...it’s more complicated than that.”

Sasha explained in short order. For once, Tim was totally silent the entire time, letting Sasha dispassionately recite the entire sad story. She finished it at Michael helping her escape, not detailing where she had been dropped off. 

Finally, after a long silence, Tim said, “So this is my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Sasha said harshly. “You were manipulated, same as I was.”

“I’m the idiot who -”

“Yes, you were being an idiot. You should have talked to me, talked to anyone. You should have done anything other than your homicidal partner in crime. You definitely shouldn’t have been buying a fucking black market gun when I know for a fact you have no idea how to shoot. But you tried playing hero and you played straight into Magnus’ hands. You fucked up. Okay? Now let’s try to do better.”

More silence, until Tim sighed. “Can’t believe the Douche’s Jonah Magnus. Explains why Sims is always playing lackey for him. Can’t wait to spill to Martin how his boyfriend framed his boss for murder.”

Sasha chewed her lip, uncertain. She hadn’t shared the details of Jonah and Jon’s conversation too closely - it had seemed private. “See, I’m not sure this is...entirely Jon’s fault.”

Tim groaned. “Not you too! Why is everyone but me and Melanie a fucking Sims apologist?”

“Jon and Jonah are...they’re weird, okay?” Sasha moved to chewing her hair, uncertain of how to describe it. If it should even be described. It seemed so private, so unsuitable to name...but maybe everybody thinking that was how these things stayed perpetuated for so long. “I think Jonah’s kind of, you know, abusive?”

The line went silent again. 

“Wow,” Tim said finally, “Martin’s going to be so disappointed his boyfriend’s taken.”

“They’re just friends! I think. I’m like, ninety percent sure. But you didn’t hear them, Tim. They’re really...it’s messed up. Trust me.”

“Jesus, Sash, why are you defending someone who fucked all of us over like this? Sims is a big boy, he’s responsible for his own shitty decisions and the shitty company he keeps.” Tim snorted. “I’ve heard them talk, anyway. If anything, Magnus is the one always giving into Sims and his little tantrums. Jesus, I just want to throttle the both of them.”

“Maybe you need to get over your anger issues and focus on actually solving the problem for once,” Sasha snapped. “Nobody has time for your revenge fantasy, Tim! We need to fix all of this.”

“Which one is it, Sash?” Tim asked coldly. “Was I manipulated, or was it my anger issues and hero complex? Are you going to decide if this is my fault or not?”

Sasha’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t know how to explain to him what she knew - that it was everything, that it was all of the above, that he was manipulated through his anger issues and hero complex, that Tim had been pushed in a direction but he had taken the steps all by himself. But she couldn’t blame him entirely, because Sasha had been manipulated the same way, and so had Jon and Martin and Georgie, and if she started thinking like that then she would have to start hating the whole damn world. 

“Tim, are we going to stay together?” Sasha whispered, broken-hearted. “Can we even still be together? I love you. I want you here with me. But there’s so much ugliness that’s growing between us. I don’t know if this can be fixed.”

A long silence again. Sasha wanted to be there with him, to read his face, to see what he was thinking. She had always understood him so well, or at least she thought that he did. 

“I love you too,” Tim said finally. “I want to fix this too. I - I don’t know, Sasha. I love you. The thought of you alone, in danger, and not even knowing where you are, is fucking me up. It’s like Danny all over again, Sasha, I can’t handle this. Can we have this conversation again when I know you’re safe?”

“Okay,” Sasha said, and she knew that this was probably the best both of them could do right now. “Are we staying together?”

“...I don’t know.”

“...are we breaking up?”

“...still don’t know.”

“Okay,” Sasha repeated again, and sighed. “I won’t call you from this phone twice. I’m doing the best I can here. I’m safe, I think. Things will be okay, Tim.”

“Sash,” Tim said, “I don’t remember the last time things were okay.”

And neither did she, and they both knew it, and she hung up on him without saying anything further. She lay on the bed, listening faintly to the sound of the housekeeper vacuuming, staring up at the fan as it beat in a steady rhythm on the ceiling. 

Was Tim right? Was she reading too much into Jon and Jonah? It wasn’t her job to fix Jon, to puzzle out his weird psychology. Maybe he was just an asshole without a spine,and there wasn’t anything more to that.

No. Sasha didn’t believe that. This was a puzzle that she hadn’t solved yet, and she had the feeling that at the heart of this puzzle was the key to finally keeping herself and Tim safe. She couldn’t abide a mystery, couldn’t trick herself into thinking that the truth wasn’t important. The truth was all Sasha had. She couldn’t close her eyes to it, that awful and ugly reality. 

Tim...he had been such a bad idea. But he had always been her favorite one: the way he could always cheer her up, his bright and bold smile, his courage and heart and sensitivity and vulnerability. He had loved her, truly and wholly, for who she was. He knew the ugly corners of her and loved them as much as he loved her best attributes. 

Was that still true? Was Sasha turning into a person that Tim just couldn’t love? Was Tim turning into someone that Sasha couldn’t love? 

People changed. Sometimes they changed apart. And for some strange reason, Sasha just couldn’t bear the thought of that. 

Lying on the bed of a grim reaper, crying like a broken-hearted teenager, Sasha didn’t notice that the housekeeper’s vacuum had stopped running. She didn’t notice the knock on the door, or the creak of the door opening, or the gentle rise and fall of voices. She only heard it when there was a soft knock at her own door, and she was forced to roll off the bed to open her bedroom door. 

Standing in front of her, looking nervous, was the housekeeper. Standing behind her was Jonathan Sims. 

He looked pretty bad, Sasha noted clinically. Eye bags, even more pronounced than usual, stood starkly under his eyes, and his hair wasn’t as cropped short and styled as it usually was. It had grown out a little, making Jon look more like a tired modern guy walking the streets of London than a centuries old immortal psychic vampire. He was still dressed in a suit, as he always was, but the suit jacket was off and his dress shirt was rolled up to the elbow.

He stared at Sasha, probably registering every minute change in her appearance as she did his, before glancing down at the housekeeper. “You’re excused for the day. Thank you for your time.”

He passed her something - probably neatly folded bills - and nodded at her as she shakily nodded back and escaped the flat as quickly as possible. Jon stepped backwards in the hallway, gesturing for her to come out, and walked back into the living room. Because Sasha was just slightly too prideful to barricade herself in the bedroom, and partly because she wasn’t sure that Jon wouldn’t break into a woman’s bedroom, she stepped out into the grandiose yet cluttered living room with him. He stood in the center, hands in his pockets, looking over the flat with a clinical eye. 

“Georgie’s sense of interior decoration is as immaculate as ever,” Jon noted clinically. “She used to spend months getting every house we ever lived in just right. Said it was her job as lady of the household. She had never been a lady of any household, of course, not in the way that Jonah and I had once known - but her fun’s important to her, and it doesn’t hurt anybody important.” He sniffed slightly. “You coming to stay here was for the best after all. She’s been lonely, I think.” 

“I’m staying here because I’m homeless,” Sasha said flatly. For the first time, she noticed a small manila envelope under his arm, tucked slightly into his back pocket. “Because of you.”

“I’ve kept your flat for you,” Jon said eagerly, stepping forward, and letting his cold mask fall. In him now was something eager, something almost pleading. Sasha forced herself not to step away. “All of your possessions are intact, and I can get your bank accounts unfrozen easily enough. Once all of this blows over, your life can be right back to normal.”

“Wow,” Sasha drawled, crossing her arms, “how kind. Were you so busy being this nice to me that you forgot that Georgie barred you from this flat because I don’t want to fucking look at you?”

“She’ll get over it,” Jon said dismissively. “She’s been wanting us to make up, anyhow.” He stepped closer again, fluorescent green eyes fixed on her large and warm brown ones, and Sasha fought the tingle crawling up her spine. “Sasha, I really am sorry. Jonah was out of line in what he did. But - but you know, he really does know best. Even if it doesn’t seem so. What we’re doing now, it’s for the best for your development. I promise this will all blow over soon, and things will be better. For all of us.”

“For a subject of a truth god,” Sasha said, voice dripping sarcasm, “you have a unique ability to lie to yourself.”

Jon puffed up, scowling down at her. “That’s ridiculous. I -”

“Does Jonah Magnus respect you?” Sasha pressed. 

Jon...hesitated, and they both saw it. Jon frantically tried to cover, quickly saying, “Of course he does. I’m his partner, and we’ve been partners for two hundred years. There’s nobody on earth he respects more than me. There’s nobody he respects but me.”

“Then why does he talk to you like you’re an idiot?”

“He talks to everyone like that.”

“Because he doesn’t respect anyone but you. You just said that. But if he respects you, then wouldn’t he talk to you differently?”

There it is - Jon’s shoulders hunched slightly, unconsciously on the defensive. “Does he give you equal input on decisions?”

“I always give my -”

“Does he listen to them?”

Jon was silent. Finally, slowly, he said, “Jonah was right. He said you’d get like this.”

Fuck. Sasha’s heart sank, even as her jaw dropped in incredulity. She had lost him. “You must be kidding.”

“He said you’d get jealous.” Jon crossed his arms, turning slightly away from her, but what he clearly meant to be a closed-off stance just seemed defensive. “He said that you’d get upset that I’m more loyal to him than to you. What we’re doing now is for your own good, Miss James. You’ll see one day that this - this unpleasantness is helping you grow.”

Unpleasantness? Unpleasantness?! Putting her life at risk was an inconvenience? “I’ll see, huh?” Sasha said bitterly. “Just like you saw? Just like how you changed your mind from this being cruel and traumatic to it being a momentary unpleasantness?” She barked a short laugh, not very humorous at all. “I was there. He called you stupid, he said that you couldn’t trust anybody but him, and he called you an idiot. Are those the words of someone who respects you? Of someone who even likes you?”

Jon stiffened, mouth tightening, and he broke eye contact and looked away. “Don’t concern yourself with the private business between Jonah and I.”

“When you’re having the conversation over a cooling corpse that you framed me for then you’re making it my business, you absolute shitheel!” Sasha yelled, finally losing her temper. “Your bullshit is ruining my life! Your complete inability to stand up to that sack of shit is ruining my life!”

“Shut up!” Jon yelled, seemingly having taken her losing her temper as permission to lose his. Distantly, Sasha was aware of his stupid this must have looked: two fully grown adults, yelling in a living room like children. “You’re a spoiled child who doesn’t know anything! All I’ve ever done is try to help you, and you spit in my face! You’re no better than Martin!”

Abruptly, strangely, Jon stopped short. He seemed almost embarrassed, almost in pain. 

And just like that, Sasha knew. “He’s not letting you see Martin, is he.”

For just a split second, Jon’s expression crumpled, but he forced it back into his haughty mask. “I decided that it was best I didn’t waste my time with manipulative traitors.”

“Was that your idea?” Sasha asked flatly, abruptly extremely tired. “Or was it Jonah’s?”

Jon was silent. They both knew the answer. 

“If you walked up to Jonah now and told him that you wanted to start dating Martin, do you think that you’d leave that conversation still wanting to do it? Or would you somehow decide, all by yourself, that you’ll end up doing what Jonah wants anyway?”

Jon didn’t say anything.

A strange mix of emotions swirled in Sasha’s stomach. Anger and disgust mixed with pity and sadness. What had Jon been like, before he met Jonah Magnus? Had he been a good person?

But maybe that wasn’t so important. Maybe the question that had to be asked was - what kind of person would Jonathan Sims be without Jonah Magnus in his life?

All at once, the fight seemed to go out of Jon. His shoulders sagged, and he abruptly deflated. He looked down at the ground, ashamed and aware of it. He had always been aware of it. He had just been lying to himself. Maybe it was impossible to live without it. 

“I don’t know what to do without him,” Jon said quietly. “I’ve never - I need him.”

“You don’t,” Sasha said, abruptly exhausted. “You want to help me, Jon? You want to protect me and Martin? You can’t do that while staying friends with Jonah Magnus. You have to choose. So long as you stay close to him, you are going to stay within his complete control. That’s what he does. He controls everybody and everything. And you’re letting him. You’re justifying it. You’re doing his work for him. Everybody around him is - even Georgie. There are two people in your life who are trying to get you away from him, and he’s trying to convince you to cut them out of your life. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Weakly, he said, “You’re wrong.”

“I need your help, Jon,” Sasha whispered, and to her shame found her voice cracking. “I need someone on my side. I can do it alone, but - but I’m scared. And I don’t want to. I need help. I’m scared.”

But she knew, even as she said it, that Jon was scared too. He couldn’t reach out a hand to her - not now, not here. Jon had carried around his fear for hundreds of years, pushing it down and pretending it wasn’t there, and it informed everything he’d ever done. Scrambling for power, exerting that power, desperately dominating even as he was dominated - it stemmed from that fear, all of it. And Jonah Magnus kept those flames fanned, because a Jon who was afraid was a Jon who could be controlled. 

A Sasha who was afraid, who was isolated, who was trapped, was one who could be controlled. 

The realization was dizzying. Somehow, the thought that kept running through her mind was - who’d do that? Who was such a terrible person that they’d go through all that trouble, all of that plotting, just to make someone suffer? Not because they disliked them, not in revenge, not because of any human emotion - but just because it was convenient? Useful?

Because you could?

So this was what power did to a person, Sasha realized. So this was what power and immortality and money and supernatural gifts did to you. It made you someone who Sasha could never hope to understand, whose depths of depravity she could never truly rationalize. To Sasha, who prided herself on knowing people and being able to understand them and their motives - it was almost a relief, almost a blessing, that she couldn’t possibly understand the motives of Jonah Magnus at all. 

Jon stared at her, fluorescent green eyes wide, and for just a minute she could see the fear that she knew was there written all over his face. For just a minute, Sasha and Jon were scared together, both trapped in tumultuous waters that they couldn’t control. For the first time Sasha empathized with Jon. 

Jonah Magnus was somebody that Sasha could never understand. But Jon was, and for the first time Sasha knew what Martin meant when he said that he felt as if Jon had been a good person, a long time ago. 

You can’t understand someone and hate them. Not really. You could be angry, upset, betrayed...but if you really understood someone, backwards and forwards, true hate was difficult to find. 

“I have to go,” Jon said, almost dizzily. He shoved the manila folder at her, both of them having forgotten that it was even there in the first place. He glanced at it, frightened and guilty. “Be - be careful when meeting Jude Perry. Don’t take her at her word. I have to go.”

He fled, as if the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at his heels, and Sasha was left standing in an opulent hallway, clutching a manila folder as if it was a time bomb, completely certain that it was meant to hurt her and cause her pain and damage her, completely certain that she was going to read it anyway. 

Like Jon - what choice did she have? 

But as she stumbled back to her room, as she sat down on the comfortable chair and thumbed on the tape recorder that sat at the desk, the words of Jonathan Sims ran through her mind. His warning. A clumsy attempt at protection. At the very least, a signifier of desire. 

Sasha knew, as she sometimes knew things, that Jon had started out somebody who deeply desired to protect others like him. To take revenge, to grab power, yes, but also to spread that precious knowledge and resources around. He had never stopped thinking of himself as one of those vulnerable people, people who society had stepped on and ground into the dirt. Deep down he had just wanted things to be fair, wanted some justice in the world. Jon, at one point, had only wanted to help. 

Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. 

“Statement of Sasha James, Head Archivist…”

#my writing #YES I KNOW THIS IS TOO LONG FOR A TUMBLR POST BUT CONSIDER: ITS NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR AO3 AND MY STANDARDS ARE INSANE #jonathan sims #georgie barker #sasha james #archivist!sasha #human relations #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #jonmartin #jason's tims age

[iphigeniainaulis]

Pairing: Comte x MC

Warnings: It’s my first time writing fanfic in English

‘It was her last week in 19th century Paris when a fever suddenly changed her plans’

Golden eyes raised anxiously. Gaze touching on her profile. So bright, so ephemeral as if she was not a human. She was so vulnerable because of her sincerity and strong because of her weaknesses it definitely caught him off guard every single moment they were together. It made him forget all those words he was ready to use, all those pitiful, empty phrases created only to hide his dark secrets, his own monster who had been torturing him for all those months. 

Fear

He was awfully, desperately afraid of her. Afraid of those feelings she awakened in him. Excitement when his palms were getting sweaty and his heartbeat was ready to punch a hole in his chest just the moment he heard the rustle of her dress when she was delivering daily mail to the residents. Agony of suspense when he was trying to guess whether her smiling face would come into view or she would just pass by with a general ‘Good day, Comte’. 

Sometimes she came to him with a warm smile that touched her lips and sparked myriads of orange and golden stars in her beautiful eyes, a scene that spread warmth and gentleness through his tired heart. It was such a strange feeling, like if he had already experienced it. Or was it somebody else? A small boy with golden eyes who was ready to capture the whole world. Innocent. Curious. Ready to discover. Ready to love. 

And sometimes she was quiet with the seal of sadness on her face and shadows of sorrow in her eyes. Usually, he tried to distract her from her thoughts by making tea and chatting. But sometimes that wasn't enough. Although she pretended to be happy, he knew when she was lying. Her lips. She was biting them. And sometimes even cluck her tongue. He knew all those little secrets of hers. He learned it slowly every day and couldn't afford to lose even a small detail. He needed it. Because the only thought of  her going away forever was driving him crazy. He needed it to paint her portrait in his mind, to hide it as far as possible, so after she’d gone and taken all the light from him, he could get it from his memory and remind himself that he experienced true happiness one last time.   

She was here. With him. That what really mattered. That was both his blessing and his punishment. 

Because her presence promised happiness and freedom. Her eyes promised peace. Because she was ready. Ready to accept him without any ‘no’ or ‘if’. Ready to accept him with all his weaknesses, fears, insecurities and worries. Accept his eternal pain that he didn't have a cure for and eternal sadness that always followed him  no matter how hard he tried.

She begged him. Begged to live in their present, to fall into that shining sea of life and joy with her, survive its storms and meet the consequences together. 

She protected. Held him in her arms and saved him from the ghost of the past, from his fear of loneliness, from thousands of dark nights without sleep, without dreams. She promised. 

She promised things he couldn't accept, he got no right. Not with her.  

Loving her would be so easy. He knew that. Taste her breath on her lips when the first sun rays greet them in their room. Hold heavy locks in his hands and smell the scent of lavender soap and herbage. Exchange quick kisses, so light but so necessary, while daily breaks. Talk. Keep silent. Watch, devour with eyes when she sits on his lap like a cat greedy for attention and love of her owner.  Wearing the clothes he chose. Sparkling from head to toe because of all those bracelets, rings and necklaces he bought. Whisper sweet nothings and listen to her shy giggling which resonated through him like bell rings in church. She was his church, his prey, but, God save him, never she was a saint to him.

Take her. Greedy, almost desperately. Touch this delicate place on her throat where he can feel her pulse, the smell of her sweet blood, where he can hear her heart beating. Here. Alive. He could only imagine how she would sound when his arms touched the cool skin of her nipples, how she would put her head back moaning louder and louder as the rain of short hot kisses slowly began to fall on her belly, thighs, found her intimate place and then cherished it with all the gentleness and love in the world.  He wanted to see how this pretty face of hers would slowly become covered with sweat, how her cheeks would blush with the color of roses, how her clouded eyes would be searching for him, how swollen lips would say ‘I lov...’ 

‘Why did you come? Again...’

Her body was trying to fight the temperature and the weight of a heavy duvet that he carefully brought to her room the first night she felt sick. Her face wasn't red and exhausted and her eyes were as clear as always. Her eyes...She looked at him so desperately that he felt an immediate urge to turn away. To push her back, not to let them become closer was his main purpose from the very beginning of their ‘relationships’. Well, this was the voice of his common sense. But what about his heart?

Comte forced a smile so easily that it came as a surprise to him. It was just as easy as turning a key in the lock.

‘As I said before, ma cherie, I just don't want  to overwork Sebastian. Since you fell sick he has been doing all the chores by himself again...  ’  

‘You didn't answer the question’

The smile he wore was about to break. Comte quickly, probably, too quickly, rushed to the table with medicine, pretending that he saw the labels on all those bottles for the first time.

‘Arthur will come back soon. You had better sleep now because...’ 

‘Why did you come?’

He thought it would be easy. To lie as he did every time he saw her trying to become closer. Closer than he used to be with people. Closer than he could allow her to be. 

And he was a fool. 

He was ready to see anything in her gaze. Hate, disgust, anger...He was ready or at least he thought so. But he saw nothing like that.

Nothing except quiet, mournful, gentle sadness. ‘I know what you feel. I want to take your pain. But I can't. So instead allow me to bear this pain with you. I am here’.

He had to go. Or he could lose. Run to her bed, fall to his knees and ask her to be with him forever. Never ever go away. 

‘As I said, Arthur will see you later. Now, have a rest, cherie. I can't let you go back home with a fever like that.’

The way to his office seemed like it didn't have an end. He was a coward. And a fool. He pushed away the only woman who wanted to be with him. Who he wanted to be with him. But this was his fate. Right?

The scenery outside the mansion caught his view. Comte slowed the pace. In the night sky thousands of snowflakes were dancing their first and last waltz. Every snowflake had it’s unique shape and pattern. Every snowflake had only a few seconds to dance. Another second, and it would drop. Comte suddenly thought:

‘Please, never fall...’ 

P.S. I don't know why tumblr decided to cut this part (*angry noises*), but here should be many thanks to @incorrect-ikevamp-quotes​ who writes amazing and detailed (I mean DETAILED) posts about Ikemen Vampire and #fangdadpropaganda. 

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen comte

[olivieblake]

So I have a lot of feelings

Hello Olivie! First of all, I want to apologise for my messy english as it isn’t my first language and i get really anxious about doing mistakes. don’t worry about it! I regularly feel stupid that at best I only speak one and a half. 

Okay, now that i’ve got that out of the way: boy, oh boy, have i got some feelings. 

I discovered you, I think, back in 2017?, when you started writing Nobility. I stumbled by accident by that little fanfiction of yours, and let me tell you, I was hooked. I loved the fierceness and rage you gave your female characters. They were allowed to scream, to fail, to be messy, and cruel and complicated and I LOVED IT. always nice to hear! Back then I sent you an ask saying your little experiment of suddenly changing from a narrative voice to theatrical one was a delight. I do remember that ask. A lot of people didn’t care for it, so I remember being especially grateful to hear you thought it was interesting. It was my dream to, one day, have prose as elegant charming and captivating as yours. After you finished it (and I suppose I should come clean from my sins and confess I’m silent reader type, too shy to leave any comments on any work of fiction, feeling I wouldn’t be able to convey all of my emotions correctly and in a way the author could enjoy just so you know, this is definitely a misconception. We don’t expect any brilliant commentary! We just want to know we’re not alone here in the internet void. If you read something I wrote and it made you feel something, I always want to know about it.). After skimming through some the stories on Amortentia, I got busy with life and I kinda forgot about you. lol. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Fast foward in time, and I don’t now why but a few months ago, while you were in the middle of writing Divinaton for Skeptics, I stumbled upon you once again.  Once again I has fallen in love with your writing, your characters and your worlds. This time I stayed, tough, and followed Lady Vengeance from start to finish, waiting for each chapter as a lost man awaits the water on a desert. After you tied the ribbon with that story, I, once again, just gave it the customary kudos and felt the mandatory guilt for not doing much more. this has been a tough year for me, so it’s nice to hear you came back!

Around this time, I vagely remember seeing a post of yours saying something along the lines of how it seemed that people were losing interest in your writing and how that made you feel. sigh, yes It was this moment that made me decide: i would like to do more. I would like to do more for this person that pours her heart and soul into some wonderful stories we have the privilige to be able to read for free. awww this is so nice of you to say So, looking through your books descriptions, I bought the Kindle version of Fairytales of the Macabre (i would love to get the physical copies someday, but as of right now i’m a broke college student it seems i will have to wait jajaja yeah, I get it. I try to price everything as low as possible so it’s easier for you to have some version, doesn’t matter which). Life kinda got in the way, with the typical stuff you can spect: mental health got worse, medication didn’t seem to help, I know this story well lots of workload, trying to study as for to pass the car license writing exam… I kinda forgot about the book. understandable

It wasn’t until one month early, while i was in a particulary boring two hours class, that i decided to take a peek. And bo, oh boy, I had devoured the entire thing at the end of the class. (And being sincere with you, omg if it wasn’t torture having to contain my giggles of delight and fangirl thoughts while reading it). I fell in love: I smiled with Pins and Needles, gave my heart away to the Animation Games, and loved the twist at the end of Sensual Tales for Carnal Pleasures. Fates and Consequences hooked me with its premise and i stayed for the themes it tackled. I’m happy to hear it!

Honestly, after a months long reader’s block (and a years worth writer’s block too), being able to read something else than fanfictions —and a REALLY GOOD FICTION at that— was a sweet liberation. And that freedom felt so good I decided to buy Midsummer Night Dreams —and gave FotM a 5 stars on Goodreads—. thank you so much! Life got on my way once again, and it wasn’t up until two days ago, when my heart, mind and soul were shaking ‘cos of the hunger of the ghost of my depression, that I opened Midsummer. And once again, after doing so, I just couldn’t stop. honestly I do think the fairytale collections are a great choice to read post-depression. a lot of the stories tackle themes of loneliness and finding yourself—I wrote a lot of them from a place of personal longing, so I can see why it might help. they’re very wistful stories. I read it in class, on the bus on my way home, while eating out in bars. Like that, it was finished in no time. And I felt admiration for your entire persona once more: the power and love for writing you can express through words has no name, but i love it to my core (plus, your prose is like a good hot chocolate, sweet and sating, with a bitter touch at the end, and a melancholic feeling after having finished it oooh I love that). I even started fangirling (and nagging ) to a friend who isn’t a particular fan of the romance genre about how she MUST read your works. thank you so much! I’m so honored.

Today, after putting the 5 starts on Goodreads for Midsummer, I gifted myself with The Lovers Grim, which i suspect will be a victim to my hunger on my flight to go back home. I hope you like it! It’s definitely my favorite of the three. And after seeing it on my Kindle, i gathered my courage and decided that even if I was too shy to review each and every one of your works or/and chapters, I would like to send you this love letter on your Tumblr, because not only have your works been my solace on difficult times, but because I feel you deserve to now how much you impact and help your readers, both with your youtube videos —which, goddammit, i have to catch up to— and your works. I do appreciate that more than I can say. It can be very lonely on this side of the screen, so it can often be an enormous comfort to hear from you. 

Keep writing and bringing joy, I beg you. And Happy Holidays to you <3 You are so sweet. Thank you so much for supporting me and my work. Reading my books is the absolute nicest thing you could ever possibly do for me!

PD: I still haven’t read any of the Advent prompts, but as a woman studying on STEM right now (civil engineering), i am thrilled to get to it asap. they’ll be here for you when you’re ready!

PD 2: Sorry for the long ass post u_u. no problem. I’d rather hear it than not!

#submission #nobility #how lady vengeance takes her tea #divination for skeptics #fairytales of the macabre #midsummer night dreams #the lovers grim #original work #filling the bucket

[writingarchangels]

Hail the King (Nickifer)

Pairing: Nick/Lucifer

Characters: Nick, Lucifer, Castiel, Sam, Dean & Chuck

Word count: 1.5K (first chapter)

Total word count: WIP

Triggers: Dark fic, mild gore, blood, Nick has a hammer, major character death, (smut in a later chapter), loads of death and destruction - I think I got all now? Let’s just say that this is darker than canon and not for those faint by heart

Spoiler warnings: s14e19 Jack in the Box & s14e20 Moriah

Written for the ‘Dark!AU’ square of the Lucifer Bingo (the entire story, more or less) & the ‘Nick’ square of the Swan Song Bingo. A later chapter will be used for the ‘Wing Kink’ square of the Lucifer Bingo.

I also made an artwork to go by my story :) Added at the bottom

Mod tags: @swansongbingo @spnluciferbingo

Also this story WILL NOT be continued on Tumblr. I don’t post full stories on Tumblr. If you like to follow this story, subscribe to it on AO3 - I will add a link at the very bottom of this.

Rising from the fires of Hell with dark promises of death and vengeance, Nick sets out on a mission to burn down the world and bring his beloved angel back to his side.

Crowned the King of Hell and belonging to a new and powerful species, he faces down his enemies in order to archive his goals.

They had never seen anything like him before. Even the most skilled demon didn’t know how to handle him, and they groveled before this man who had lost all and didn’t know fear. Out of all the damned souls on the racks, he didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t beg… he was just quiet with this feral smile on his face and eyes burning with unspoken promises of destruction and death. Every single demon in Hell knew that when he turned… he would bring a whole storm with him of the likes that no one had ever seen before.

He would force the world down upon his knees, the demons knew deep within their cursed beings. And they couldn’t wait for that moment to come.

Already they had begun to whisper his name amongst each other, whispers about the still crownless king of the fallen men. They spoke of his ruthlessness and his bloodlust, how he stood up against the Winchester’s and led them when no one else would while still being a mortal man, and how close he was to Lucifer and all remembered his willingness to bring him back - the Great Archangel who was the Father of All.

It wasn’t a secret that demons weren’t fond of humanity. But this one? Lucifer made him perfect.

And what a demon he would become, everyone knew.

~~

It’s time.

Time was fluid in Hell. An hour became days. Days turned into weeks, which became months and then years. Years until he turned and said goodbye to the last shreds of his humanity.

Nick’s hands balled into fists and a smile slowly formed on his lips as he felt the last of his soul burn away and turn into smoke and ashes. The newly created demon tilted up his head and breathed in deep as the screams of Hell rose up all around him. The scent of sulfur and ashes strong. Once he had been the tortured, and then he became the torturer. Looking up at the poor soul strapped up before him, he carelessly tossed his tools towards a demon standing close-by. He had better things to do and something to take care of. The demon gave him a wide-eyed look, bowing her head and stepping back when realizing what had happened.

Walking through the halls of Hell, all demons watched him go silently, following him almost doubtfully yet with a certain purpose to their steps. No one stopped him or asked any questions when Nick went towards the throne room.

He stopped right in front of the throne and took a second to look down at it before he swiftly turned around to face the demons who had followed him. Hundreds, perhaps even more. And they all looked up at him with their faces full of a dark hunger and expectation. “No one would object, would they?” Nick asked them. He didn’t yell yet his voice was heard all around the room. As he expected, no one spoke up and so Nick slowly sat down in the throne. The throne which had once belonged to Lucifer, Nick’s beloved.

Then his eyes flashed for the first time since he got turned and a murmur rose up from the room; rising and falling like the waves of the treacherous sea. For Nick’s demonic eyes weren’t like any seen before.

They were a demon black like the darkest abyss that stole away the light, yet his pupils glowed a fiery red much like Lucifer’s once did. And around the red was a circle of an icy blue, burning like cold angelic fire.

Lucifer’s influence went beyond perfecting Nick’s personality, it had touched his soul in ways no one would expect. Lucifer had some of Nick’s soul, and Nick always had some of Lucifer’s grace in him; they were bound together. When the fires of Hell burned away Nick’s soul, the angelic grace stayed untouched and instead fused together with the demonic energies, which created something new… something better.

Nick became part demon… and part Archangel.

And then, as if on cue, all of Hell sunk down on its knees and bowed before its new King. A king who was crowned in the blood and fire of the damned.

“So,” the Nephalem on the throne spoke with a smirk, “shall we begin?”

~~

The countries of the world fell one by one as the demons raised Hell on Earth. Being a Nephalem, Nick had opened the Gates to Hell rather easily. He opened all of them and allowed Hell to come pouring out, he emptied the pits, unleashed the Croatoan virus upon an unsuspecting world, and even managed to bend the Shedim to his will; allowing them to devour and slaughter as they pleased. The world didn’t stand a chance.

As a human, Nick was a nobody. He used to be bullied, neglected and beaten. Now it was his time to strike back and make them pay. But his demons had to obey one rule. One rule only.

“Stay clear of the Winchester’s.”

Nick wanted to be the one to claim their lives. He wanted to be the one to watch all the hope leave their eyes and crush their skulls in his bare hands. He wanted to take everything away from them, everything they ever cared about. He wanted to have them watch on as he destroyed the very world they loved so much. They should feel the despair and helplessness at being unable to stop anything - Nick wanted to completely shatter them beyond repair.

And he knew just the way to do that.

Having chosen a nice place to carry out the next step of his plan, the Nephalem nodded his head and summoned his powers. He had no more need of summoning circles or rituals… he could simply will it into existence and it would happen. This time was no exception.

Castiel appeared out of nowhere, right in front of him, looking as confused as it could get. “Hello, Castiel,” Nick casually greeted him as if speaking to an old friend.

The angel looked up, startled, but his expression quickly turned to horror when his eyes fell on the entity before him. At his otherworldliness… and the raw power coming off him. “Nick?” He tried. The Nephalem smirked in confirmation. “No, that cannot be. You died!” And then he noticed their surroundings; the mutilated bodies of all ages scattered around them, laid down to - ironically enough - form a Devil’s Trap. The horror and agony were still clear to see on their expressions, and then he saw the blood which covered Nick head-to-toe, the bloodied hammer laying by his feet, and he knew who had done this.

Nick clicked his tongue, shaking his head oh so slowly. “Oh Castiel,” he said, sounding almost pitiful, “you should know more than anyone that no one ever truly stays dead. I went to Hell… and became King.” His eyes flashed to their unusual coloring and he showed the Seraphim his immense wings; they were black-leathered like a bat’s, stealing away the light, yet the wing arms were covered in a pink plumage; the feathers fluffy and sparkling, and the top of his wings was covered in sleek and strong feathers.

Castiel looked horrified. “What are you?” He blurted out, taking a step back from the winged being with the eyes that unnerved him more than anything. As an angel, Castiel had seen many wars and battles, yet from all the terrors he had faced… nothing petrified him like Nick now did.

“Something new,” Nick shrugged, folding up his wings again as his eyes turned back to their usual blue. “Half-Archangel, half-demon. The demons call me a Nephalem, if it helps any.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Clearly it is not, or I wouldn’t be here,” Nick replied, placing his hands in the pockets of his military jacket the demons gave him. Castiel took that moment to jump forward and stab Nick with the angel blade he always carried around.

Just for the blade to shatter when it as much as touched Nick’s skin. The Nephalem arched up a single eyebrow. “You should have known that wouldn’t have worked,” he said. “I am not an angel, Castiel. I am something more.”

“What do you want from me?” The Seraphim asked, stepping back even further. Nick could sense his fear, and he enjoyed every second of it.

Nick held up his hand and played with his lips as he stared the scared angel down. “You are a message. To the Winchester’s,” he told him. Castiel’s face paled when reality settled in and he turned around, planning on running away, but Nick reappeared in front of him with a flutter of his mighty wings. “You cannot run from me with those clipped wings of yours,” he said, “don’t worry. I will keep you recognizable enough.”

Snapping his fingers once, Castiel’s grace exploded within his body in a burst of light. And then the angel dropped dead. Kneeling before him, Nick ripped open his trench coat and shirt and went to work, carving a message into his flesh for the Winchester’s to see with an angel blade he whisked into existence, right before he sends Castiel’s body off to appear right in front of them.  

I-A-M-B-A-C-K

~~~~~~

An artwork of Nephalem!Nick. Took me 3 hours with IbisPaint X and the total layer count is 25. I’m pretty proud of it :) I love his eyes and the design of those wings XD

I got bored so I made a bonus artwork lol This is like an anatomy sketch-thingy of Nick’s wings? I quite like them. This one took me about an hour, maybe?

Fun fact: Nick originally wasn’t supposed to be a Nephalem in this story - just some kind of demon XD But I don’t think my story quite wanted that and then this happened :’) It got a life of its own, man

Tag list: @luciferstempest @gabrielsbackbitches @jgvfhl @staycejo1 @blakechaos08 @qslucid @i-miss-balthazar @franthehorsegir

Asked to be tagged for this specific fic: @humongouscandycoffee (if you wish to stay on my tag list, just ask :)

(I’m too lazy to add my Bingo cards. So deal with it)

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED AS WELL, JUST ASK!!

AO3 link to continue reading

So far it’s only the first chapter tho. But more is coming pretty soon

#swansongbingo #spnluciferbingo #nickifer #spn nick #major character death #dark fic #nephalem #angel/demon hybrid #spn lucifer #sam dies #dean dies #cas dies #chuck dies #I still cannot tag #Not for those faint by heart #minor gore #blood #mutilated corpses #spn 14.19 #spn 14.20 #moriah #jack in the box #spn s14 season finale

[raven-m-3]

Hello Raven! You are well known for only reading smut fics. I am curious how you fell in love with You'll Be the One to Turn?

Hi nonny!

Okay, this ask made me laugh because I got called out. 

MY REPUTATION PRECEDES ME. 

When I think about my life plans, never once did I think that I would build a name for myself on a tiny little corner of the Internet as a shameless thirsty ho who devours smutty fanfic and smutty fanfic alone– but you know, life takes you to unexpected places. I mean, there are worse things to build a reputation for, right? It’s true and you should say it. 😂😂 

Okay, so… YBTOTT. I do indeed have a love affair with this beautiful fic written by the brilliant @postedbygaslight - it’s definitely my favorite canonverse fic. 

How did this happen given its lack of smut, you may ask your devoted Queen of Thirst?  

Like Ben, I have dual personalities. Dark Raven is a shameless thirsty ho who only has eyes for smut. The other side of Raven is normal (ish 😂); she’s a longtime lover of literature, film, fantasy, sci-fi, and SW, to a passionate yet reasonable degree, and doesn’t need to read about two characters banging all the time. That is the part of me that fell in love with YBTOTT. 

It’s gorgeously written. Posted’s lyrical prose is not to be missed, and he’s an ace at pacing and tone. He can make your heart pound like crazy or stop entirely; he can make you swoon or weep uncontrollably (*cough Ch. 43*). His fic is a love letter not only to Reylo fans, but to fans of the entire sequel trilogy and SW as a whole. 

YBTOTT really doesn’t need smut- it wasn’t necessary for the story. It’s a masterpiece and I wouldn’t change a single word. 

Here’s the history of how I found that fic. Posted and I bonded over meta after he joined tumblr in March, and became friends. One day, he posted a gorgeous post-TLJ one shot from Ben’s POV. Shortly afterward, he posted a mirrored one shot from Rey’s POV. I knew he was a great writer from his meta, but his fiction blew me away. I and a few others shamelessly begged him to turn them into a full-length fic, and he was gracious enough to do so.

It was an incredible journey as a reader, and that fic will always hold a dear place in my heart. ❤️

All this said: my smut addiction doesn’t take away from my love of great fiction!! I have many dear author friends who have written wonderful fanfics with all flavors of smut– from naga to noncon to soulful to dub con to A/B/O to enthusiastic consent to Dom! Ben to Dom! Rey to underage to rough to awkward. 

I’ve read excellent fics with smut in all of the above categories– fics that are truly awesome works of fiction in their own right. So although I tend to read fics with smut because I am a thirsty ho (😂), the presence of smut shouldn’t affect the perception of that fic’s quality. 

Of course, I’m not saying that you are implying that!! I just want to give a shout out to my smut writer friends because they make both Dark Raven and Light Raven happy. 😂 

Thank you for the ask, nonny! 

#asks #reylo fic rec #reylo fic #i am living my best life you guys #SHAMELESSLY THIRSTY FOR LIFE #i love my author friends #smut or no smut #you guys are amazing and i'm in awe of you #❤️❤️

[kmomof4]

And now... it’s Hollye’s birthday!!!!

🎶Happy birthday to youuuu, happy birthday to youuuuu! Happy birthday dear Hollyeeeee, happy birthday to youuuu!!!🎶

🎶it’s your birthday, it’s your birthday, it’s your birthday, time to party... 🎶 even if I’m not there in person this year to celebrate it, we can still have a tumblr party!

For your birthday this year, I’m taking the advice you gave me closing in on a year ago to share with the fandom what a lovely person you are and my favorite fics that you’ve written! So buckle up!!!

Hollye is the absolute WORST...

I mean really... how else did you expect me to start a post about my sarcastic bestie than with sarcasm???!!!

She is the WORST about making me want more... and crying... and begging... and pleading... and just sitting over there in her corner that I send her to regularly laughing evilly and clinking coffee cups with her fellow torturers @artistic-writer and @sherlockianwhovian while continuing to plot my demise... but seriously, she is an INSANELY talented writer and I am tremendously blessed to call her my friend! She is the best kind of mom who balances me out when I go overboard and helps reign me in and see sense when I’d rather just throw myself off the cliff. But enough about her... now I want to share what my favorite fics are that she’s written! All of her fics are absolutely incredible and I recommend them all, but these are the ones, in no particular order, that I’d better have with me if I was ever stranded on a desert island...

A Knight for a Swan. This was the fic that Hollye and I became friends over. The one that I reread the other day and discovered that I had not left kudos on or bookmarked...

the one I devoured as she wrote it each week, the one I was in TOTAL MELTDOWN SCREAMING CONNIPTIONS over every week, the one that I sent her to the corner for for the first time, the one that started it all...

The campaign had lasted only mere weeks before King George had been dispatched, and King Arthur had victoriously claimed the throne. Divided loyalties among the Lords and Knights of King George and Sir David had left the kingdom too weak and disorganized to put up much of a defense. Now all the lands were vulnerable. It was only a matter of time before an army loyal to the new Sovereign would come to capture, not only Sir David, but all his lands, his holdings, and even his only daughter. All in the name of the new King.

What Lies Beneath the Mask

Killian has never seen his face. At least, not that he has memory of. Rescued by his adoptive father, Lord Rumple Gold, when he was a mere four years old, Killian has always been told that his heartless mother abandoned him on the steps of Misthaven Cathedral because of his monstrous deformity. A deformity that must be hidden away behind a mask. He is forced to suffer a life of abuse as Lord Gold’s son’s whipping boy until he comes of age at 18. Misthaven Bishop, Nemo, offers him a place as groundskeeper at the cathedral where for the past six years, Killian has longed for a life among the people of Misthaven. In a moment of bravery he chances being a part of the crowds during the annual Feast of Fools celebration and meets a woman who is able to see past his mask to the man underneath. With her help, perhaps Killian can begin to discover what lies beneath the mask.

A Harem of One series including A Harem of One, How May I Serve You, My Master, and Your Wish is My Command

Killian Jones, younger son of Prominent Turkish Businessman, Brennan Jones, meets Lady Emma during the height of the London season just a few weeks before he must head back to Constantinople to take over the family shipping business. Despondent over the fact that he had to leave the woman he loves behind, things get interesting when Brennan tries to give Killian a welcome home gift.

Varcolac, A Hybrid Tale her offering for the @cssns last summer

While heading home to prepare for the coming evening, Killian Jones happens upon a woman broken down on the side of the road. A woman who shifts the entire foundations of his being with just her scent. Killian Jones is a werewolf you see, and the unsuspecting lass has landed herself deep in werewolf country on the cusp of the first night of the full moon. Knowing he must get her on her way for her own safety, Killian offers to fix her vehicle, but things go awry in town when another wolf attempts to stake a claim on the stunning stranger. Now Killian must do all he can to protect the woman, Emma Swan, from a vengeful pack, all while keeping his true nature a secret from her. Turns out, Killian Jones is no ordinary werewolf.

The Legend of Captain Killian Jones

Cursed three hundred years ago to take on ghost form and haunt his family estate, Killian Jones receives a reprieve once every hundred years to take on corporeal form in order to try and break his curse.

A renowned restorationist, Emma Swan takes on the project of bringing the three hundred year old Jones Manor back to its former glory. A manor that is reportedly haunted by the notorious Captain Killian Jones. Good thing Emma doesn’t believe in ghosts.

And I Don’t Want to Go Home Right Now

Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he’d finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.

Until We Meet Again

Take us to that island…

Aladdin kept telling them that all wishes came with a price. Who would have thought that, once they’d been able to retrieve and repair the Nautilus, the price would be a portal back to Hangman’s Island...in the past. Now Liam and Captain Nemo find themselves on the very beach where Liam’s older brothers have washed up after the tempest sunk their ship. Do they return them to their kingdom and allow their lives to continue on in the manner they did before? Do they allow them to remain on the Nautilus and reveal their brotherly connection to the vessel’s first mate? What is the true price of this wish and will who will have to pay it?

The Cottage her current WIP

Everyone knew of the dark creatures that were rumored to lurk in the forest, the mystical elements that cast a foreboding veil over every cluster of trees, every sweeping branch and quivering leaf. The forest was quiet in the way fear was quiet. A silence one felt in their bones as it thundered in their ears from the pounding of their heart.

To Emma Swan though, the quiet of the forest wasn’t that of fear, but of tranquility. She felt no foreboding in the way the trees swayed, even on windless days, or the shrouds of fog that collected along its floor. Emma was fascinated by the forest, always had been, but had never set foot across its border. She had enough prejudice against her from the village as it was, and the pull of the pines and sweet berries she could make out from the boundary line wasn’t enough to warrant more consternation from her neighbors.

The cottage on the edge of the tree line was, though.

Yuletide In the Tower

An old friend helps Hook provide an amazing Yuletide celebration for Alice while still stuck in the tower.

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke co-written with @winterbaby89 for my birthday in 2017. Has now become a series with outtakes.

Moments before the Evil Queen’s Dark Curse whisks our beloved fairytale characters to Storybrooke, Captain Hook finally gets his revenge on the Crocodile.

As I said earlier, all of Hollye’s fics are absolutely fantastic, and if you’ve missed any of them, you are sooooo missing out!!!! Happiest of birthdays Hollye! I hope it’s as wonderful as you are!!! Love you girl!!! 😘

#happy birthday #fandom birthday #hollyethecurious #happy birthday hollye #cs fic rec list #hollyethecurious fics #krystal recommends #desert island fics #cs ff #cs fic

[chuckbass-love]

Hi my love! Saw your Smut Dialogue post and wanted to request! can i please have #93 with either Evans or one of his characters? you choose please! love you!! 😍🥰😘

MEL!!!! Thank you so much for this request, i love it. For me, this screamed Mr Freezy. I hope that’s okay. Also love you too🥺🥰

A/N: Lil message for everyone that has requested recently, i will get around to all of you, it just might take a while and i do apologise for the long wait, hopefully it’ll be worth it.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad or Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Prompt #93: “It’s okay, honey, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while i’m between your legs”

Pairing: Mr Freezy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dub-Con oral, hair pulling, age gap (reader is 21 in this), swearing, slight daddy kink if you squint, vaginal fingering and a death threat. 18+ as always, you know the drill.

Word Count: 2,472

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @imissyourbattlecries go check them out💕

Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time

As you sit there, hands and legs tied, mouth covered with tape. You can almost swear that you see the end. This is it... this is how you die. 

In the back of some ice cream truck with no one but Mr Freezy to blame.

And now you’re starting to realise that calling him Mr Freezy is silly. But it’s only because you don’t know his real name.

God knows how much more time passes by before the truck doors swing open to reveal your captor. Smarter attire adorns his slim figure and his hair is tied back.

Not how he’s ever appeared to you before. No, usually he looks a lot scruffier. Clearly he’s made an effort today, could you be the reason why?

“Oh good, you’re awake” he chirps, stepping into the truck and slamming the doors shut behind him “now the real fun can begin” he rubs his hands together in excitement, the action only makes you shiver with the worst kind of anticipation. 

What does he have in store for you?

You mumble away, your mouth not moving an inch behind this tape but he hears your cries. He stands, towering above you, legs either side of your scared frame before dropping to his knees.

He grabs your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks whilst pointing with his other index finger “if i take this off, you better not fucking scream or i swear i’ll kill you, got it?”

The way you nod almost instantly, body trembling with fear has a smug smile plastering his face. He gets off on this.. sick bastard.

Once the tape is removed, you open your mouth. But not to scream.

“Why me? Why am i here?” your voice laced with the fear that he can smell on you. But that only spurs him on, if you really thought he’d stop once you showed just how scared you are then you were a fool.

“Why not you?” he retorts, hand still gripping your face but the grip isn’t as tight “see, the way i think of it is you should feel flattered. An older man like myself being interested in a pretty young thing like you” 

The tone in his voice, he seems too calm. Doesn’t he feel bad?

“Are you going to kill me?” the words that you never thought you’d speak yet here you are.

“I’ll spare you the brutal and agonising death if you do a couple things for me princess”

“And what makes you think that i’d do anything for you after how you’ve acted? What is wrong with you?” the snap in your voice, you’re beyond outraged with him. He always appeared so kind to you in the weeks leading up to this moment. Maybe this was why he was so nice, he wanted to suss you out, get close enough for you to trust him and then attack.

“Evidently a lot” he quips proudly with a sinister chuckle following before his hand moves from your face, dancing down your neck and eventually reaching your breasts.

The shirt you have on, showing just the right amount of cleavage for him to feast his hungry eyes on. He can hardly contain himself, biting his lip as a situation forms in his pants. 

You notice immediately. Your own eyes looking down to see his penis growing harder by the second and for some bizarre reason, you feel strangely turned on but still intimidated nonetheless.

“Omg” you feign disgust, trying your best to move back but you can’t, it’s a dead end.

“Now now princess, anyone would think you’d never seen a real cock before” 

“Huh? Did the cat get your tongue?”

Silence before you shake your head. He can most likely smell your inexperience.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this, i promise” even your best bargaining voice won’t cut it, he doesn’t seem like he’s budging.

“You really think your the first stuck up bitch to try and trick me? I admire your efforts sweetness but that’ll be a no” 

Fuck. 

“What are you going to do to me?” 

He doesn’t answer, just leans in, his breath that reeks of cigarettes fans your face and soon enough his lips touch your cheek. A chaste kiss is pressed and you flinch.

“What’s wrong sweetness, not enjoying this?” his low and raspy chuckle has your eyes widening.

There it is, that evil laugh again. He is totally getting off on your discomfort and it’s sickening. But why is there a pool starting to develop in your cotton panties? You’ll never know.

“Okay. What about this?”

His lips lower to your neck and more than just a peck is placed as his lips press numerous open mouthed kisses to your skin, finding your sweet spot so easily and before you can stop it, a soft and breathy moan escapes. You feel betrayed by your own body. Why does this have to feel so good? Why does HE have to make you feel so good?

“There she is, the girl i knew you were. You enjoying this sweetness?” his kisses get sloppier as he makes his way to your collarbone, nipping ever so slightly to add to the build up. The build up for what exactly? You have no idea.

“Take it off” he instructs, pulling away and tugging at your shirt

“What? No. No way” you insist, trying your best to slam your ground but he shoots you a look that if the possibility was there, it would burn you to ashes. A fist punches at the cupboard door at the side of your head, scaring you even more and now it’s abundantly clear, he isn’t to be messed with.

So you do exactly as you’re told. You don’t want to anger him by making him tell you again. Once it’s off, you fold your arms across your body in shame of how you look but he soon yanks them away.

“No need to feel ashamed sweetness. Take it all off, bra first” he smiles and in this moment as you reach behind to unclasp your bra, you swear you can see a nice side to him. He soon cancels it out though, hurrying the process up by taking the bra off for you and discarding it behind him. You then make quick work of your leggings, tugging them down your legs to which he finishes the job before taking your panties off for you in seconds.

And now your naked body is exposed for him to have his filthy way with.

“Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go” pathetic attempt number 2 and he’s no less stubborn as he was a few minutes ago. If he wants you then he’s going to get you, no matter what.

You belong to him now. Just like all of the other girls he’s done this to.

“Again sweetness, you can’t fool me. I can smell your arousal from here, bet if i spread these legs i’d find...” he pauses, slotting his knee between them, spreading them and now your arousal is on show “oh and what do we have here, looks like a soaking wet cunt to me, now try and tell me you don’t want this” you look away out of embarrassment.

Your body really has betrayed you today.

“Mhm, almost looks good enough to eat” 

Did he just say what you think he said?

Most likely. But you’ve never had a guy eat you out and you most certainly don’t want the first time being with him.

His hands graze over your body before he tugs you closer by your legs. His hands wrap around your thighs once he lowers his face so he can slowly kiss the inside of them, making you squirm in his arms. Partly from trying to escape.

“Someone’s needy huh?” he mocks

However, he’s right though, you need it so desperately but to beg him for anything would be the worst thing you could ever do, so instead you watch him work at your inner thighs, nearing closer to your sex as you wriggle and writhe like crazy.

He’s so close yet so far and you can almost taste the pleasure when his mouth shocks you by attacking your folds with his tongue. 

At first you try to pull away, trying your best to act like you don’t want it. But he just holds onto you harder, devouring you like an animal.

“Stop fucking moving” he growls as he starts to suck on your bundle of nerves, biting a little too to get you to listen.

“If you don’t want me to move then maybe that’s a sign that you should leave me alone” you scoff, irritated yet all the more aroused.

“And what if i don’t want to? Huh, you gonna hurt me? Don’t threaten me with a good time sweetness”

His tongue movements have you so agonisingly close to letting go, he’s working you out like he already knows all of your weak spots.

But you can’t let him just take what he wants, thinking that you’re easy. Which is how you’ll feel once you let that guard down. Once you allow yourself to enjoy this.

His eyes meet yours and you watch him go to work on you like you’re his final meal before death and boy is it a meal he’s enjoying.

Your stubbornness is swallowing you little by little and you feel so close to seeing stars. Fingers delve into your wetness, circling your tight hole before 3 are added one by one. Time is left in between each to give you room to adjust, how chivalrous of him.

All 3 drag along your walls, curling as they press against that spongy spot within you, your done for if he keeps this up and he’ll know you’re enjoying it. 

The finger to tongue game ratio has your back starting to arch, your head scraping along the cupboards behind you and the handle digging into your now fully arched back.

“Come on sweetness, let go for me. I know you want this too”

Hips buck up into his mouth as all control ceases to exist inside of you. Now all that’s left is a huge need to cum. Your hands reach down to where his head rests and your delicate fingers find their way into his long brown locks. You start to tug on them a little which makes him hiss from pleasure, since this man totally strikes you as someone with a high pain tolerance.

The noises he’s eliciting from you are sinful to say the least, loud and borderline pornographic which earn you grunts of appreciation from him.

“Fuck, just like that. Squeeze these fingers”

and

“Such a tight fucking cunt”

So you do exactly that, sweat droplets forming on your head as the knot in your stomach tightens. You already know that there’s no going back now, what’s done is done and an earth shattering orgasm is about to consume you.

Fingers grip tighter onto the roots of his hair “oh god, fuck. I’m gonna cum” you mewl frantically.

And before you can even stop it, his fingers pick up, getting quicker and his plump pink lips wrap around your clit, sucking like his life depends on it and flicking his tongue over it occasionally.

“Need that cum sweetness, give it to me” his words of encouragement suddenly have the atmosphere changing, your body feels heavy, the knot feels just about ready to break apart and this space in the back of his ice cream truck feels even smaller than it was previously.

In a cloudy haze of sexual desire, you pull so hard on his hair that he glares at you as he goes to town on your body.

“I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hur-” you scramble to apologise, feeling awful for hurting a man that had no qualms in hurting you this morning when he took you but he just cuts you off.

“It’s okay, honey, you can pull my hair as hard as you want while i’m between your legs” 

So you let yourself tug again, making sure to not let up or loosen your grip and as you feel yourself getting closer, you use his hair and your moans to signal that to him whilst grinding your hips on his face in time with his tongue movements.

With one more suck to your clit, you come on a silent cry, he removes his fingers from your warm walls, replacing them with his tongue. You feel your clit pulsating under his thumb and you start to clench around nothing as your cum drips from your tiny hole and lands onto his tongue for him to swallow.

“S’sweet princess, s’fucking sweet” his final words before his face moves until it’s inches from yours.

He lowers his head, capturing your lips in a heated and bruising kiss, leaving you no choice but to pull him close. Arms wrap around his neck loosely as his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth. You can taste yourself and that alone is enough to have you keening for more from him with your hands groping his bulge but he soon settles you down.

“Patience sweetness, patience. You gotta return the favour first”

Your brows furrow in confusion before he eventually explains.

“What? You didn’t seriously think i’d go down on you and then fuck you did you? I only did it to loosen you up. Now you’re gonna get on those knees like a good girl and suck this cock” he starts, undoing his belt then his pants before pushing them down, along with his boxers, releasing his cock for you “because, if you don’t sweetness, i’ll have to make you and we wouldn’t wanna ruin this good behaviour of yours, would we?” 

You shake your head again, moving to a kneeling position and taking his huge size into your small hand, pumping him a couple times before opening your mouth ready. He gathers your hair in his hands, lifting it up out of your face and tugging ever so slightly.

“Now it’s my turn to pull on your hair sweetness so don’t you hesitate, it’s time to show daddy what you got”

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