#That he had any right to hand down that judgement and condemnation

[saints-who-never-existed]

For the ask game: least favourite Terror character 🫣😢

Fuuuck, I didn't expect this to be quite so difficult - I've been thinking about it for days!

Honestly? Incredibly unpopular opinion, but my gut-answers are Crozier and Hickey, at least as far as major characters go (as previously mentioned, I sometimes have a hard time engaging with the storylines of certain more minor characters like Sophia and Lady Jane).

Just to be clear, I DO NOT hate Crozier or Hickey. I enjoy thinking about them at great length, I find them to be fantastic, engaging characters, and I very much subscribe to the idea that they can be fantastic and engaging without having to be good people.

But with all that said - FUCK ME, are they not good people, and fuck me do I find that fact so hard to get past sometimes!

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Maybe Ghost Konig and any other cod characters you write for with an s/o who’s very insecure about their stretch marks? Thank you very much

MW2 w/ an S/O who is Insecure about their Stretch Marks

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', Implications of Smut, Knife Play, Insecurity, Anxiety/Upset, Minor Implications/Spoilers about Ghost’s Past, Mention of a Strap-On, Brief Mention of Murder/Killing, Angst, Fluff, Possessiveness, Protectiveness, etc.

Ghost:

Has absolutely zero clue as to why you're insecure about your stretch marks.

Genuinely never even thought of them before now, even though he’s seen them many a time.

However, when you expressed concerns over the way you looked - the way you felt - because of these marks, he set about trying to make you feel better immediately.

He’s not the most emotionally mature person; having to grow up as quickly as he did at such an early age definitely stunted his emotional growth, making it difficult for him to feel and express emotions clearly.

But for you, he’ll try his best.

He starts nuzzling into your thighs and stomach more often outside of sex; just tender moments between the two of you, with him showcasing how much he loves you and your body.

He’d try words of affirmation, saying how he thought you looked “Positively spiffing” (he was using the term humorously but meant every word) in your outfit.

Whenever you cracked a smile, he’d feel triumph bloom like solid gold in his chest, casting him in a glow of pride.

Eventually, he’d showcase to you the parts of himself he would never show another soul.

One evening, Simon had his hoodie off, his back and chest fully exposed to you. And all the scars that seared across them. You tracked your finger along them, creeping from one gash to another. All the while, Simon rhymed them off to you: when, where and how he’d gotten them.

You traced one on his shoulder blade. The warm glow of the room belying the horrific means through which the scar was attained.

“Paris, terrorist attack, twenty-ten.”

“I never heard of an attack in Paris then,” you said, tone questioning.

Simon cast a lopsided smile over his shoulder at you. You caught it.

“That’s the point.”

He turned to face you fully, placing a hand on your waist, beginning to hike your shirt up. You placed your hands over his, shaking your head, a wide-eyed expression overtaking you.

“No, Simon,” you said quietly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. His head tilted.

“Why not?” He said. “Have I done something to upset you?”

At that, your eyes snapped up and found his, dark and gleaming. You shook your head, vehement in your judgement.

“No, God no! Simon, it’s not you, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s you - don’t you dare say it.” 

The authority in his tone made you ache in places you didn’t want to think about right now. You shifted.

“But…it is me, Simon.” You felt your eyes and throat sting with tears. “It’s always me.”

“Love–” Simon’s movements were stutterish as he took your chin in his hand and inched your face up to meet his. You tried resisting, but he wasn’t going to let this rest. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

There lay a desperation in his voice you’d never heard before, and neither had Simon. You sniffed, and, your eyes shimmering with tears, you looked up at him. Only sincerity painted his features, no trace of condemnation or judgement hanging upon a single point. You swallowed.

“It’s just that…I appreciate what you’re doing for me - believe me, I do ! - but…”

“...But…?”

“But your scars mean something; you got them through protecting people, fighting for them - caring for what matters most–” You choked on a sob, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “And mine are just…” it burned your tongue to say it, “there.”

Simon went quiet for a moment.

“(Y/N)...” His voice was a rumble of thunder, the cleansing storm rising over the tainted hill. He took your hands in his, abandoning your shirt. He rubbed reassurances into your hands, tracing the veins, the valleys of muscle and the alleys of life which pumped through them. His eyes seemed to turn down at the ends, round, doe-like.

“Your marks are not ‘just there’.” He wiped a stream of tears indenting the heather face of your cheek, and his hand remained there, collecting those which followed. “They are evidence of how you’ve lived, how you’ve survived,”

His hand dropped to your chin, bringing your face up to his once more, shining his moonbeams upon you.

“They show how you’ve grown. How you’ve lived and enjoyed a life you made for yourself. Your marks succeed where mine have failed; yours scream life, while mine whisper death - a life loved, and lives taken.”

Your mouth fell open. You were aghast, unable to conjure anything in your vocabulary that was either expansive or emotive enough to convey all that you felt. Your chest broke out into warmth, the dawn of a new perspective shining upon you as Simon did now.

Before you could form a sentence - as blubbering and elementary as it would be - Simon pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. It was warm, all-encompassing, musical and low in the ringing silence of your desolate ocean.

He parted, cautiously, lips peeling from yours as if you were attached there, and looked upon you. Your cheeks were beginning to sting with the salt of your tears, vaguely chemical against your skin. You clambered into Simon’s arms, wounded and healing, and encompassed as much of him in your arms as you could.

“Your scars are beautiful, Simon,” you whispered into his chest. “No matter what you think - no matter what you say - I’ll always find them so.” You nuzzled into his neck. “I’ll always find them you.”

You heard Simon sniff, felt his chest rise with the sudden influx of air - emotion. You didn’t look up. You allowed him emotional anonymity.

“And I’ll always love your marks, (Y/N),” his voice strained, whispering and wisping. “I’ll always love them on you–” he pressed a strong, permanent kiss to your head, “--I’ll always love you.”

The evening consumed you, whisking you from the mortal coil to that of the metaphysical, that which was hidden to all but you and Simon, where you joined once again, physical bodies bound in a tight embrace, slumbering, dreaming.

König:

You actually came to König, sliding into his lap as he read a book, unable to keep what was eating you alive a secret any longer.

“Maus?” he said, putting Pride and Prejudice down and turning his full attention to you. “Is something the matter?”

You kept your head down and nuzzled into his chest, hoping his shirt would soak the tears staining your cheeks.

König tried to crane his neck down to see your face, but you hid it further into the cotton of his jumper.

König sighed, then began rubbing your back with a large hand.

“Whatever it is, we can fix it,” he said softly, gently. “No matter what.”

Maye thirty minutes passed, maybe it was only five, and König remained quiet for the duration, occasionally squeezing you and pressing a kiss to your head.

“I hate them,” you muttered, voice muffled by König’s chest.

Immediately, his back was up, like a cat’s. If he had the ears, they’d have been pricked.

“What?” he said, voice hard and thin, like a spear. You jumped in his lap and he sank back down, patting your head, a silent apology for his outburst.

His voice sounded as if it were spread thin, trying to conceal something far bigger than itself.

“Who has upset you so, maus?” He was careful with his words, trying to keep the extent of his bubbling anger at bay.

Finally, you looked up into his large, soft gaze. His eyes widened.

Your face was red in places, a map of countries in a continent called Sorrow.

Your eyes glistened, and König’s breath caught in his throat.

Before he could ask what was wrong, you shuffled off his lap and stood before him. You lifted your top and held it in your limp hand.

König’s eyes moved across your body as if searching for an injury, and when he turned up nothing, he looked you in the eyes.

“Maus, my lovely– I don’t understand,” König said as he shifted to the edge of the sofa, ready to jump up at your command.

You sighed deeply. “Don’t you see?” you said, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t you see them, König?”

“See what?” His tone was becoming gradually frantic.

You huffed. “My marks, König! My– ugly– disgusting–”

“Hey, hey–” he slid off the sofa and enveloped you in his arms, holding you close to him, “--they are not ugly! Just– listen to me, maus–

“How do you deal with them?” you said, quiet as your namesake. Exasperated. “Your scars, Köni…how do you live with them?” Your voice croaked with tears, and the lump in your throat grew, bobbed up and down. It burned, reminded you of why you were here to begin with.

König thought for a moment, going quiet, his arms still wrapped around you. His hand squeezed your shoulder, fingers pressing soft, repetitive circles into your skin, a cycle of comfort. His warmth - his scent of pine - filled your senses, held you as he did now.

“There was a time,” he said, finally, his voice a whisper, “not too long ago, when… they made me hate myself, hate what I’d become.” He took your chin between his fingers and inched your face to meet his. He smiled, eyes crinkling. “But then I met you, and you told me how pretty you thought they were; ‘like tattoos,’ you said.” The memory tickled your mind and you couldn’t help but smile at the image of you sat on König’s chest, trailing a light finger just below his scars, afraid to touch them - their history - for fear it would hurt your dear König. He urged you to feel them, to make himself entirely transparent to you.

 “And that’s how I have grown to like - to love - them. Because your opinion means more to me than mine does.”

The stinging sensation in your eyes strengthened, and you couldn’t help but let a tear slip. Though, not of your own despair, but of your love for König, and his apparent adoration for you. König could tell your tears were not of sorrow, and he pressed a slow, light kiss to your lips.

“Unless you’re planning on leaving me for another man, I suggest you only listen to me from now on.” His smile made his cheeks round and full, his eyes turn into half moons.

“And what makes you sure I could leave you for someone else?” you said, speculatively, jokingly. Inquisitively. König gave an honest chuckle, taking your face between his hands and squishing your cheeks.

“With a body like that, you could have any man you wanted.” His tone was light yet held a hidden weight, a seriousness, perhaps an insecurity, he didn’t want to address. “I’m just glad you chose me.”

He punctuated his claim with another kiss, deeper, hotter this time.

Soap:

You were turned over in bed beside Soap, who, despite your best efforts to conceal yourself, heard your soft chokes of tears.

His initial, instinctive reaction had been to envelop you in his kisses, slip his arms around your waist and pull you flush against him, to implore you to tell him what had made you so upset.

But, as he lay on his side of the bed, listening to your silken sobs into your pillow, he felt his chest break out into weighted feeling of dread, tree roots digging through the skin and into his very being, tinging his blood with a most negative sensation of blackened lightning.

Empathy, one might call it. He was feeling what you felt.

He couldn’t take it, your tears, your despair, and so he turned, gently, onto his other side and faced your back.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you flinched.

“Oh!” you said, patting your face with your sleeve. “Sorry, Johnny– I didn’t mean to wake you,”

Your voice was deceivingly light, airy - a front to throw Soap off your scent.

Soap didn’t bother with the formalities. His only priority now was you.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he said. He pulled your shoulder back, willing you to at least look at him.

You didn’t move.

You refused to.

“Nothing, love,” you said, hushed beneath the tension in the room.

You turned, offering only a peak of your facial silhouette, sacrificing it to the sliver of moonlight peeking through the blinds.

It was wet, despite your best efforts to conceal any evidence of your upset.

Soap restrained a sigh and watched you try to burrow your way back into your pillow before he started asking any more questions. Without warning, he forced you to look at him, pulling you so you lay on your back. He sank down on top of you, knees bolted to your sides - one of which sat dangerously close to the edge of the bed, threatening to slip off at any moment.

His gaze was direct and impenetrable as he searched your eyes, hands pinning your wrists beside your head. His strength was unrelenting, unmoving. He wasn’t going to let you off easy on this.

“Now, then,” he said, voice low and dyed an erotic tone of resolution with his accent. “Are ye gonna tell me what’s upset you, or am I gonna have to force it out of ye?”

You knew he was joking, and you shared the knowledge that this was his way of trying to make you feel secure - that you could trust him. But of course, you already knew that.

You gaze drifted down to where yours and Soap’s thighs met, and the weight that had been pressing on you for weeks jumped down onto your chest again, urging a fresh set of tears to emerge. You looked away, off to the side, hoping you could hide the dried streaks your tears had left behind.

“Hey, Sweetie, look at me– look at me.” Soap’s voice grew stern, and, when you refused to cooperate, he took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him, grip decidedly firm yet gentle.

“Angel, baby–” his eyes pleaded with you for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore and burst into tears, trying to keep your sobs quiet. Soap remained atop you, caressing the side of your face. Your tears were thick, almost viscous with all that had caused them, as if they, too, bore the weight of what plagued you.

“My marks,” you said, your voice merely a sound rather than a sentence. Soap’s head tilted as he looked down at you.

“What was that?” he said, unsure as to whether he’d heard you correctly. You sniffed, fortified your voice.

“My marks,” you repeated, clearer now.

Soap looked at you as if you were speaking another language, and you mistook his silence for perhaps the oncomings of a laugh. Or worse yet, agreement.

Soap scoffed alright, but he didn’t laugh. Instead he rearranged so he sat further down your body. He lifted your shirt, which you tried to pull down. He growled and practically tore it off you. And you let him. He stared down at your abdomen, your thighs, and sighed deeply.

“Why on earth are you worried about your stretch marks?” he said, absolute and firm, as if it were the most obvious question in the world. You almost wanted to shrug and apologise for wasting his time, but you remained quiet.

“These marks,” he began, lowering his face to your stomach, “are part of you. You know what that means?” His gaze flickered from your abdomen to your face. When you shook your head, Soap gave a huff of a laugh, his breath hot and circling against your skin.

“It means that they’re not the burden you think they are; they’re not unsightly, or ugly, or anything else you can think to call them. They’re beautiful because they are you.”

Your tears were still welling, and Soap pressed a soft kiss to your stomach. Then another. Then another. He linked a chain of kisses, inching further down your body, reaching the band of your underwear. He looked up at you beneath heavy lids. He dipped his tongue beneath the band, making you jolt. He laughed.

“I mustn’t have been doing a good job of showing you how beautiful you are,” he said, lowly. His hands slid to your hips, hooking his fingers over the edge of your underwear and tugging them down.

“It’s time I changed that.”

Price:

He’d picked up on your off mood every day this week, but he’d wanted you to come to him when you were ready, rather than him chase you up about something you didn’t necessarily want to talk about.

You never cracked, though. Not even once.

You’d kept your thoughts to yourself, yet your body betrayed you.

Whenever Price had initiated something in the bedroom, you’d shied away, putting your hands against his chest and giving a weak, watery smile.

“Maybe another night?” you’d say, and Price respected your wishes.

But, he was growing agitated.

It wasn’t his sexual frustration which urged him to act, but his frustration at himself for not being able to tell what was troubling you.

He was your protector; it was his duty, his pleasure to look out for you in any way you needed him.

And he felt like he was failing.

Eventually, he asked you outright what had gotten you so upset, and when you reluctantly told him it was your stretch marks, Price sat there. Flabbergasted.

“That’s it?” He couldn’t help himself saying. But when he saw how much the topic meant to you after you gave him a stormy look, he changed his tune.

Consoled you well into the night, holding you, burying kisses into your skin, drawing lines against your marks, saying how he found them beautiful because they were “Part of you.”

Never lets you go a day without feeling appreciated - more so than he did prior to this discovery.

“You know, Darling,” Price began, laying in bed with you in his arms, “I can’t remember what my life was like before you came.”

You looked up at him. He nuzzled the tip of his nose against your hair.

“And I can’t imagine what it would be like without you in it.” The smile in his voice was more than a mere tone, but a feeling, deep and sincere, the epitome of love itself.

Your face broke out into a grin, beams shining through the clouded sky. “Oh?” you said, bringing your thigh over his middle. You slid on top of him, knees either side of his waist. You planted your hands on his chest, rubbing slowly. His chest rumbled, the beginnings of a purr. His eyes gleamed, his lips curled up beneath his moustache, pinched as raised theatre curtains

“How about I show you how much you mean to me?” Your request was more foreshadowing than anything else, but, in a plot twist, John gripped you by your thighs and rolled so that he was now on top of you, your wrists pinned beside your head.

He brought his face down beside your head. “Last I checked, that was my job,” he rasped, his beard scratching the side of your face. He slid a hand down to the hem of your night shirt, raising it over your stomach. “And I don’t plan on retiring.” 

Alejandro:

Is on the offensive immediately.

Thinks somebody’s said something to you that made you upset.

“Who was it, mi amor? Who do I have to kill?”

It would take all your strength to keep him from storming out the house and popping a cap in the first person he suspected as being the perpetrator.

You’d have to explain to him that nobody’s said anything to hurt your feelings, and that your insecurity about your stretch marks has been with you since you were young.

“It’s just the way I am, Love,” you’d say, casting a diluted smile Alejandro’s way. “‘Ts just the way things are.”

This shocks Alejandro; sends him into a catatonic state, even.

Not once had he even considered your stretch marks a point of insecurity: not for you, or him.

In fact, he thought they were cool, and whenever he’d show you his scars, he’d smile. “Now we’re matching!” He’d say.

After you’d expressed your insecurities about your marks, he’d never let you go a day where he’d remind you you’re beautiful (though, that isn’t saying much; there isn’t a day that goes by where he doesn’t make you feel worthy and loved. He just tries even harder).

Man’s a body worshiper if ever I saw one (and I have seen many).

When you’re laying down together and he has his head on your thighs, he’ll randomly turn around and start kissing your marks.

Only does this in private, and with good reason.

Definitely the type to use tongue, even if it’s on the surface of your skin.

Will not let you leave until he’s convinced you’re feeling better about yourself.

Tells you that his mission in life is to “Make you realise how beautiful you are in everyone else’s eyes, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

You can definitely use the insecurity card to request - ahem - ‘snuggle time’ with Alejandro.

If you say to him in your whiny voice: “Baaabe, I’m not feeling too good about myself today,” he’ll be on you like a rash.

You may think you’ve got one over on him, but don’t be fooled.

He knows what you’re doing, but he’s not going to stop you.

After all, why would he ever pass up the opportunity to show the person he loves most in all the world how beautiful they are?

“There will never be a day where I will not worship you, mi corazón,” he panted, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your thighs. “You are my god - my religion.”

His eyes gleamed as he looked up at you from between your legs. “My life.”

You screwed your eyes shut and whined when he licked a stripe against your underwear, catching you where you needed him most.

“Alejandro,” you whispered, his name a prayer on your lips. “Please,”

“Say it.” He slid a hand over your stomach, feeling your skin, your marks, beneath his warmth. “Say what you want me to do and I’ll give it to you.” There was no hint of a lie in his words, only the inescapable truth of his undying love for you and everything your body had to offer.

Between glistening eyes and an open mouth, you let him in. “You.”

Alejandro left many bruises and bites on you that night, all borne out of love. And, afterwards, as he looked upon your sleeping form, all he could think was of how ethereal you looked, and how lucky he was to have managed to find someone like you.

Valeria:

She simply won’t hear of it.

She’s quite an aggressive woman, and she expresses her love and adoration likewise.

Therefore, when you end up confiding in her that there is even a single part of yourself you’re insecure about, she flips her lid.

Not at you, of course. At who or whatever has made you feel this way.

She throws her hands up and curses in Spanish, saying how only she’s “allowed to make you feel that way.”

And she means it.

She won’t let you feel bad unless she wants you to (and even then it’s because you’ve whined and moaned for it).

Trust that she’s watching you like a hawk 24/7 after that.

If she finds you looking at your marks with anything less than adoration, she’ll drag you into the bedroom and force you to say you do, otherwise she’s not relenting with that ten inch strap-on.

She’s sensitive, however.

When she can tell that a quick therapy session isn’t going to change your mind, she’ll just sit with you and listen, make you a drink and hold you when you cry.

She’ll come up with the idea to name them - so they “feel like friends rather than enemies,”

Places warm, soft kisses along your marks, christening them with her love when you’ve decided on a name.

If you name one after her, she’ll be honoured.

“Now I’ll be with you forever,” she’ll say, wrapping her arms around your waist. “On you forever, I should say.”

Valeria dragged you into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. One of her men guarded the other side, frightening off other club-goers.

Valeria’s eyes were heavy, dark and all-consuming with a feral rage that only occurred under rare circumstances, those being her jealousy. She gave you little time to protest as she hiked you up onto the counter, the tap digging into your back.

“I’ll murder him,” she said, voice rasping with drink and the need to mark you - to take you. “I’ll kill them all - all those bastards that looked at you.”

“Valeria, please,” you gasped when she cut the lining of your jeans open, making the button pop and recede into a dark, grimy corner of the tiled room. Valeria brought the knife to your throat, her voice snarling and serious as death.

“I am the only one who can look at you.” The tip of her knife began its slow descent to the collar of your shirt, which she separated from your body with a long, ripping tear. Now, chest exposed, you yelped. Valeria forced your legs apart and crouched between them. Her knife sat at the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re mine,” she promised. “And if I need to mark you myself–” she trailed the tip of her weapon along the marks on your hips, “–then so be it.”

Gaz:

Will look at you like you’ve just asked him to recite Pi.

What???

What do you mean you don’t think your stretch marks look good?

Gaz thinks they look perfect!

He can’t imagine you without them; he’s genuinely emotionally attached to them.

You should’ve guessed as much when you felt him tracing them as you lay in bed.

Fr though, Gaz understands why you feel insecure, but he doesn’t understand why, if that makes sense.

He knows certain things get to you, thus making it plausible that you would become upset with something you found on your person, but he doesn’t understand why you’re insecure.

He can feel himself getting angry whenever he hears you talking - or even thinking - bad about yourself.

He’s not mad at you! Not at all.

He’s simply aggravated by the fact that something or someone has made it so you can’t see yourself the way he sees you.

To cheer you up, he’ll start relaying extremely specific compliments to you.

“I’d love you if you were a two foot tall worm with a receding hairline.”

“Uuuh…thank you?”

Though, if he found those didn’t work or, God forbid, made you feel worse-

“So you’re saying that you only find my personality attractive and not my body.”

– He’ll find another way of lifting your spirits.

“I would commit arson if you ever tried to get rid of your stretch marks.”

“...Why?”

“Because I love them and they’re my friends 🥺.”

Btw he’s fr about that - he sees your stretch marks as individual, sentient beings.

And he begins to tell you the backstories he’s made up for them.

And you can’t help but get attached to them, too.

“Hold on, why does Antonio get to be seen today and not Felicity?” you asked, holding the sleeveless vest to your torso. Gaz returned, throwing a pile of yet more sleeveless shirts, vests and other variants onto the bed.

“Because I haven’t seen Antonio all week and I’m starting to think you’re playing favourites.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Poor guy’s probably suffocating under all those jumpers you wear!”

“Oh?” You raised and eyebrow, looking at Gaz in the mirror. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Gaz threw you a devilish smile, the corners of his lips pointing up like horns, sharp and curled. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding the vest against you.

“Put the vest on and you won’t have to find out.” He pressed a constellation of kisses to your shoulder, up the connecting junction of your neck and shoulder, until he reached your jaw. “Unless you want to.”

Graves:

When you initially told him, he wasn’t sure how to respond.

Genuinely thought money would make all your problems go away.

He threw a wad of rolled-up George Washingtons at you and told you to “Buy something nice - do yourself up pretty.”

Obviously, not the best thing to say to somebody who’s insecure.

And when you didn’t talk to him for days afterwards, he realised where he’d gone wrong.

You wanted reassurance, not a solution.

See, he’s so used to using money to make his problems disappear that he thought it’d be a quick fix for you, too.

Pokes his head round the bedroom door like heeeyyy~ before taking a  seat beside you on the bed.

“Look, I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t realise you just wanted to talk rather than have me fix the problem.”

His wording’s still very off, but he’s working on it with gentle guidance from you.

He genuinely never realised your stretch marks were an insecurity for you, though, hencewhy he’s not so good at the whole ‘reassurance’ thing.

He learns quickly, though.

It starts off with small gestures; putting a hand over your marks, looking at them fondly, telling you how gorgeous you were every single day.

And, eventually, when you’re being more…intimate, he’ll refuse to let you cover yourself up (unless you really want to, ofc).

Trying to hide your marks? Not for long - Phillip’s got a PHD in cloth tearing, and you’re his first job.

“I don’t remember telling you you could do that.”

Aggressive love. Full-on laving his tongue over your marks.

“Just markin’ what’s mine, Angel.”

Doesn’t give you even a second to feel insecure anymore.

Encourages you to wear clothing that reveals your marks if he thinks it’ll make you feel better.

Again, won’t force you to; if you don’t like revealing clothing overall, he’ll make sure to find other ways of empowering you.

Gets very territorial whenever he catches someone staring at you because he firmly believes that, 100% of the time, it’s because they’re checking you out.

Will glower at them with his eyes until they look away, cowering.

And all the while he’s looking at you, thinking God damn, I can’t believe I managed to pull you <3

“Love, why did you stare at that man in the bar earlier?” You asked, not looking up from your book. In the dim light of the bedroom, you saw Phillip’s head turn, looking at you. In your periphery, you saw his cheeks lift. He crept closer.

“Ain’t it natural for a man to want to protect what’s his?” His voice carried with it a weight you recognised as rhetorical. You put your book down on the bedside table and resisted a knowing smile.

“I don’t know,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is it?”

A sly smile crossed Graves’ face, and, in an instant, he was on top of you, his weight definite and promising of something. He wrangled your arms, pinning them above your head. And you only smiled up at him as he beamed down at you.

“Oh, I think you know it is.” His eyes gave no way to humour or jest, possessing within their oyster shell colour a pearl of the rarest, most valuable material: love.

Graves leaned down, and, biting the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss beneath it, whispered.

“And you know how much I hate sharin’.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

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[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 1

Summary: You failed as the Prototype's "archangel," and this is your punishment; being left to die while at the mercy of your enemies.

(This is my contribution to the Smiling Critters Space Riders Au. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. I hope y'all enjoy.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death Implications, War, Witchcraft, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Religious Worship, Slight cursing

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You had one job: lead your people to victory. You are a warrior, a healer, a messenger. You are an archangel that needs to spread the word of the Prototype by any means necessary. You need to do your part to save the souls tainted by the condemned ways of the heretics. That’s why you’re here in the first place. Instead, you failed…

It's hard to say how long your mind has been hazy for. All you know is that it burns so much. Fiery hot and raging cold sensations dance and mingle around your body especially where blood was pouring out. The feeling of liquid invading and burning your lungs worsens the more you try to gasp for air. Flashes of light won’t stop assaulting your eyes even as spots of darkness slowing dance their way into your vision. As you close your eyes and try to ignore the sharp tingling in your eyes, one thought stands out among the rest.

‘So, this is what damnation feels like…’

A blurry orange figure looms above you followed by a red and a blue one. They shield you from the harsh light, prompting you to slightly open your eyes. More figures loom around you. All the sounds echoing around you are drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears. You suppose that this is a fitting punishment. You failed your people, yourself, and the Prototype. And now they have come to take you away, to give you your just deserved judgement. The thought alone is enough to make you whimper as your body curls around itself protectively. You try so hard to ignore the inferno now growing where your wounds are. This proves to be futile as hands pin you down, preventing you from curling in on yourself. The sounds grow more urgent, louder even. You couldn’t resist their grips anyways. You should’ve known it was futile to fight the inevitable. As blackness conquers the last of your vision, you pray that you will be granted mercy. You pray that your sins will be forgiven. You pray that your dedication to your duties will lead you to the happiness you have been promised. You pray that you have done enough to grant you eternal happiness. And you pray that you will continue to do good in the next life you are given…

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The team has been waiting outside the operation room for hours. Bubba and Bobby wasted no time getting you into operation considering your critical condition. Dogday has been pacing nonstop since getting you onto their ship. He was the one who insisted on taking you with them despite the protests from his teammates. Memories, emotions, and questions spiraled around and around his head, never giving him a second to rest. You’ve caused a lot of damage to not only his team but other parts of the galaxy. Dogday, however, being the sunny, kind-hearted leader he is will be damned if he just left another victim of the Prototype to die. Given the state of your injuries, unfortunately, the chances of your surviving in the long run are slim to none. That was stated by Bubba himself. Regardless, they still had to try, at least.

The canine knew that part of it was wishful thinking from Bubba and a couple others. Dogday can’t say he blames them for disliking the idea of helping one of the Space Riders’ most dangerous enemies. Leaving you to suffer the consequences of your actions means one less enemy to worry about. No one knows how or why you became the Prototype’s archangel apart from your Divinity powers. And maybe Catnap is right about the fact that Dogday’s heart is too forgiving for his own good. It’s just that that thought of leaving you, lying down, alone, and bleeding on the battlefield doesn’t sit right with him. That is not what the Space Riders is supposed to represent. They’re meant to give victims of the Prototype a second chance at life.

If you survive… maybe he and his friends could give you that chance. He hopes, at least. You could help a lot of people and use your powers for good. The riders could have a powerful friend and ally by their side. You could protect them like how you always protected your troops and the Prototype in past battles. You could have people to turn to and not leave you to die alone in the battle the moment things spiral downhill.

Dogday isn’t entirely naïve, though. Even if you survive, and you do agree to change your ways, there will be a lot of obstacles in your path. The obvious one was getting backlash from the Commander and members of HQ. The riders would have to disclose that they are hospitalizing one the most wanted enemies in the galaxy sooner or later. Given everything you’ve done, people are going to demand justice. Some will want to draw blood in the name of vengeance. Dogday would rather not risk that possibility. Maybe he and Bubba could find a way to convince the Commander and the Council to let you serve your sentence here under the riders’ supervision while you are being treated.

Time was passing so agonizingly slowly compared to Dogday’s thoughts. He wishes he could get some news on your condition now. At the very least, a slow update would suffice. Anything would do to finally put his aching head to rest. As if the heavens finally decided to answer him, the doors finally opened. Everyone, asleep or otherwise perks up hearing Bobby approaching. Her eyes droop, but her small, satisfied smile told everyone what they needed to know. Dogday breathes out a sigh of relief. You still need to be monitored for the time being. The surgery may have been successful, but that doesn’t mean it will be a guaranteed smooth sailing recovery. There are still a lot of risks that need to be accounted for at this time. The Space Riders rescued you in time, and that thought is enough to finally put the canine’s whirlwind of thoughts to rest. Dogday can now focus on the next priority; figuring out a way to disclose the recent events to the people of HQ.

[jardin-de-limaginaire]

Virtuous Cycle (male! oc x gn! reader) (DARK) (I/III)

"I HOLD MYSELF IN CONTEMPT!"

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: obsessive behaviours, angsty (NO ROMANCE, THIS IS MEANT FOR HORROR/THRILLER PURPOSES), reader is only mentioned

3rd January, 1941,

??? point of view

The courtroom was suffocating to me, as the stale air hung heavy with judgement. The judge, a stern figure dressed in black robes, stared down at me from his elevated perch as if trying to peer through the deepest parts of my soul.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the cold, unforgiving wood beneath me serving as a reminder of the atrocities I've committed, the actions I've made only for them. My eyes darted around the room, seeking any form of escape, only for my hope to be shortly cut off by the dark atmosphere and judging eyes of people I didn't know and knew.

The prosecutor, a man with a cold and merciless gaze, rose from his seat like a vulture circling its prey. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," He acknowledged, the audience's gaze following him, no longer looking at me with those terrifying glares. "we stand here today to unveil the face of a killer. A man who, in cold blood, extinguished the light of innocence."

The words echoed in the room and through my head, amplifying the dreadfulness that clawed my conscience. I could feel the weight of the accusations pressing down on me, threatening to consume me whole. Desperation clawed at my throat as I tried to find the right words, the words that would make them understand.

"Viator Goodwin," the prosecutor sneered, emphasizing each syllable as if trying to etch my name into a stone wall. "A man who, by all accounts, appeared to be just ordinary. Truly a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The air in the room grew thicker with each passing moment, thick enough to cut it with a knife if possible. The eyes of the spectators bore into me like a thousand needles through my heart. I knew I had to speak, had to make them understand the torment that had driven me to commit the unspeakable. With a confident voice, I raised my right hand. "Your honour, I plead insanity."

Murmurs of disbelief swept through the room, the judge's eyes narrowing at my proclamation. "Insanity, Mr Goodwin? Do you truly believe that defence will pardon you of your sins?"

I looked into the judge's eyes, pleading for mercy that I knew wouldn't come if I didn't play my cards right. After all, I couldn't plead for my innocence, after everything I had done for that tempter, that liar that should've been my spouse by now. Oh, if only they could've accepted my love, none of this would've happened. Not one innocent's blood would've been spilt if only they could've been mine. "Your Honour, I...I was driven to madness. The darkness consumed me, and I lost control of my actions. I had a good heart, I was seldom insane until that demon possessed me!"

The judge leaned back, his gaze unwavering. "The court will hear your defence, Mr. Goodwin, but know this: the so-called "demon" that led you astray will not shield you from the consequences of your actions."

As I began recounting the torturous descent into the abyss that had become my life, the room seemed to close in around me. The echoes of my words full of despair bounced off the walls, creating a silent room of people whose families were the victims of the massacre I had created with my own two hands. In this cold, unforgiving courtroom, I stood alone, condemned by the very darkness created in my soul, that had whispered its malevolent promises into my fractured core.

As I spoke, the room fell silent, the gravity of my words hanging like a veil. "Your Honour," I began, my voice laced with desperation, "the actions I committed were caused by (Y/N) (L/N) who unravelled the fragile threads of my sanity. They wove their influence into the very fabric of my judgement, and I became their puppet, dancing to the sick and twisted tune they created."

I could see their family in the distance, looking at me in disbelief, as if I uttered Satan's name. The murmurs rippled through the courtroom as the spectators gave me the same look (Y/N)'s parents gave me. It was true, (Y/N) was known as the sweetest person in town, always helping those in need, always being polite, and always being kind. Oh, how they couldn't see through their facade, that mask of beauty they have always worn, to hide the rotting soul they had underneath.. The judge's gaze remained stern.

"(Y/N) (L/N)," I continued, my words dripping with bitterness, "a siren in the disguise of innocence. They lured me into the abyss with their honeyed words and enticing smile. I was but a moth attracted to the flame, and in their presence, reason abandoned me."

I could feel the eyes of the jury on me, judging my every word the prosecutor's scepticism was evident, and I could sniff the mockery in the air, taste the shame I would have to endure if I didn't act adeptly. But I pressed on, unravelling the tale of that siren's seduction and the subsequent descent into madness that led me to commit heinous acts.

"They bewitched me, Your Honour, with promises of love. I was trapped in their web, a willing victim to the poison that dripped from their lips," I declared, my hands trembling with the weight of my confession.

The prosecutor rose, his voice cutting through the silence. "Your Honour, the defendant's attempt to shift the blame onto one of the massacre victims is nothing more than a desperate ploy. We must seek justice for the lives he has taken, not to entertain baseless accusations"

The judge nodded solemnly, signalling for me to continue with my defence. Oh how much I hate this prosecutor. If only I could cut his tongue. The room hung in suspense as I recounted the relationship I had with (Y/N) (L/N) before everything went downhill, that cursed name rolling on my tongue like a sickeningly sweet bon-bon, each word a damning testimony to the insanity that slowly took over me. The prosecutor's objections echoed, but I painted a vivid picture of their influence, leaving the courtroom flabbergasted.

As I finished my tale, the judge's expression hardened. "Mr. Goodwin," he declared, "your attempt to lay blame elsewhere does not absolve you of the crimes you committed. The courtroom will consider your plea of insanity, but rest assured, you shall be condemned to the electric chair, for you have committed the worst sin to have ever been bestowed in this courtroom: homicide. 8 people dead, 5 injured."

I could feel fury bubble up inside of me. How could they immediately sentence me to my death?! "But sir, can't you understand? I'm an insane man, driven to madness by that bitch! I should be sent to the infirmary! For the sake of humanity, they deserved to die of their blight! That seducer deserved everything that happened to them!"

The judge didn't seem too pleased with the way I acted. "One more word out of you, Mr Goodwin, and I'll hold you in contempt."

"I HOLD MYSELF IN CONTEMPT!"

Hello my lovelies, thank you for reading this short story I created in the middle of the night. Please remember to reblog if you enjoyed it, as I'm going to make a part II and III once I get 100 notes. Toodles! ~Luce

[dotieeee]

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 18

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

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Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

graphic non-con and dub-con ahead - turn back now if this disturbs you :)

the filthiest smut I've ever written, I think

chasing

edging

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 18: A Confession...of Love?

Frantic screaming from the Voice renting space in your head jolts you awake, only to find your Dream Lord towering over you, his eyes landing on your arms which you held close. You watch cluelessly as his face loses whatever colour it has left, his soft, adoring look vanishing in the blink of an eye and replaced with a livid, fiery expression. You wonder what on earth for, but then you realise you had something cradled in your arms that by his law you had no right to even set eyes on.

With great force, yanks the offensive object right from your grasp with a force that almost pulls you with it, causing you to scream and scramble to your feet.

You observe, horrified, as he spares a repulsed look at the book in his shaking hands then meets your eyes with his own, black and filled with rage you’ve only seen in him when he caught you with the man whose dreams he’s plagued with nightmares.

“Why do you have this?” 

His lips barely move, but the voice coming out of him echoes your bed-chambers, menacing enough for you to start backing away until the back of your legs hit the bed. You try to open your mouth, but no words come out, and frankly, you couldn’t find any. 

“I am waiting, little dream.”

With nothing else to continue backing into, you’re now trapped between the four-poster bed and his body, standing at his full height, his palpable anger so strong it makes you flinch. At this stage, any explanation of yours would fall on deaf ears, but you had to try. 

“My Lord, please -”

“Do I not love you enough for you to seek this mortal’s company?” he interrupts you, but this time, his voice isn’t strained by fury at your actions.

He sounds deeply hurt. Something you had not expected and had not meant to do. Frantic, you try to appease him as much as you can, so you place your hands on his charcoal coat, over his chest.

You start, your words coming out a mess, “My Lord, th-that wasn’t my meaning -”

“My sister has corrupted you,” he concludes in a whisper, as he traces your cheek with a finger.

“No, I came along with her on my own accord, she didn’t -”

But he grabs your chin harshly, his tone harsh and chastising, “Have I not ordered you to stay away from the dreams?”

“You were killing him, my Lord!” you exclaim as you let your own resentful tears stream down your cheeks. The hand on your chin moves to wipe them, but you swat it away, to his visible surprise. “How could you be so cruel, condemning him to a life of unhappiness, and for something he can’t even remember!”

“It is no more than he deserves,” he responds with a snarl. “That was my judgement of his transgressions against me.”

Swallowing thickly, you put on a brave face and confess: “I put it right. Before I said goodbye.”

Your Lord narrows his eyes at your revelation. “What did you do?” he asks with a clenched jaw.

“I undid Sumnio’s damage, my Lord,” you say, bracing yourself for the repercussions. “It was the right thing to do.”

No one could ever defy him and not face the consequences. Not even you.

“You still love this mortal.”

It wasn’t so much an accusation, as it was an observation, and it throws you off so much you just stare at him wide-eyed - it’s enough of a response to him. He bares his teeth as he grits them in his ire, grabbing the back of your neck in warning.

“Did you lay with him?” he asks seethingly, the pain in his voice evident once more.

“What? No!” How could he still be jealous of someone you already let go of, when he now has you locked in a relationship with him, very much pregnant and with nowhere else to go? “My Lord, I would never do that to you. I already bid him farewell. I will never see him again,” you say in an attempt to mollify him, but you tear up at the finality of your own words. 

You’ll never see him again.

You choke back your tears, and whisper, “Please, you have to believe me.”

Despite your weepy confession, he remains as stony and immovable as ever.

He lets go of his hold on the back of your neck and caresses your cheek. He begins softly, venomously, staring at you with those dark, pitiless eyes, “You broke into my office, went against my command and undid my punishment. So tell me: what shall be yours?”

“Please, Lord Morpheus, forgive me just this once,” you beg, clinging again to his coat as your tears fall freely. After all, you came but an inch to losing your sanity the last time he punished you, and you might just not make it a second time. “I only ended everything with him so I could put him behind me, and focus on us. Please…”

You watch him pause as he searches your face with an almost pained expression. Finally, he says, his voice almost breaking, “And yet you went out of your way to ensure his happiness, all while refusing mine by denying me your love.”

You shake your head vehemently, while you watch him dip his hands into the insides of his coat, and, already anticipating the worst, you close your eyes, feeling fine grains of sand brushing against your skin. As soon as it dissipates, the smell of damp and musk invades your nostrils, and your eyes are greeted with a sight you thought you’d never see again:

Your prison cell in the form of the chambers in the tallest of towers in the abandoned castle.

Very much panicking, you kneel at your Lord’s feet and grovel. “No, no, you can’t leave me in here again, Lord Morpheus, please, I beg of you!”

Slowly, he gets to your level and cups your face, but he has no empathy in his eyes for your woeful pleas.

“You leave no choice, my dream,” he whispers as his thumbs stroke your tear-stained cheeks. “I am taking your dreaming abilities back. I cannot allow you to continue disobeying my word and endangering our child.”

“But I didn’t - !” you start, but he starts backing away from you and sand begins to engulf his form.

“This tower will be your home until our son is born.”

“No, no! Please don’t leave me!”

But your screams only echo in the now-empty room, and even the traces of sand that he left as you scream yourself hoarse vanish, refusing to lend you an ear.

Please come back.

Your Dream Lord doesn’t come back, so you spend the night in the abandoned castle alone, curled up in the corner of the room on the cold stone floor, not bothering to use the four-poster bed. The pain of losing Ollie for the second time is just as fresh as ever, and add to that being sentenced to carry out your pregnancy on this desolate island, far away from the heart of the Dreaming…

Could this have turned out differently had you done more careful planning?

However aware you are about how pointless it is to cry about it, you still do, until you couldn’t anymore, and you collapse on the floor wishing you could sleep and never wake up.

***

Dungeon.

You are roused with a start by the Voice’s prompt, recognizing the same word it uttered many times in the last time you were here. You rub the sleep and dry tears off your eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink further into the soft mattress. Immediately you sit up to find yourself tucked comfortably under the warm sheets of the four-poster bed you remember giving a wide berth to. Has your Dream Lord been here, and has he moved you to the bed himself? The theory alone is enough to wipe all traces of drowsiness in you, so you kick the blankets unceremoniously off you to sit on the edge of the bed and contemplate what in the name of the Fates you’re supposed to do now.

Dungeon.

Perhaps you could watch the sea from the balcony? That’s certainly better than moping inside the depressing room. Maybe you could go to the shores and watch the tides until dusk?

Dungeon!

Yelling out of frustration, you grab a pillow and throw it against the brick wall, where it bounces off without making a single sound.

“Could you for once leave me the fuck alone?!” you scream at no one in particular, and the only response you get is your own voice bouncing off the grey walls.

As if you had better things to do, comes the Voice’s snarky reply.

“Fine,” you grumble under your breath.

Not bothering to take a bath, you approach the closed door that leads to the spiral staircase of the tower. The old brass knob surprisingly turns easily, meaning your King had not bothered to keep you locked inside and away from the other areas of the desolate palace. You hadn’t run out of luck yet, it seems.

Tracing the path you and Lady Delirium wandered together is easy enough, seeing as your first meeting was quite memorable. Thankfully your way to the dungeon is unobstructed, and in no time you reach the clammy underground cell you had once sleepwalked to, its iron bars still ajar, just the way you left it.

“I’m here. What now?” you ask the Voice.

But, infuriatingly enough, it remains silent.

Pacing in the middle of the dark cell, you try casting your mind back to the words it had kept on muttering. What could be here that it wants you to find? Hidden treasure, perhaps? What you would do with it if you find it, or how the Voice in your head could have known its existence is a mystery to you, but whatever it was had to be buried underneath the stone floors.

You kneel on the floor and start lifting each stone. They’re bloody heavy, so it takes you a while to reveal the entire dungeon’s black earth and pile the stones neatly in a corner. Huffing heavily at the effort, you notice through the small, high window how the sun had quickly risen past noon, so you hastily run to the upper rooms of the castle to find a wooden plank you can dig with. 

You spend a good few hours ploughing the soil for something that is yet to be revealed to you. Once you’ve dug up a spot to find nothing but crawling bugs, you move to another, hoping you’d unearth something, anything, that could be of value to that resident in your head, but it doesn't say a word, not a single sausage, and you end up empty-handed, with only nothing but dirt soiling your fingernails and your dress.

You decide to take a breather, sitting down on one of the stone bricks and throwing pebbles against the brick wall.

He’s here.

Your master had just arrived, presumably in the towers, wondering by now where you’d gone. Obviously, he could not in any circumstance find you in the dungeon, for the questions he’d raise would certainly be something you wouldn’t want to answer.

So, you run, intending to lead him as far away from the underground cells as you possibly can. You barely reach the ballroom when you hear a deep, velvety, disembodied voice.

“Where are you, my dream?”

It’s your Dream Lord’s, and it’s coming from the walls of the palace itself, reverberating in the empty, decaying halls, and it’s impatient.

Unsatisfied with your distance from the cells, you sprint to the opposite wing, reaching a wide, once-grand staircase and ascending its worn steps, tripping twice as you do. You’re panicking just a little by now, and it doesn’t help that you’re almost out of breath and your heart is pounding in your ears.

“There is no point in running, little dream. I will find you,” the disembodied voice declares. 

Still, you continue giving chase. The second floor, with its confusing labyrinth of hallways, is hard to navigate, and you don’t know if your eyes are just playing cruel tricks on you, but at every turn, you seem to glimpse out of the corner of your eye a black shadow at the end, still and waiting, only to find it gone the moment you focus on it.

He’s toying with you, whispers the Voice.

And for the first time in a long time, you find yourself agreeing with it.

The fourth floor of the palace is no different, except most of its empty hallways are unpassable, its ceilings already caved in and exposing it to the elements. Once you find an empty passageway, you scurry along, navigating through its fallen debris, until you reach the end, where a closed door lies waiting. With no room for hesitation, you push it open.

You enter what was once a grand room, except its entire ceiling and its walls have all but collapsed, revealing a scenery not unlike what your balcony at the tower offered. The afternoon sun exposes the ramshackled contents of what was once a room worthy of a noble, and when you reach the edge where a window once stood, you see nothing but the ocean waves crashing against the rocky cliffs below.

You have nowhere else to run, it seems.

Behind you, you feel your Lord’s ominous presence manifest, and goosebumps spring all over your bare arms as his warm breath fans your ear as he whispers against it:

“I found you.”

He twists your body so you could face him, and all you see is a glimpse of his smug grin and fiery eyes before his lips capture yours hungrily, while his arms wrap around your form to prevent you from breaking away. You’re forced to concentrate on kissing him back and moving your tongue along with his that you barely notice the tiny grains of sand brushing all over your skin - only until your back hits something soft does it dawn on you that he has taken you back to the tower, and laid you on the bed in your dirt-soiled clothes, shoes and all.

You whine into your kiss and pull your head away, breathless and panic-stricken, breaking into sobs, as memories of him taking you night after night mercilessly against your will on the same bed flood your thoughts. You beg, as you have done on those nights, for him to stop, but he ignores your pleas just as he has done many times before. You writhe underneath him in your terrified state, but in response to your defiant actions, he growls in disapproval and grips your jaw to make you face him.

“I must admit: your little chase gave me quite the thrill, dream of mine,” he says under his breath. “But, disobey me again and I shall ensure you will never see our son after he is born.”

Undeterred by his threat, you feebly push against him with your palms, you beseech him, “Please, Lord Morpheus, I don’t want to do this anymore, please…”

He just tuts in response and takes both your wrists and places them above your head. You feel sand wrap around them snugly and they get pulled gently to the posts - you try to yank them back, but to your horror, the sand around your wrists tightens its hold and wouldn’t budge.

He’s cuffed you to the bed using his sand.

The realisation sends you into a state of hysterics, but your Dream Lord just nuzzles your neck, shushing you and gently nipping from your jaw down to your throat.

“No, nonono, please…” you continue to sob while his hands freely roam your body, his hands grazing over your clothed breasts. In the blink of an eye, your soiled dress disappears, and so do his clothes. Helpless, you could only squirm as his mouth ravages your right breast and squeezes the other, pinching your nipple as he does. You whimper in pain at the action, and he actually pulls away, but before you can sigh in relief, he parts your legs and settles between them.

And you couldn’t thrash, because he grips you firmly at the waist as he slips his hard cock inside you. Groaning above you, he hooks his arms under your knees, sliding in and out of you at an angle that makes you bite your lip to stifle your increasingly louder moans. He picks up his pace, then brings your foreheads together, whispering heatedly over your lips:

“Can your mortal make you feel like this, my Mera?”

A particular thrust causes you to cry out, rendering you unable to respond and powerless underneath him. He continues goading you on:

“Can he pleasure you like I do, Dream of mine? Can he love you, worship you, as I do?”

“Please stop, please stop…”

But instead of heeding your piteous sobs, he grabs hold of your hips and starts slamming hard into you, earning screams from you, and desperately you try tugging on the sand binding you to the bed, but like his thrusts, its hold on you is relentless.

“Will you renounce your pathetic mortal and pledge to me your eternal love?”

But, how could he demand that from you, when he’s already taken from you everything that actually mattered to you?

“Answer me, little dream.”

And so you do: with a vigorous shaking of your head. No matter what he does to you, what he will do to you, you refuse to give him that satisfaction.

“Is that so, then? Have it your way.”

His thrusts start becoming more unsteady, his release burgeoning, as is your own -

And then he pulls out of you, much to your dismay, and you watch him with disappointed tears in your eyes as he spills his seed on your belly with a groan of pleasure. He had done it countless times in the confines of your chambers, but this time, it was meant to punish and humiliate you.

He looks down on you, sprawled underneath him and tied to the bed, with a merciless look on his face, his eyes silver, and you could have sworn you could see hurt behind them - not that you cared, he’s hurt you so much more than you did him - so, you gaze up at him with the most belligerent look you could muster.

“You shall have your release when I get the answer I seek.”

Your Dream Lord pulls away from you and gets out of bed. You couldn’t sit up much, but you crane your head as much as you could, only to see him clothed, and with nothing but a lazy flick of his finger, a blanket wraps your naked form.

“You’re leaving me like this?” you ask, even if you already knew the answer.

“At least, untie me, you fucking -”

A scream of frustration and embarrassment tears through your throat, and your outburst ends up again in hysterical weeping. He approaches your side and had the gall to cup your cheek as if it would bring you any comfort.

“I will come back for you. Until then, I leave you to consider your response.”

You look up at him in disbelief, but he’s gone in a swirl of sand, leaving you wanting, alone, and every bit disgusted at the state with which he left you.

***

You wake up to the sound of loud, squelching, firm hands gripping your thighs apart and a hot tongue flicking and sucking on your clit.

Your immediate response is a moan of pleasure, but it’s gone as soon as you hear a dark chuckle from the Endless grinning smugly from between your legs. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he continues lapping the wetness you offer, alternating between flicking your clit with that devious tongue of his and marking the insides of your thighs with little love bites that drive you to the brink of madness. With your hands still being held down by his sand, you couldn’t really hold his hair to keep him in place, so eventually, as you predict, he pulls away again, denying you of the climax you’re starting you get desperate for.

Whimpering, you could only observe as his tongue runs over his lips, coated in your juices. He sheds his clothes before you without so much as a blink. He makes his way closer to you until he’s straddling you at the waist.

“Sit up,” he commands simply.

You can feel the sand around your wrist loosen just a tad bit so you could follow his order, and yet it doesn’t fully release you, so you’re still trapped, bound to the bed, with an insatiable king intending for you to take him in your mouth.

“Eyes on me, little one.”

His hand slowly caresses your cheek before snaking to the back of your head, and like you’ve done for him so many times, you open your mouth as he pushes his cock inside your mouth with a groan of pleasure.

With his hand gripping your head and hair, he controls the pace of his thrusts into your mouth, and you could do nothing but take him in, eventually tearing up as his tip reaches the back of your throat. He knows you couldn’t take his entire length, so you’re grateful that he doesn’t shove it fully inside. Still, you fight the urge not to choke on his cock, and your eyes continually water at the effort.

As if sensing your struggle, he coos, “You’re very good, taking me so well, little dream. You take your King so well.”

“You look so pretty with your little mouth wrapped around me.”

He increases his pace and his force, earning whimpers from you, and just as you could feel him thickening in your mouth, he pulls his cock out of your puckered mouth, and, using his hand, he rubs his length and pours his seed on your breasts, some of it spraying your lips and neck.

Once he’s done, he issues another command:

“Lie down for me.”

As if he couldn’t wait, he pushes you gently down on the shoulder, while you still weep quietly, knowing what to come next. He settles between your thighs and positions his once-more hardened length over your entrance. He hovers over you, but he doesn’t make a move, and with your insides begging, aching, for any sort of relief, you try to buck your hips, but his hands clamp down on them to still any movement.

“Now, what shall be your answer?”

Letting out a breathy cry, you plead, “No, please, I can’t…Lord Morpheus, please…”

“Your answer, my dream. Your King awaits.”

His eyes are still locked into yours, expectant and almost impatient, and having been denied release so many times now, you finally snap.

“I will,” you whisper between your sobs.

Unsatisfied with your vague response, he coaxes, “You ‘will’ what, my dream?”

“I take it all back…I don’t love him anymore. I will only love you, Lord Morpheus, until the end of all time,” you declare softly, while your heart wilts inside, your stomach turning absolute revulsion at the words that just came out of your mouth.

You could only look on as his eyes close, as if in pure bliss, seemingly relishing the confession he forced out of you. Slowly, his eyes open, revealing striking blue, gleaming in the soft light of the chambers with the galaxies it contains, and they’re soft, so tender, and for a moment, you almost believe he holds all the affection in the universe for you.

Almost.

“Again,” comes his short command. “Say it again.”

“I will love only you, Morpheus.”

He lets you glimpse a flash of the softest, most subtle smile you’ve seen on him in a long time, before he closes the distance between you both and plants a tender, lingering kiss on your lips, and proclaims, allowing all of his dreamers in the universe, dreaming their little dreams, to hear, “I love you, Mera, and I will destroy entire worlds if it keeps you by my side.”

Dream of the Endless kisses you, deeper this time, more passionate, and you let him sweep you with it, just as he enters you gradually. You moan in his mouth, which spurs him on, and just as he buries himself in you at the hilt, he pulls out almost agonisingly slow, as if relishing how needy you are for him, before settling back inside, choosing a gentle pace. In no time, you’re a sobbing, moaning mess underneath him, and while his thrusts continue to bring you to the edge, the lips sucking and biting on your neck, your throat, your shoulders, and your breasts keep you anchored. He wraps his arms around you as he makes love to you with an all-consuming devotion, and as his lips nip at your earlobe, he whispers a confession only meant for you to hear:

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Until you couldn’t hold it in anymore, and every part of your body just explodes in pleasure. Crying out your climax with nothing else to hold, you wrap your arms around him, only vaguely noting that he’s already released you. A groan rumbles through your Lord’s body, and as you tremble beneath him in the aftermath of your orgasm, he too, finds his release, and he captures your lips in his as his warmth fills your core. Finally, he thrusts the last of his seed inside you before letting his form collapse on top of you. He doesn’t pull out just yet, he just holds you in his arms tighter, as if afraid you’d vanish. You stay, wrapped in his hold, limp and drained, trying to catch your breath.

“Lord Morpheus, you’re crushing me,” you let out in a strained voice.

He pulls away just a little bit, propped on his elbows, his eyes boring into yours and twinkling with mild amusement. “Apologies, my love,” he says as his forefinger traces your cheek softly. “I never want to let you go.”

Even with the most tender look in his eyes, his gaze still feels intense, you look away, feeling bare and vulnerable, while he goes on to rub circles on your collarbone like a real lover would after a night of boundless passion.

After what seems like an eternity, he gets out of bed and picks you up like a bride. Wordlessly, he carries you to the bathroom and lowers you with care down the bathtub which he instantly fills with warm, comforting water. He gets in position behind you, holding you close to his chest, and over your ear, he whispers:

“I love you.”

The hand wrapped around your form squeezes your arm ever-so-slightly - he’s waiting for a response, and from now on, you’d have to give him one, and it should be just the one he likes to hear:

“I love you too.”

And you wonder inwardly if it’s possible to just hate the one who breathed life into you with every cell in your body he’s crafted.

***

The wooden plank in your grasp breaks at the intensity with which you plunge it into the black earth. You huff in exasperation as you get to your feet and find another object you could dig with. You settle for a knight’s helmet you find in the ballroom, grinning just a little as Ethan the Knight crosses your memory. Trudging back to the dungeon, you get back to digging for whatever the hell it is the Voice is telling you to look for.

It’s the day after your rather forced confession of love for your Dream Lord, after all, so you’re really not in the best mood for earth-digging.

You’ve dug just about every inch of the earth twice, wondering vaguely how you’d place it all back now that you’ve gone almost knee-deep enough on some patches. Grumbling under your breath, you begin digging on a patch you swore you’d dug into for the third time. You search for it for about half an hour (you’ve lost count at some point), but the helmet hits a sizeable pebble, and it bends out of shape, rendering it unusable.

Impulsively, you throw it against the stone bricks with an irritated groan, and it hits a brick with a loud thunk. You glare at the spot it hits before springing up to get yourself another helmet, maybe a shield or a spear this time, but then you do a double take:

The brick the helmet hit was now dislodged slightly, and that’s when it hits you.

With your vigour renewed, you start tapping the bricks with the broken helmet, trying to hit a stone brick you could knock out of place. It takes you a while, but you get to a brick located at the very bottom of the wall, so you crawl, on all fours, to get the stupid thing out and finally put an end to the farce the Voice made you undertake.

After struggling with the heavy brick, you find a tiny crevice, and since it’s too dark for you to make out its insides, you tentatively let your hand feel for its contents.

“There better not be a fucking spider in here,” you mutter.

Thankfully, your hand doesn’t feel a single eight-legged creature - instead, your hands discover paper, of all things, lots of them. Making sure you’ve taken them all out, you fumble the space for a final time, before plopping down on the dirt to inspect your so-called treasure.

The papers seem to have seen better days, judging by the browning on the edges. They’re filled from the front page to back with familiar, barely-legible handwriting, and on one, you even spot a lovely little watercolour painting of a map of sorts.

It dawns on you in a flash why the handwriting seemed familiar:

It was yours, after all, down to the same way you dot your ‘i’s’ and loop your ‘g’s and ‘y’s.

But I don't remember writing this, you think to yourself.

Read, comes the Voice’s urgent demand.

Once you find where the papers begin and where they end, you dig right into the material, and you don’t put it down until you’ve read, and digested every single word.

What you read makes your blood boil with indescribable hatred for Dream of the Endless, before clutching your heart and doubling in pain at the gravity of the confession etched in ink - with the papers on hand, you tremble visibly with the burning desire for revenge.

***

Elsewhere in the Dreaming, the Abyss stirs awake with a low hum, its rumbling echoing the cave it has occupied for almost three hundred years. It’s hungry, always has been, as is the function bestowed upon it by its creator. Had it not been so unceremoniously abandoned, it could have its fill of the void the mortals seem to always possess in their hearts, and it could’ve continued consuming its fill, for humanity is rife with it - all the pain, the horror and the depravity - the emptiness they bring to the souls make for a delectable morsel which it had not had the pleasure of tasting in a long time. Being granted a place in the Realm of the King of Dreams had its downside.

Not that it has never fed in its time in the Dreaming. It had, after all, rare visitors: dreamers who unwittingly end up in its cave, only to be tempted by the bliss of nonexistence, and their souls either picked up by Death or be offered a place in the realm, as is customary for those who meet their demise in their sleep.

Ah, but this one, if it happens to cross its path, may prove to be an adequate meal, and it almost makes its cave shake in anticipation.

It won’t be long now until it dines - and what a lovely feast it would make.

****************************** Link to the next chapter

Author notes on the Chapter:

NGL this fic is just a massive excuse for smut at this point lol it’s really just PWEP: porn with elaborate plot

Also, apologies for any typos, I will come back to this to edit tomorrow :'D

AGHKKK final THREE CHAPTERS!!!

******************************

Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby @endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 2/21/23

Edit date: 2/21/23

Taglist: Just lemme know please if you want to be added, too!

Tagging the following:

@wt-fxck

@sandman-33

@reallystressedhoneybee

@akiraquote

@safe-teycar

@ponyboys-sunsets

@izzicle

@spygrrl99

@intothesoul

@thecrazytealady

@tastyinspection8860

@kittenssss-blog

@trinittyy

@mxacegrey

@saraicus

@blu3what

@justporple

@emy635

@chantzmar

@dawnissunnysideup

@esmeralda-tupi

@ggxsan

[ucetheones]

Found Family. | (Part 3) Jey Uso x The Judgement Day! Polycule

There's a loud 'crash!' from inside the bathroom of the faction's shared hotel room, the same bathroom a crying Jey had slipped into and locked, just five minutes prior. 

Dominik knows what upset his partner.

He knows exactly what set the man off, but he can't fix it. 

Even if he wants nothing more than to erase all the pain Jey is feeling, now and always. 

The younger can't, because Jey is tucked away from him, gasping for air quietly in an effort to muffle his cries.

Dominik tries to no avail, to get his boyfriend to at least open the door so he can join the elder and offer him some much needed comfort. 

Jey doesn't budge, and the increase in noises that sound eerily similar to things being thrown around and Jey trying to swallow down his sobs, makes Dominik's frown deepen, his own eyes welling with tears.

He wishes he could do away with all of Jey's trauma. He wishes he could reach into the past and prevent any bad from ever happening to the older man, but he can't. All he can do is love him wholly, even if the word hadn't yet been spoken, and remind him that he has not one, but four partners who would go to the ends of the earth for him. 

Well, in theory he could tell him, in practice, though he's stuck being separated from his boyfriend by a stupid wooden door, unmoving and ever present in a way Dom is no longer grateful for.

His voice is laced with concern but gentle, when he calls out, 

"Mi Rey…please open the door." 

He takes a pause, listens for any indication that Jey may be caving. 

He finds none sadly, so Dominik continues, recounting only slightly the events that led to Jey's retreat to the previously unoccupied restroom. 

"It wasn't your fault, baby! Finn knows better than to creep up and scare you. 

Jey…you didn't hit him on purpose, we know that…Finn definitely knows."

It had taken Dom the full five minutes to convince the entire group that bombarding Jey right now would make matters worse. He was firm in his stance that only one of them should try and talk to the man, and that it should be him.

They hadn't liked that one bit, especially Finn who wanted to apologize to his younger boyfriend, his guilt growing with each passing second. But, eventually; Rhea had seen the determination in Dominik's eyes, had noted his fierce tone and coaxed the other two into letting Dom try to get through to their boyfriend. 

Everyone of them knows how hard Jey has been working to heal from the trauma Roman and the rest of his family had put him through for the bulk of his life. None of them expected the progress to be linear or quick paced, they were content to allow things to move at their own speed. Jey was already doing so well, this was just a slip. It wasn't always going to go so smoothly, but they would stick by him through it all.

Dominik can't see Jey, no matter how hard he stares at the barrier between them and wills it to become transparent, but he knows the Samoan is shaking his head in response. 

His hand reaches for the knob, and he debates over giving it a twist, but decides against it when he considers how it might make Jey feel.

Cornering him is the last thing Dominik wants, so he settles on wrapping his hand around it, preparing for the chance when Jey may let him in.

Time passes slowly for Dominik, almost twenty minutes goes by without major change.

On Jey's end, things have fallen silent save for the occasional sniffle or heart wrenching sob, so Dominik hears with clarity when Jey unlocks the door but doesn't open it; instead he brokenly whispers, 

"Dom…please…" 

Which is coincidentally all it takes for Dominik to open said door, immediately stepping inside the admittedly small space and letting the door click shut behind him.

In moments, Dominik has an arm full of Jey Uso, and it's undoubtedly the best feeling to the young wrestler who feared for the briefest intervals that Jey would break up with them, condemning the entire group to a world where there was no longer the beaming smile of their boy, but in his place an emptiness no one would ever be able to fill.

It was irrational, Dominik knew that. 

He knows none of The Judgement Day would let Jey go so easily.

However, they also wouldn't force the man to stay no matter how badly they may long to, they wouldn't make him stay in a relationship he was unhappy in.

Even if it were remotely possible to try, Dominik knows they would respect Jey's wishes should he be against another chance. 

Thankfully, that didn't appear to be the case, furthermore enforcing just how unfounded and unwarranted the thoughts were to begin with.

Something that was wound up in Dominik unfurled with ease when Jey's beard grazed his cheek. He breathed a sigh of relief when the larger man pressed in close to him. 

His own arms wrapped around Jey's frame, tightly embracing his lover like it would be their last time seeing the other for years to come. 

Jey seemed to find a plethora of comfort from the arms that enveloped him, his body all but melting into Dominik's own.

Dominik isn't complaining, not now, not ever. An armful of Jey Uso is a luxury the Mysterio hopes to always be able to afford. A life where his boyfriend isn't glued to him, or vice versa, doesn't sound at all like a life.

They're silent for a beat, if they'd been laying down, Dominik knows without a doubt Jey would've fallen asleep in his hold.

But, instead they're upright and have an emotionally taxing discussion awaiting them. A discussion Dominik knows Jey wants to avoid, but for the sake of their relationship, they need to have. Preferably, sooner rather than later. 

Before the younger man can even open his mouth to speak, Jey is tensing up, his beautifully brown eyes once again filling with tears; this time unshed, which Dom will count as a step in the right direction. No new tears down his boy's cheeks is a win.

He doesn't want Jey to cry anymore, but they can't pretend Jey hadn't been so startled by Finn hugging him from behind and all but shouting a greeting to the group, unbeknownst to the Samoan, as he was wrapped up in a conversation with Damian, so badly he'd accidentally hit their partner. 

Without hesitation, Jey had elbowed Finn in the stomach and whipped his body from the hold.

The Irishman had immediately clutched his midsection and groaned in pain, the sound which served as the reminder Jey needed of where he was, and who had touched him. Realization of what Finn had done, and Jey in retaliation, fell over the group as well as silence. 

Finn was visibly fighting the urge to reach out to Jey once more, something everyone noted.

After that, he sped off to the bathroom, now bringing them to the present, where Dominik had somehow talked his boyfriend into letting him inside his makeshift hiding spot, and now, Jey was safely in his arms.

"Baby love, you know it wasn't your fault, right? Nobody is upset with you, we just all want you to be alright."

It's shaky and slightly unsure, but Jey nods his head when Dom is done speaking, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt. 

Jey buries his face in Dominik's neck, their barely there height difference unimportant to either male at the moment. 

It hardly ever matters, Jey is only an inch taller, but in lighter moments, the elder will gladly tease Dom about being short; ignoring the younger's playful anger.

Right now though, they don't joke about the inch, Jey simply whispers into Dom's ear, his voice thick with anger towards himself and anxiety,

"I t-thought I was gettin' better, I thought I was doin' better. This ain't doin' better, I hit my own fuckin' boyfriend because he tried to hug me. That's jus' fucked up."

The way Jey berates himself and his progress has Dominik pursing his lips to avoid frowning, not wanting to further upset the man, his hand flying up slowly to cup the back of Jey's head.

"Joshua Fatu, my sweet love, listen to me okay? You've made so much goddamn progress in these few months. You've grown in ways you can't see, but we all do, and we are so proud of you." 

Jey doesn't say anything, he just sniffles once, stubborn as ever, the tip of his nose grazing an ever shrinking hickey left by Rhea days ago; and Dominik understands that. He understands that in Jey's silence is reluctant agreement, or at least acknowledgement. For now, he'll take it. For now, he'll accept the silent reply, especially since the chances of Jey vehemently denying his growth was rather high.

Dominik is thankful Jey allows him to hold him like he's something special, something rare and unlike anything ever seen by another. And to Dominik, and the rest of The Judgement Day, he is. Jey is irreplaceable, he's more than special, more than unique. He's something completely brand new to the world, and with every day that passes, he shifts from being just Jey, to being Jey. 

Sweet, doe eyed, Jey who can change the mood of an entire room with a smile or pout. 

Jey, who makes all of them want to be better versions of themselves when they see how hard he's busting his ass to improve. 

They were happy before Jey was added to the fold of their relationship, but there was an emptiness unlike any other. It felt miniscule most days, but sometimes it veered into dangerous territory and threatened to consume the existing relationship, especially on days they'd see a downtrodden Jey Uso wandering the halls of whatever venue they were working. 

No one could explain what felt off, all those months ago, but now? Now, everyone could say with certainty that the feeling of a ticking time bomb hiding in their relationship was because none of them could admit their feelings for the Samoan. 

Once they had, things fell into place and somehow, the universe dropped Jey into their laps and allowed them to love him up close, rather than from a distance. 

They were embracing for an unknown amount of time before there was a hesitant knock to the bathroom door, and Finn's accented voice was tentatively flowing into the room.

"You fellas okay in there? We're all a little worried."

Jey doesn't tense up when he hears Finn, in fact he seems to relax more, wordlessly nodding to Dominik. 

Unsaid words ring loudly to Dominik, and in moments he's sadly pulling away from the hug, but he takes Jey's hand, intertwining their fingers before he's unlocking the door and tugging it open. 

When Finn's eyes fall on Jey, Dominik can tell he's been crying, and it pains him to consider how their boyfriend felt all this time. He was upset with himself, not Jey at all, Dom knew that, even if Jey hadn't before now.

"I'm so sorry, baby Jey. I really didn't mean ta' scare you…"

Though he never drops the younger's hand, Jey shuffles in front of the elder and wraps his free arm around his waist. 

"S'okay. I'm sorry too…"

Finn doesn't waste a second before he's enveloping Jey with both arms, and dropping a kiss to the crown of his soft, product void curls; reassuring the male he had no reason to be sorry.

Jey looks a bit like a cat when he nestles into their boyfriend's warm hold, but Dominik just smiles, and doesn't make a comment. 

He'll definitely be bringing it up later though. 

It isn't until he hears someone clearing their throat in his direction, that Dominik locks eyes with both Damian and Rhea. 

Rhea just winks at him, while Damian nods approvingly.

Yeah, things wouldn't always be perfect, but they would always get better. They'd jump over any hurdles as a family, as a messy, unexplainable couple. 

One day though? One day everything would be better, for Jey especially. He'd heal, they were all sure of it.

[mettleborn]

Continued from x

@richardxoliverxmayhew wrote:

Blood touched hands busied themselves with a dampened cloth as Richard wiped the skin of his palms and fingertips clean of Her injuries. She had lost a lot taking that shot, but the agent was certain that his patchwork would hold and give her time to recuperate, that is, if She didn't allow herself to calm down first. 9 didn't flinch at the other agent's sharpened words. Not even a twitch. Shock, he thought to himself. He could imagine that such panic-induced speech and state was the initial result of shock... and painkillers... and perhaps, seeing the man who had been acting as your competitor, at best, sitting close by as the first sight when you wake up from a deepened slumber. "Shhh... Calm down. Ye' need to calm down, 10" he tut, continuing to sit near Adelia's bedside; his steady, blue gaze not shying away for a moment as he glanced over her injuries. The stitches were holding. Thank god. "Look, I get it, yer' upset. Yer' in shock. I'm the last person ye' wanted to see, but I'm all you've got righ' now." Richard had been, since he personally dragged her unconscious body to the protected embrace of the safe house. "I need ye' to calm down and breathe, 10, I don't want yer' stitches comin' undone. Breathe. We're safe here. Yer' safe. Breathe..."

Propping himself up off his seat, he made his way to the nearby sink to fill up a glass of water. "I didn't kill ye' 'cause ye' and I are both on the same sinkin' ship," he explained, making his way back to 10's bedside before handing her the glass. An olive branch. "Ye' and I were both sent there under the 'guise of another mission. Wha' we go' instead was an ambush.--Now, I have no fuckin' idea wha's goin' on, but all I know is tha' somebody is desperate for both our heads tha' they hired bloo'y snipers to take us out." "How're ye' feelin', by the way?" Richard realized he hadn't asked since Adelia woke up. "Ye' were out for some time."

==========================

As she is shushed, Adelia’s expression is one of instant annoyance, like a chastised child, but she holds her tongue; eager to hear the agent explain himself.

“I’m not in shock!” She blusters, though it is clear from Richard’s expression that he doesn’t believe a word of it and as she is beckoned to try to stay calm and breathe, she finds herself, against her better judgement, questioning whether he might be right. In truth, she hates it; hates the idea what the wound she sustained was so severe, that someone got the upper hand and if it hadn’t been for 9’s quick actions, she’d very likely be dead right now.

Accepting the glass of water, she sips from it, grimacing as her dry throat aches before being immediately soothed. Listening to him explain it, it seems so obvious now; it was a set up - SPECTRE wants her dead – wants them both dead in fact. She knew the day would eventually come, though admittedly she never imagined it would be this soon. She may have been executing their orders expertly over the last few years, but that doesn’t mean she’s been entirely loyal. Since the murder of her handler, she’s been plotting the organisations’ downfall and the assassination of Blofeld himself, who once referred to her as being like a daughter – fitting when your aim is patricide.

“They know.” She states quietly and solemnly – it’s a terrifying thought and suddenly she feels utterly abandoned and alone. If they know, they will hunt her to the very ends of the Earth. They won’t give up until she is captured, interrogated, tortured and killed, that, after all, is Blofeld’s way – he doesn’t tolerate betrayal of any kind.

“I’m okay…” She lies, the tone of her voice betraying her fear. “I’m…” Staring at Richard, she knows it is truly time to decide – either she kills him or chooses to trust him and in doing so condemn him with knowledge she knows he shouldn’t possess. Glancing at her bandaged up wound and taking in the concerned look on 9’s face, she quickly ascertains that 9 is the only true ally she has; she’d be a fool not to trust him right now. She is so weak she can barely stand.

“I’ve been working with British Intelligence.” She admits, not sure if he will believe her. In truth, she hasn’t been quite working in the interests of either side, but working for herself by betraying both. Adelia holds no allegiances to anyone but herself, but she now suspects that may need to change.

“I’ve been acting as a double agent 9 and if he knows, my God, if Blofeld knows, we’re both dead.” There is a quiver in her voice, one that clearly conveys how frightening a thought that actually is. “Richard…” She whispers softly, reaching for him, desperate for him to believe her, desperate for him to understand these dire circumstances. She is a daughter of SPECTRE, she can never leave, unless in a body bag.

“Richard, I’m scared.”

[suuilee]

for me, ian was:

saying goodbye to my parents at the airport.

reassuring them that a category 2 wasn't the end of the world. it was holding up a shutter while my brother drilled in the next. buying just enough water, and cooking just enough food. arguing with him two days before landfall whether to stay or go, for a storm shifted to a monster.

taking down the first room i've gotten to decorate since losing our childhood home.

deciding what i needed to leave behind; "just in case".

making the judgement call to not evacuate.

what they don't tell you about that part is: many, many people had no choice.

our highways cornered us before we even knew what was overhead. later, we found out if we had fled, we would have been an eventual rescue in the middle of central florida, with no way home.

no one really prepares you for landfall.

i can't count on my fingers; the amount of times people would tell me we were overreacting. that this wouldn't be "the big one".

ian was going to bed on a tuesday, believing we would wake up to a cat 3 on wednesday.

we lost power on a wednesday morning, our cell towers went down shortly after. we had no idea what was coming. a phone call from my mom broke through. my parents don't cry, and i don't think they have ever sobbed harder. carrying their guilt of not being there with us. thinking they left us behind, almost felt worse than being told something we never anticipated—

—category 4, but you might as well call it a five; unless you’re an insurance company. 

nervous laughter at waffle house closing; jim cantore right next door. i didn't think those stories were real. being a spectacle to the world is like being in the eye itself. i don't wish that on anyone.

intensifying overnight, ian was destined to hit us at at exactly 2 pm, with not one eye wall, but two.

dropping the call meant sitting in the dark, which meant waiting, which meant playing a board game; distracting us from the inevitable.

"sorry" took on a whole new meaning.

my dad once said: better to have it and not need it, than to need it, and not have it.

the winds whistling into the 100s made us thankful for the shutter we agonized over. did you know that there’s a difference between a whistle versus the sound of a train? dead silence is the opposite of safety. tornadoes have always scared me.

i found out purgatory is equivalent to 14 hours; 30, if you count the power outage and contaminated water. longer, if you count crying over friends who you didn’t know were safe, hurt, or dead.

i don't like calling us lucky.

it's an ugly truth, and an uncomfortable one.

there isn't any relief in saying we were lucky, because what about the people who got the direct hit?

in fort myers, where the beach no longer exists? in sanibel, where their only way out was severed in half? inland, where they thought they were out of the cone's way? those who fled from tampa to further south, where they were told they would be safer?

why are we forgetting cuba?

a last-minute shift doesn’t mean a last-minute celebration.

the very people in the midst of tragedy, who social media is condemning. there isn’t a joke that can be made to remove that bitter taste.

somehow, the whole country knows better.

what they would do in our position. how to leave. it’s easy, if you try hard enough. why would anyone want to live in the south? you knew this would happen. it's your fault for staying.

what they don't teach you is empathy. both in definition, and in practice. i wish i hadn't looked at my phone.

i'm glad i did.

my brother and i watched ian high-tail out of our area.

he was, and is, the anchor to my drifting ship. never would i have thought we would have to play out the act of putting eachother's lives in eachother’s hands. 

i hope to do the same for others. they don’t tell you about the survivor’s guilt. i guess that's something you learn on your own; but i’m not alone.

we will heal. we will cry. we will recover. we will make it.

that may be easier said than done.

baby steps are better than none.

[annealeph]

Cross-post from a Youtube comment I wrote on a video about Hermes which I feel would be right at home on Tumblr too

SPOILERS FOR FFXIV ENDWALKER

Something I believe is very important to always to is to be capable of criticizing actions but still empathizing with people

I do not forgive or dismiss Hermes actions, especially not the one s after hearing the Meteion answers to his search for meaning. He undoubtedly doomed the universe to a fate we only managed to escape because **we cheated his challenge by both travelling back in time and escaping with our memories** and for that it is best that he is no longer around

However, we cannot hold his perspective on one hand while holding the gavel on the other, to understand we need to cease judgement, we can condone or condemn to our hearts content afterwards

Hermes was broken, he was filled with existential questions created by the society around him, and questions that were dismissed by the very same, He wanted to cherish life (And I hear you thinking about the video counter argument given in the video, but remember to put the gavel down) but at every turn what he perceived as life was discarded, and thus, the things that troubled him grew and festered.

Ideally, he would be able to talk this out with others, and with us he did, and though we did not have time to sit with it I believe that our presence would have helped him clear his mind a bit, he couldn't find any connection with the other ancients on his existential dead because the source of it is something no one bats an eye to, no one would understand it, and even outside the game many people don't (Gavel down please)

And just as he found someone he could share his burden with, he received a response from his other recourse to set his minds at ease, the Meteion, and the answer was simple...

Pure Nihilism

The lives you thought shouldn't be discarded like used up parchment? They are pointless. The strife you wanted to believe had meaning? It does not. All life ends and that is the only truth in this existence. There is no meaning, and even this race of yours that puts itself above their creations will cruble onto itself one day, and all that came in between was worthless (Again, gavel)

Hermes just had his biggest fears confirmed to him, and despite Hades himself pointing out that the premise of the question is flawed, he has already lost, Hermes is no longer capable of thinking properly not because "he crazy", but because his life, and the lives he mourned, are **entirely meaningless**, he as well as the rest of the ancients and their creations would be discarded just like that one creature he had to put down

And this is where my talk of setting aside judgement and arguments ends, because unfortunately, I cannot sympathize with his actions after that. To me his actions are no longer rational, and just like the beast that was goung rampant just a few hours before, he needs to be stopped or else Meteion will bring forth the Final Days, them being fueled by the nihilism of a dozen stars that could not provide them with a meaning, only providing tales of loss and fire and pain with no succor at the end

I can understand what led Hermes to losing himself to the point of completely breaking, I do not agree with his conclusions or even with his questions however and neither did the writers, seeing as Hades himself criticizes his though process, Hades as an outsider can see that the mission and purpose for the creation of Meteion is going to fail spectacularly but he only knows what that is **after** everything goes to shit, and thus, cannot prevent it.

And like I said before, Hermes very much **had** to be stopped at that point, I can empathize with him, but when push comes to shove, he was about to doom his own world and we cannot let that happen

We have all the right and some would argue even the duty to adequately judge the actions of others, but reducing them to only their actions is counter-productive, the writers had moments making you Sympathize with him not as a "uwu plz fowgive me fow my fucky-wucky" but as a way to explain why he lost himself and cursed the world to oblivion, again, not to justify it, but to **explain**, after all, "would you be happy had I a good reason?"

Hades had a reason, and I understand his reason, but I do not forgive him, he cause calamity after calamity and we are still untangling the mess that is the 13th, a mess that **his group** caused. I will not forgive Hermes either, he had a reason, and I understand his reason (In short, desperation and nihilism, not disagreeing with the ancients), but he still created a being for a mission he did not realize was doomed from the start

This is a tendency of his as he also gave humanity a mission that would have been impossible were it not for us disregarding its rules and running with our memories and Venat (Who is also on paper-this thin ice which only hasn't broken because I did not give her a lot of thought)

In the end, his reasons are not meant for you to condone his actions, as they are unforgivable and driven by anguish and despair, not logic, but it is also not without reason that he reached the point he did

[isleofsodora]

Métamorphisa Changes (ch. 5 au)

Hannah forced a cold stoic gaze as she followed behind the old croon scolding more about worthless lessons of how Royal women should act and say the right proper things, Hannah loathed these lessons and envied her brother, Arthos, who would spend his days training with the heads of the Royal Guards, preparing to become the next King of Åzzitrial also meant becoming a master of hand-to-hand combat and hand held weapons, Hannah would always watch from the sidelines and had to teach herself when she snuck into the courtyard at night with a wooden sword, practicing the lessons her brother was being taught. 

The day seemed to have no end and Hannah was getting irritable, wanting to bash the old woman’s skull with a rock tempted her as they passed through the castles garden, which sported hundreds of flowers and fruit baring trees, Hannah abhorred how they had such luxury while millions were being starved everyday, it tore her apart inside and out. 

Hannah wasn’t paying attention and was sharply smacked with a hand held crop from the old croon, “pay attention!” She scolded before whipping back around, almost marching along the path towards a small patio like space, and there awaiting were Hannah’s father and brother, Hannah’s mother was an angel in the ground, having died shortly after giving birth to the Kings only daughter, and she knew deep down her father condemned her for that. 

Hannah straightened her shoulders as her heart turned to stone, showing any emotion around her father would send him into a craze, and her body would have to pay the price. King Azazel gestured for his daughter to seat herself and she did so with a cold blank stare, mimicking her fathers scarred and leathered face. His long white and grey hair reminded her of an old Lÿonorr, but he still managed to look just as cold and ruthless as he did back in his prime. 

“My dear Hannah,” King Azazel spoke in a rough baritone voice, her brother was seated next to him and even though he had grown his dark brown hair out as well, he looked just like his father, while Hannah was beginning to adorn more and more of her mothers beautiful features, another reason why she suspected why her father shunned her away. “It has been brought to my attention that you have been failing Madam Dames lessons recently, would you care to explain?” Hannah had to think of something quick, if she hesitated to long she would be stripped and whipped again, “I…have been thinking father,” she replied bluntly.

“About marriage,” and she screamed internally, Hannah would soon be turning 18 and feared being forced into a horrible marriage arranged by the King. Azazel arched a bushy brow, he knew that she was hiding something from him, he knew his daughter too well, “marriage?” He tagged along, Hannah nodded curtly, “yes, since I am to be wedded within a few months time, I thought that we should hold a banquet and invite neighboring Princes to test their hands for my marriage, but of course by your final judgement,” and bowed her head, Azazel sat in silence and Arthos glanced over, remaining silent with bold honeysuckle eyes 

King Azazel remained silent as he stood promptly up, Hannah’s heart froze and she kept her eyes glued in front of her, seeing the small vase of flowers placed in the center of the table, suddenly she was sharply smacked upside the head, she tumbled out of her chair and crashed to the floor, her brother just stared as Azazel tugged his daughter up by her long beautiful hair.

“How dare you mock me child!” He roared before shoving her into the paved ground, Hannah grinded her teeth as her father beat her again, “do you think I’m that daft?! After everything you’ve done against me you suspect me to be stupid?!” He sneered before kicking her in her stomach, Hannah gasped as her air was forced from her lungs, “take her to the courtyard and give her fifty lashings!” Hannah felt a couple guards grab her and haul her away, she screamed and protested, cursing her father and brother. 

Hannah breathed heavily as her marred back was ripped open after the fifty lashings had concluded, no one helped her to the doctors dormitory and no one held her hand as she was stitched back up, the nurse could see the dark hatred and turmoil flashing in Hannahs eyes before giving her a peck on her forehead, “just hang in there a little longer child, one day you will right everything that your father had done,” and even Hannah knew herself if her father was there, he would personally gut the nurse alive for such treasonous words. 

The princess forced a smile before leaving the dormitory, she glanced over and seen some guards escorting a group of scholars towards a heavily guarded storeroom that housed hundreds of powerful artifacts, Hannah kept her gaze down as they passed by, she followed behind, wondering what was going on. 

Hannah slipped into the huge room and hid behind various objects, staying in the shadows as the men bickered in amazement, Hannah arched her neck further out, trying to see what the scholars were all baffled by right until the huge mahogany doors slammed open, King Azazel strode quickly in with a deep look of furor on his face, Hannah watched as everyone parted like flies and she finally got a glance at a old scroll in some sort of interlocked seal, the parchment was glowing yellow and it hovered in place. 

Hannah bit back a smile as Azazel tried to pry the scroll out, but no matter how hard he pulled with his strongest set of gauntlets he could not break the hexed seal, the King was furious and bellowed at the cowering scholars, ordering for another way to break the seal before he stormed off, the scholars had no idea what to do and asked to be escorted to another chamber to think of a way to break the old enchanted seal. 

The girl watched them go from her hiding spot, when she heard the great doors lock she slipped out from behind various objects and inched closer to the enchanted parchment, it strangely captivated her and it seemed to beckon her closer, Hannah reached out and her hand seemed to somehow slip through its spherical prison, her fingers brushed against the paper, it radiated a strange energy and when she took a hold of it she suddenly heard the locks being undone, without thinking Hannah ripped the scroll from its prison and rushed for a long forgotten door near the far corner of the great room, as she was running up to her room she heard her father bellowing in fury. 

Hannah hid the scroll under her long hair before she sat near her desk, pretending that she was studying when her father barged in, his eyes fumed of rage as he tore Hannah’s room apart, right before he raked a sneer over his daughter, Hannah glanced over but looked back at her various papers and books, praying to the Gods that her father didn’t step any closer to her, King Azazel stepped out and asked a guard if they seen her come straight back to her room and they answered that she did, the old King growled as he stalked down the halls in search of the missing scroll. 

Hannah waited till it was nearly sundown before she snuck out of the palace, she seen several awaiting squadrons racing up and down the castle walls, the girl smirked as she tucked the scroll under her arm as she raced through a forgotten underground passage before she suddenly popped out near the central part of Krÿztof village, Hannah hurriedly covered up the human sized hole with a reed blockade, the young princess straightened out her white cloak and began to push past various poor folk and merchants, going straight towards the Brotherhoods hideout.   

Thomas sang and danced with Percy as the group were clapping and sining away into the night, Thomas had snuck back a whole gallon of Rümm and they were all a little tipsy, but it was all in good show for Thomas’s 18th birthday. The boys were singing away when Hannah stepped in from behind the drawn cloth and watched as everyone was celebrating away, right until Percy seen her and waved her over, “Hannah! Come sing with us!” He called out gayly and Hannah noticed the huge jug sitting on the table, it clicked that everyone was drinking, the twins were a little wobbly and they were both wondering around without their tunics, the young woman chortled before she joined the buzzed boys. 

Everyone was having a blast, Hannah was smiling and dancing with Ryan while the twins attempted to soothe everyone with their 'so claimed' beautiful melodies, but if there was a mirror around it would shatter to pieces, Thomas was watching from a makeshift throne of junk while Percy was bustling over various presents that the other members had gathered together, the midnight haired boy took another swig from the huge jug before letting out a monstrous belch, Percy laughed before tugging the jug for himself, taking a swig before passing it on for the twins, they each took a turn and then handed it to Hannah. 

“Yer turn ‘annah!” Ben drawled out with foogled eyes, Bill nodded, “or yew chiken?” And he smirked. Hannah faked an indigent look before she hoisted the jug up with both hands, she tilted back and the boys watched as she began to chug the dark liquid, Bill and Ben both glanced at each other before they began to chant Hannah on, urging her to keep going, Thomas soon joined in and even Percy found himself chanting along with, “go! Go! Go! Go!” They all cheered and Hannah finally ran out of breath, she took one last gulp before she gasped for breath, “hah!” She called out before slamming the jug on the makeshift table, everything sitting on top rattled as the boys all cheered while Hannah pumped her hands in the air. 

“Beat that you chumps!” She smirked before her head began to swim, Hannah stumbled a moment before Ryan gently caught her and helped her with her footing, fretting that she drank too much too soon, Ryan guided her over towards an empty seat and helped her sit down, Hannah laughed as she playfully shoved at deep blondes face and cooed lovingly at him, “you’ve got…s-such pretty eyes,” she giggled and Ryan blushed, causing the others to burst out with laughter. 

After awhile of Ryan trying to get everyone sobered up a bit, Thomas finally tore into his gifts and thanked each member, Percy got him a small trinket to fiddle with, the twins managed to swipe some smoked Râmâ hide, and Ryan got him a personal satchel, when it was Hannahs turn she grinned proudly, “I think you’ll like this one Thomas,” she grinned before reaching into her hood and pulled out the scroll, the boys all gazed at it before Hannah began to hand it over to the taller young man. Thomas grinned sheepishly while reaching with his right hand, as soon as he enclosed his fingers around the yellowed paper he suddenly cried out in pain. 

Everyone froze as Thomas suddenly dropped the scroll and cursed, shaking his hand like it was on fire, searing pain ran up his arm and throughout his entire body, Thomas grimaced and clenched his teeth, it hurt just like he touched a bolt of lightning itself. “Ow! What was that for Hannah?!” Thomas barked at the stunned girl, Hannah blinked before she furrowed her brow, “I didn’t know it would do that!” She fired right back before swooping down and scooped up the scroll in her hands, she was just as confused as everyone else, Hannah opened the scroll and gazed at the strange writing, “what in the Realms?” She questioned aloud, she had never seen handwritten symbols like these and they were structured in a strange way. 

Ryan peeked over her shoulder and furrowed his brows too, “where’d you find this at?” He asked but didn’t want to dare touch it, still seeing Thomas gritting his teeth and gripped his wrist right above his injured hand, which felt numb for some reason, though the bewildered boy could feel some sort of current running through his veins. 

Hannah froze for a moment, ‘lie!’ Her conscious shouted, and she raked a hand through her long hair, “I-I got it from some sort of traveling vendor not too far from here, I’m sure he’s long gone by now!” Hannah forced past her teeth and the twins both looked too, and even they didn’t want to touch it either. Thomas glared hard at his hand while Percy gazed with a twisted brow, he watched as two small triangular markings began to glow near the top of Thomas’ cheekbones, one on each side, though Thomas didn’t notice at all. 

Ryan glanced up and seen them too, everyone began to stare at the midnight haired boy and Thomas finally noticed the silence of everyone staring at him, “what?” He asked and seen Percy pointing at his face, “y-you’re glowing,” he uttered as he continued to stare at the glowing blue triangles, Thomas arched a dazed brow, “I’m…glowing?” He questioned before Ryan suddenly turned on his heel and raced up to his loft, grabbing a small handheld mirror and raced back down, handing the mirror to Thomas and he gasped, seeing the glowing triangles for himself. 

Thomas almost dropped the mirror and handed it back to Ryan with trembling fingers, “please tell me you know how to make this stop Hannah,” Thomas remarked sorely and the white cloaked girl shook her head, Hannah set the scroll on the table before cupping her forehead, “I’m sorry Thomas…I-I didn’t mean for this to happen!” And her eyes began to swell with tears, Percy knitted his brows with worry before he hugged her tightly. 

Ben and Bill were both watching Percy embracing Hannah while Thomas was pacing back and forth, how was he going to steal anything now? He’d be like a beacon for the Royals! What should have been such a joyful event had now become nothing but a sour evening! Ryan looked over with worry and seen Thomas pause long enough for him to notice his fingertips beginning to glow now too. 

“Thomas!” Ryan shouted and pointed, everyone gazed at the sky blue eyed boy holding up his hand, Thomas felt his breath falter as the glowing blue light suddenly began to swim up along his digits and was soon trailing up his arm, leaving behind light grey flesh. Thomas froze on the spot as the gentle luminescent glow slowly engulfed his body, turning his tawny skin to a light grey color, he watched helplessly as the light finally subsided under his bare feet and he gazed up with wide eyes, everyone else stared back with perplexed faces, Thomas looked completely alien now, and all because he touched that stupid scroll. 

“T-Thomas…?” Percy squeaked and took a daring step closer, Thomas held up his hands and flexed his new grey digits, he looked up with a horrified look on his face before he suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. 

[magic-hcs]

✨✨A Snippet with Sky!✨✨

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, mentions of genocide, guilt, mentions to resets.

✨Eyes Cast To The Sky✨

A glow of sky blue cast upon the golden colored tiles of the hall. Rays of light filter through the yellow windows, painting everything in a hue of a beautiful deep orange. It mocks him with the truth of all he failed. The quiet is deafening, a force of weight pushing down upon his shoulder forcing him to bend. Magic rushes through his non-existent ears, whispering condemning words of his failure. Of his weakness. Every breath is too difficult to take. Mixed with particles of dust.

“IT HAD BEEN A BEAUTIFUL DAY, THE FLOWERS HAD BEEN BLOOMING, THE BIRDS HAD BEEN SINGING THEIR LAST SONG…”

He had been naive. He had been foolish to assume they wanted to be friends again this run. They had been a stranger with the clothes and face of his previous friend. A foe who didn’t bother keeping up the ruse yet he fell for it anyways.

His judgement had been clouded.

They had been a stranger the moment they stepped out onto the snow. Acting so cold and annoyed at everything they once had enjoyed. He had brushed it off as them not feeling well. Grey stained their pants and he turned a blind eye. His unwillingness to see the reality for what it really was brought everything to its miserable end. His friend was no more but he didn’t want to see it.

And then the first cloud of dust fell onto the snow.

He refused. It couldn’t be. It must have been an accident. This had not been the reality he wanted so he refused to admit. In denial he hoped that if he believed enough they would stop this path and change…that if he gave them chance after chance they would finally see the right path one day. And that they would grasp his hand with two eager hands of their own and change for the better…

He had been putting faith in an illusion that was tearing at the seams with every pile of dust that filled the underground…

He’s who let it all happen. And now here he stands at the end of the golden halls of Judgement. Staring right in the face of the manifestation of all his sins. Who was really being judged here?

“IT ALL WITHERED INTO A STATE OF DECAY UNDERNEATH YOUR DUST STAINED FEET…”

It had shook him to the core. Seeing his brother’s priced hoodie trampled into the muddy snow. Stained with dust that had not yet flown away with the wind…It was all he had left of him…all that he had left and the nightmares of how his end could have happened. The brother that once had looked up to him is gone…and he failed him…

The sins are crawling on whose back now?

“DOESN’T IT FEEL HEAVY? THE WEIGHT OF WHAT YOU’VE DONE PRESSING DOWN ON YOUR SHOULDERS?”

It feels heavy to him. The burdens press into him so heavily that it’s bringing him to his knees as he speaks. How they are still standing after all they’ve done, he shall never be able to phantom. The only justice he’ll be able to provide for those he’s failed is to make this last stand a living hell.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER. I WON’T STAY STILL ANY LONGER, MERCY WON’T BE GIVEN TO A DIRTY BROTHER KILLER…”

The sky blue light flares and his last stand is made. But who is he punishing really? It was an eternity of repeats, each attack stronger and more manic then the last. Yet as hours pass he doesn’t let up, doesn’t tire, as if this stand was meant to last forever. Eyes dark except for that single sky blue light filled with not rage but grief. One mistake was all it would take to end this hell of condemnation. One single misstep to add to the weight of burdens he had already carried on his back.

The weight of the mistakes, of the broken hopes and dreams, of the sins became all too much to bear. It brought him to his knees, it was one slash across the neck to end it all. One hit it took to fall. Like a gash all too familiar to his daily nightmares. Phalanges gingerly touch at his dusting neck. The blue scarf barely holds it together. An ice cold weight coils itself around his soul and squeezes, telling him this is the end.

Tears trailing down his cheeks, one last desperate sob tearing past his teeth. Words unintelligible, pleading for it to not end like this, to live despite having given up the will after all he cared about having been ripped away due to his negligence to act…

But it’s all in vain…

Casting his gaze to the sky one last time…to the gold painted walls and the orange glowing windows inside this hall. His last breath teared violently from him as everything he was and used to be turned to dust.

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Forget I said fandoms, you are focusing on the wrong part of the statement. I just brought up fandoms because it is salt in the wound.

After a hard day of your boss making you feel like crap, your alleged "fans" being rude to you doesn't make it any better.

of course it doesnt and it certainly impacts morale

i think though that a lot of creators have a misguided relationship to their own fandoms

back in adventure time the creators were very, very, very cagey and only ever responded to questions about the show once every year, the guy in charge adam muto expressly asked the creators to not discuss adventure time, because he knew that anything they said could snowball into some horrible controversy

he was right to have that attitude especially with the situation the show found itself in in 2011 after the mathematical! controversy

the issue is that adventure time's radio silence meant that they couldn't talk, at all, about any queer writing in the show, even new staff members who were really invested in it, and they had a limited capacity to talk about anything else either

but on the other hand i see more modern show writers like matt braly actively starting shit with fans and being weird, of course he's going to get backlash for that!!! he's right for recieving backlash for the recent controversy too. him and his team have done some creepy shit so yeah that's on them. though i wouldn't go so far as to accuse them of crimes, and people absolutely must have done that by now, and they need to calm the fuck down.

related, i was talking to my friend last night about voltron wherein she said that, even she agreed though the votron team were really weird about gay rep, they had started recieving GLASS CUPCAKES in the mail and stuff like that. what kind of fucking psychopath sends some poor artists GLASS CUPCAKES because they didn't like how they handled a cartoon!!! what the fuck!!!!!! if you want to send someone GLASS CUPCAKES go after the US supreme court or something, don't go after random artists because they wrote queerness in their show but were horribly misguided about it?????

and that's the kicker, isn't it? there is no room for mistakes anymore. people make absolute permanent value judgements on each other based on one mistake and assume they can never change and deserve to be hated forever.

if one thing is a bit off the entire thing gets condemned. look at she-ra. theres plenty that she-ra messed up (why the leash jokes???), but when it first aired people tried to say that it was perfect even though it had stuff like that, then when it made decisions that broke away precious OTPs, or when it finished and everyone moved onto the Owl House, people were saying that it's the worst show in the world and should be condemned.

can it not be in between? steven universe was utterly condemned, sure theres a hell of a lot wrong with that show but less from a moral front and more from an overall quality front. there's a ton of stuff in steven universe that is absolutely worth watching. i think that people just like trashing the old show to support the new show and pretend that there is some kind of moral basis for it.

[histoireettralala]

The dangers of disgrace- Can you save the family patrimony ?

Royal favour was so actively cultivated because political credit opened the doors to the further accumulation of wealth and even those well beyond the comparatively narrow confines of the court received pensions or other marks of distinction which meant that disgrace could have serious financial consequences. By the seventeenth century, France was governed by the rule of law in as much that life and property were not subject to royal whim. Rather than justice being exercised by the monarch personally, authority was delegated to courts and other individuals or institutions even if it was always subject to evocation should the need arise. Shocking exceptions such as the assassinations of the Guise or of Concini on the orders of Henri III and Louis XIII respectively were, it is true, covered by the flimsiest of legal fig leaves, thereafter trials of one form or another had been held for many of those who had fallen into the profoundest disgrace. For all of their theoretical power, Bourbon kings saw themselves as absolute monarchs not tyrants or despots, and property or offices were rarely confiscated in the manner of Russian tsars or Ottoman sultans. Yet if this offered French elites some degree of security, disgrace could still leave the family patrimony highly vulnerable.

Both the duc de Montmorency in 1632 and the Grand Condé in 1653 were condemned for the crime of lese-majesty after taking up arms against the crown and the potential consequences for their family patrimonies were nothing short of catastrophic. Before his execution, the rebel duc was declared "deprived of all rank, honours, and offices, the duchy of Montmorency extinguished and reunited to our crown and all of his other estates, seigneuries, properties, and goods, confiscated in our name." Condé fared no better and he was deprived of his "honours and governorships" by a royal declaration of November 1652 and dispossessed of "all his houses, lands, and properties to the profit of the king" by an arrêt of the Parlement of Paris in March 1654. If such draconian sentences could be handed down to two of the most prestigious men in the kingdom, it is easy to imagine the potential vulnerability of those lower down the social hierarchy, and when faced by harsh public and legal condemnation saving the family fortune was no easy task.

Guilty of lese-majesty, and with Richelieu determined to make an example, Montmorency lost his head and any right to influence the future destination of his patrimony. Yet rather than bolster the royal domain, Louis XIII respected the wishes of the rebel's father, who before his own death had planned to divide his inheritance amongst his three daughters should his son die without heir. By this route, a substantial portion of the vast Montmorency inheritance had passed to the Bourbon-Condé via Charlotte-Marguerite de Montmorency, wife of the prince de Condé. It was their son, the great military captain, who had by his own treason during the Fronde endangered that inheritance and much else besides. Moreover, unlike the duc in 1632, he had not expiated his crimes on the block and was instead fighting in Spanish service against Louis XIV's armies in Flanders while his brother, Conti, and most of his relatives and clients were suspect having participated in one way or another in his revolt. There was, therefore, a genuine danger that the family patrimony would be broken up or lost.

The House of Bourbon-Condé rose to the challenge. The task of safeguarding the family fortune was rendered possible in large measure because the judgement confiscating Condé's possessions was issued in absentia and despite its draconian terms it left the door "open for repentance" and allowed five years for an appeal to be lodged. That delay bought valuable time, even if the presence of the notoriously avaricious Mazarin waiting in the wings was a warning that it might not be enough. In response, the princely House and its entourage was mobilized and it promptly began to squirrel away jewels, furniture, works of art, and other valuables, literally stripping châteaux and hôtels and hiding anything of value away from the prying eyes of its enemies. Legal manoeuvres allowed the family to open up another front as almost everyone from the prince de Conti to household servants took the opportunity to make a legal claim against the absent Condé's estate. Having made his peace with the cardinal, Conti cemented his new found favour by marrying Marie-Anne Martinozzi, one of Mazarin's nieces. While hardly a prestigious match, the political advantages were all too tangible as he could now stake a claim to the offices and titles forfeited by his brother. By these and other means, the Condé fortune was saved from rapine and when, in 1660, the prince was permitted to re-enter the kingdom disaster had been averted. His rehabilitation, which had been negotiated as part of the Peace of the Pyrénées concluding the long war with Spain, was a rare example of political disgrace being ended by diplomatic treaty. It would, however, take several years before the damage to Condé's political and financial credit had been repaired, and he was once more trusted to serve at the head of Louis XIV's armies.

Julian Swann- Exile, Inprisonment or Death- The Politics of Disgrace in Bourbon France

[bombdodger7]

What happened? Where the hell am I? This can't be the same reality or world that I was born into. Not the one where people mostly meant what they said, there was hope for the future of humanity and I could get a damn good quality burger for less than an hours wage!

We had our problems. I mean, we had some pretty bad ones. Racism, sexism, homophobia, violence, lack of mental health care, intolerance, dangerous and shoddy work out equipment and those God-awful parachute pants everyone had to sport around the arcade after MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice made them popular! Ok, those were pretty bad problems in any scenario, but we still have the same ones that are arguably worse in the modern era, plus a plethora of more new-age walls to bang our heads against. What can a fella or a lady do? Well, most have resorted to adhering to the status quo, not realizing that while they binged Netflix and gorged themselves on junk food, they were becoming sheep, and I'm not referring to the good, Jesus-y kind. They are all too ready to trade in the freedoms we once would have charged into battle for, for the security of having electricity and affordable insurance.

Im not a religious man by any stretch, but I do believe in God. I guess I qualify as being called a Christian, but I abhor the term because the image and thoughts that come to mind when the average person thinks of what a Christian is. The vast majority of so-called christians are the most judgemental, abrasive, hateful and non-tipping bunch to grace the seats of the local Shoneys Buffet come Sunday after mornings service. All that said, God must be putting his hand on his forehead wondering why the heck he promised not to flood the earth and kill every man down here again.

As a whole and as a species, we have taken our world and our values and handed them to the devil, and said " I'd like to buy more clout and more likes on my Facebook, Instagram, Tik-Tok and Twitter accounts please!".

I know, I know....how dare me say these things and judge people like this, right? I absolutely do not. Woe is you, yes, but WOEEEE is me! I am just as guilty of anything I talk about as the next guy. I don't want to condemn any person or highlight any sin above my own. I only want to share the solution and highlight some of the dangerous and secretive goings-on happening around us and orchestrated by shadowy figures and principalities that control is subconsciously and subliminally, so that we willingly conform to the plans they have for us and so that we don't raise too much of a fuss and cause attention to focus in they're direction.

In closing, I'll state the answer to all of mankind's problems, simple as it may sound, but oh-so-hard to implement into a stubborn society. Ready for it? Here it comes!!!.....LOVE! Yep, the one four letter word that probably isn't used as much as the other ones in that group. Love, yes love ladies and gentleman. Just love. When asked, Jesus chose love as the greatest two commandments, saying that he who loves the Lord God with all his heart, spirit and soul, and he who loves his neighbor as himself has fulfilled and kept the law.

Think about it for a second. Reflect on this. Love forgives. Love sees past color, creed, orientation, sex, beauty, wealth and diversity. Love causes enemies to become family. Love causes a mother to give her life for her children, love convinces a man to fight evil and protect his family. Love doesn't judge. Love wants the person doing the most wrong to someone, to be the one who gets the most understanding and reflection, so that they may see the problems that hate causes themselves, they're enemies and everyone else in the spiderweb like pattern of the lives of those involved.

Ever heard of breaking someone's heart in a good way? Let me explain. If a bone heals improperly, the physician must first re-break the bone to set it right for proper healing. The same goes with a hard heart or a confused or hurt person.

A bully isn't naturally a bully. He or she becomes that way or is made into such by different things such as past trauma, abuse, neglect or lack of proper nurturing. If someone loves without boundaries, even loving the bully who makes fun of them, there may not be an immediate effect, but after experience and understanding grows from that seed in the bully's heart later on down the road, it will break they're heart in two. Same goes for everything and any scenario.

If a good company loved everyone truly, could they knowingly include poisons in our food we consume daily? Could a politician lie to those he loves deeply? Could a judge sentence a black man to more time than his white counterpart for a crime based on circumstanial evidence? If everyone forgave everyone would wars even start? No.

And God never said your neighbor had to be a human either. Animals, plants, our planet as a whole. Those are all your neighbors. Jesus said "go and preach to every creature" when speaking to the apostles about the task laid out before them.

Just let that tidbit sit and sink in a little. Think about it honestly and earnestly until the next blog I butcher graces these internet halls. The next subject to be covered will be this - "ARE THERE 2 GODS IN THAT BIBLE? TOOTH FOR A TOOTH OR GRACE? IS THE BIBLE A HUGE TEST FOR SORTING AND DESCERNING A MANS HEART?

Thank you so much for reading my blog and it has been an honor to prepare this for you. I wish you well and send some extra-good vibes your way! See ya next time!

[pooma-bible]

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

The Book of Jude (Part 02) – The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET A)!

Rhema Word: Jude 1:3-4 (NKJV) “Beloved, while I was very diligent to write to you concerning our common salvation, I found it necessary to write to you exhorting you to contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints. For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Let us pray. Our Gracious Loving Father, thank You for giving us an opportunity to meditate Your Word today along with Your children who have been called to live a holy life, Father. I commit everyone who are all meditating this message into Your mighty hand Father. Bless them and give them the oneness of Spirit and make their heart as a good land to receive each Word which is living and active Father. Thank You Holy Spirit for helping us to understand the in-depth treasure of Your Word and helping us to live a life as per Your Word Lord. We give all the Glory and Honour to You only Father. We pray in the mighty Name of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

What's the Purpose of this letter?

Jude’s purpose in his letter was twofold: he wanted to expose the false teachers that had infiltrated the Christian community, and he wanted to encourage Christians to stand firm in the faith and fight for the truth. Jude recognized that false teachers often peddled their wares unnoticed by the faithful, so he worked to heighten the awareness of the believers by describing in vivid detail how terrible dissenters were. But more than simply raising awareness, Jude thought it important that believers stand against those working against Jesus Christ. Believers were to do this by remembering the teaching of the apostles, building each other up in the faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, and keeping themselves in the love of God (Jude 1:17, 20–21).

Here we can see Jude sitting down and writing to the believers of the first century. And in writing, he wastes no time: right from the start he describes himself as a true minister of Jesus Christ and his readers as true believers of Christ. Consequently, in his opening remarks we have a picture by which we can measure ourselves, the picture of a true minister and of a true believer.

We have been meditating the following five parts since last week:

Part 01 - The Description of True Believers:

Part 02 - The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET A):

Part 03 - The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET B):

Part 04 - The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET C):

Part 05 - The Exhortation To Believers:

There is a terrible danger facing believers, a horrifying danger that always lies right over the horizon. What is it? The danger of false teaching. If a believer swallows false teaching, he dooms himself. Any person who denies that God sent His Son into the world to save man – who denies that Jesus Christ is the Son of god and the Saviour of the world – will never be accepted by God. He is doomed to spend eternity cut off from God. Why? Because he has not believed in the name of God’s Son. Time and time again, God warns believers of apostasy. This is the very reason for the books of Jude and Second Peter being written. Strong warnings against false teachers are also issued by Paul in Galatians, Colossians, Thessalonians, Timothy, and Titus. There are severe warnings all throughout Hebrews. And Christ Himself gave strong warnings time and again throughout all the gospels.

No matter who the person is – no matter how well liked and influential and attractive his teachings may be – if he denies Jesus Christ and God’s Word, he is a false teacher.

Here is the thrust of the letter of Jude, the very purpose for which Jude writes. Here is one of the most horrifying pictures in all the Bible, a picture of the characteristics and judgement of false teachers.

We have meditated the First Part last week. Let us try to understand the Second Part “Part 02 - The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET A)”, on the following, with the help of our Holy Spirit, today.

(01) False Teachers Are to be Opposed by Believers:

(02) False Teachers Creep Into the Church Secretly:

(03) False Teachers Are Destined to Judgement:

(04) False Teachers Are Ungodly:

(05) False Teachers Are Immoral:

(06) False Teachers Deny the Lord God:

(07) False Teachers Are Sure To Be Judged:

(01) False Teachers Are to be Opposed by Believers:

The Bible says in Jude 1:3 “Beloved, while I was very diligent to write to you concerning our common salvation, I found it necessary to write to you exhorting you to contend earnestly for the faith which was once for all delivered to the saints.”

Believers are to contend for the faith against false teachers. Note that Jude had planned to write the believers, but he had never planned to write this letter. He had planned to write about the great subject of salvation. But he was not able to. The believers were being attacked, but not by persecutors. They were being attacked by false teachers and their false beliefs. Jude is forced to snatch up his pen to expose the heretical teachers. He was forced to warn believers of the horrible danger of apostasy. He wanted to write to pastoral letter, to encourage them to grow in Christ, but now he must warn them and exhort them: they must go to war, to spiritual war. They must earnestly contend and fight for the faith. They must be diligent and strive unceasingly in the fight against false teaching. They must not buckle under any whatsoever in standing up for the faith that has been delivered to the saints. The faith must not be twisted, added to , or taken away from. It must be kept pure and free from all error. Note why? Certain men had secretly slipped into the church and were teaching false doctrine. The characteristics and judgement of false teachers show how horrible false teaching is to God. He considers false teachers to be the worst of all men upon earth, and He issues the most severe warning to them, warnings that far exceed the warnings to other men.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 5:19; 18:6; 23:13-16 “Whoever therefore breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” … “But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea.” … “But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you shut up the kingdom of heaven against men; for you neither go in yourselves, nor do you allow those who are entering to go in. Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you devour widows’ houses, and for a pretence make long prayers. Therefore, you will receive greater condemnation. “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you travel land and sea to win one proselyte, and when he is won, you make him twice as much a son of hell as yourselves. “Woe to you, blind guides, who say, ‘Whoever swears by the temple, it is nothing; but whoever swears by the gold of the temple, he is obliged to perform it.’”

Apostle Paul says in Galatians 1:6-9 “I marvel that you are turning away so soon from Him who called you in the grace of Christ, to a different gospel, which is not another; but there are some who trouble you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ. But even if we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel to you than what we have preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said before, so now I say again, if anyone preaches any other gospel to you than what you have received, let him be accursed.”

Apostle Peter says in 2 Peter 2:20-22 “For if, after they have escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the latter end is worse for them than the beginning. For it would have been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness, than having known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered to them. But it has happened to them according to the true proverb: “A dog returns to his own vomit,” and, “a sow, having washed, to her wallowing in the mire.”

(02) False Teachers Creep Into the Church Secretly:

The Bible says in Jude 1:4 “For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

False teachers creep into the church secretly. They are not God-called teachers. They choose to teach in the church as a profession or to serve people and to teach the morals and virtues of this world. The idea is that they entered the church unnoticed. They did not believe in Jesus Christ, that He is the Son of God who came to earth to save man. Therefore, they did not belong in the church. But they joined it for the benefit and opportunities it brought them. They accepted the teachings of Christ, believed that He was a great religious leader, but they denied His deity.

That is why Apostle Paul says in 1 Timothy 4:1-2; Titus 1:16; Romans 16:18; 2 Corinthians 11:13-15 “Now the Spirit expressly says that in latter times some will depart from the faith, giving heed to deceiving spirits and doctrines of demons, speaking lies in hypocrisy, having their own conscience seared with a hot iron.” … “They profess to know God, but in works they deny Him, being abominable, disobedient, and disqualified for every good work.” … “For those who are such do not serve our Lord Jesus Christ, but their own belly, and by smooth words and flattering speech deceive the hearts of the simple.” … “For such are false apostles, deceitful workers, transforming themselves into apostles of Christ. And no wonder! For Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of light. Therefore, it is no great thing if his ministers also transform themselves into ministers of righteousness, whose end will be according to their works.”

(03) False Teachers Are Destined to Judgement:

The Bible says in Jude 1:4 “For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

False teachers are destined to judgement. They reject Jesus Christ; therefore, judgement is waiting for them. God has ordained from the beginning of time that all unbelievers shall be judged. And both Jesus Christ and Scripture teach that the judgement for false teachers is to be far more severe than for other persons.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 5:19; 18:6 “Whoever therefore breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches men so, shall be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does and teaches them, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” … “But whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in Me to sin, it would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”

Apostle Paul says in Galatians 1:6-9 “I marvel that you are turning away so soon from Him who called you in the grace of Christ, to a different gospel, which is not another; but there are some who trouble you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ. But even if we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel to you than what we have preached to you, let him be accursed. As we have said before, so now I say again, if anyone preaches any other gospel to you than what you have received, let him be accursed.”

Apostle Peter says in 2 Peter 2:20-22 “For if, after they have escaped the pollutions of the world through the knowledge of the Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, they are again entangled in them and overcome, the latter end is worse for them than the beginning. For it would have been better for them not to have known the way of righteousness, than having known it, to turn from the holy commandment delivered to them. But it has happened to them according to the true proverb: “A dog returns to his own vomit,” and, “a sow, having washed, to her wallowing in the mire.”

(04) False Teachers Are Ungodly:

The Bible says in Jude 1:4 “For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

False teachers are ungodly. They do not live like God; they are different from God. They have a different lifestyle than what God would have if He was walking upon earth. God is perfect, moral, pure, just, and loving. But false teachers are deceptive, leading people away from the love and purity of God, the love and purity revealed in His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. They do not teach the truth of God’s love and purity demonstrated in Christ. They profane God and the truth of His love and godliness.

Apostle Paul says in Romans 1:18 “For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who suppress the truth in unrighteousness.”

Apostle Peter says in 1 Peter 4:18; 2 Peter 2:4-5; 2 Peter 3:7 “Now “If the righteous one is scarcely saved, Where will the ungodly and the sinner appear?” … “For if God did not spare the angels who sinned but cast them down to hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved for judgment; and did not spare the ancient world, but saved Noah, one of eight people, a preacher of righteousness, bringing in the flood on the world of the ungodly.” … “But the heavens and the earth which are now preserved by the same word, are reserved for fire until the day of judgment and perdition of ungodly men.”

(05) False Teachers Are Immoral:

The Bible says in Jude 1:4 “For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

False teachers turn the grace of god into a license for immorality (aselgeian). They promise freedom, but they only enslave people. Sin always enslaves. No matter what the false teaching is, it will enslave. The false teacher who denies Christ and God’s Word removes the supreme authority over man’s life. Therefore, man is pretty much free to live in selfishness and greed, desire, and lust. He is pretty much left to seek as much pleasure and as many possessions as he desires upon earth. But in the end, man discovers something. The more he gets, the more he wants. It may be comfort, money, position, or authority; it does not matter. Man’s nature is such that he wants more and more. Man must be restrained by an authority above himself, that is, by God and by God’s Word. If he is not, then he becomes enslaved to his passions and to the corruption of the world. This is one of the terrible fallacies of all false teachings. They all enslave man to this world: not a single false teaching can usher a man through the door of death into eternal life. Only Jesus Christ can do that. Note the clear truth: A man is a slave to whatever has mastered him, that very thing enslaves him:

=> If a false teacher overcomes a man, then the man is enslaved to that teaching.

=> If the world overcomes a man, then the man is enslaved by the world.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in John 8:34 “Most assuredly, I say to you, whoever commits sin is a slave of sin.”

Apostle Paul says in Romans 6:16; 7:23; 2 Timothy 2:26 “Do you not know that to whom you present yourselves slaves to obey, you are that one’s slaves whom you obey, whether of sin leading to death, or of obedience leading to righteousness?” … “But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members.” … “And that they may come to their senses and escape the snare of the devil, having been taken captive by him to do his will.”

Apostle Peter says in 2 Peter 2:19 “While they promise them liberty, they themselves are slaves of corruption; for by whom a person is overcome, by him also he is brought into bondage.”

(06) False Teachers Deny the Lord God:

The Bible says in Jude 1:4 “For certain men have crept in unnoticed, who long ago were marked out for this condemnation, ungodly men, who turn the grace of our God into lewdness and deny the only Lord God and our Lord Jesus Christ.”

False teachers deny the only Lord God, that is, our Lord Jesus Christ. What is that making a teacher true or false? Jesus Christ. What a man believes about Jesus Christ makes the teacher true or false. What a man acknowledges about Jesus Christ exposes his spirit , a spirit of truth or a spirit of error.

(i) The true Spirit, the Spirit of God Himself, acknowledges that Jesus Christ did come in the flesh, that the incarnation is true. If a teacher has the Spirit of God dwelling in him, then he acknowledges the incarnation, the wonderful truth that God did become Man and did come to earth to save man. The Spirit of God cannot confess anything other than the truth; therefore, every teacher who has the Spirit of God will confess the same truth. He cannot confess anything else because the Spirit of God Himself dwells within him. If he acknowledges anything else, then the spirit within him is not the Spirit of God. Now note the acknowledgement is detail, exactly what it is that a true teacher acknowledges: “Jesus Christ has come in the flesh”:

(a) The true teacher acknowledges Jesus. The name Jesus means Saviour. It is believing that Jesus Christ did come from God to save man, to be the Saviour of the world.

(b) The true teacher acknowledges Christ. The name Christ means Messiah, the Anointed One of God. It is believing that Jesus Christ is the promised Messiah of Scripture; that He is the fulfilment of all the prophecies of Scripture; that He is the Anointed Saviour sent from God to earth.

(c) The true teacher acknowledges that Jesus Christ is the Son of God; that God did send His Son out of heaven, out of the spiritual world and dimension into this world; that God sent His Son in human flesh to save man in fulfilment of Scripture. It means that Jesus Christ fulfilled the Scripture predicting the coming death, resurrection, and exaltation of the Messiah. Simply stated, it means that Jesus Christ is the Son of God who came to earth to save man.

(ii) The false spirit denies that Jesus Christ is from God. He denies the incarnation. He does not believe that God took on human flesh and became a man.

(a) The false teacher does not believe that Jesus Christ is the Saviour of the world. He may accept Jesus Christ as a great teacher and a great religious leader, perhaps the greatest, but he does not believe that Jesus Christ is the Saviour. He believes there are other ways to God, that other people who believe in God will be as acceptable to God as a follower of Jesus Christ.

(b) The false teacher does not believe that Jesus is the Christ, the promised Messiah, and Anointed One from God. He does not believe the Scriptures are the inspired Word of God. He accepts them only as the writings of great religious people of the past; therefore, there are no prophetic promises of a Messiah, no promise of a coming Saviour. To the false teacher, Jesus Christ is only a great religious teacher, not the only one way to reach God. He is not the Anointed One sent from God to save all men. He is not the only way to God.

(c) The false teacher does not believe Jesus Christ has come from God. He does not believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that Jesus Christ came out of heaven, out from the spiritual world and dimension. He does not believe that God sent His Son into the world in human flesh as a man.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 10:33; Mark 8:38 “But whoever denies Me before men, him I will also deny before My Father who is in heaven.” … “For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him the Son of Man also will be ashamed when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels.”

Apostle Peter says in 2 Peter 2:1,9 “But there were also false prophets among the people, even as there will be false teachers among you, who will secretly bring in destructive heresies, even denying the Lord who bought them, and bring on themselves swift destruction.” … “Then the Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptations and to reserve the unjust under punishment for the day of judgment.”

Apostle John says in 1 John 2:22 “Who is a liar but he who denies that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist who denies the Father and the Son.”

(07) False Teachers Are Sure To Be Judged:

The Bible says in Jude 1:5-7 “But I want to remind you, though you once knew this, that the Lord, having saved the people out of the land of Egypt, afterward destroyed those who did not believe. And the angels who did not keep their proper domain, but left their own abode, He has reserved in everlasting chains under darkness for the judgment of the great day; as Sodom and Gomorrah, and the cities around them in a similar manner to these, having given themselves over to sexual immorality and gone after strange flesh, are set forth as an example, suffering the vengeance of eternal fire.”

False teachers are to be judged and condemned. Jude speaks directly to the false teachers and to all who follow them: “But I want to remind you, though you once knew this, that the Lord, having saved the people out of the land of Egypt, afterward destroyed those who did not believe.” Jude recalls three examples:

(i) There was the example of Israel right after they were delivered from Egyptian slavery. God judged and punished all the unbelievers of Israel. What happened to most of the believers of Israel is tragic. There were over six-hundred thousand men alone who broke away from the enslavements of Egypt and began the journey to the promised land. This means that including the women and children there were will over two million who stepped out to follow God to the promised land. But the critical question is this:

=> How many remained faithful to God through the wilderness journey? How many turned away from the fleshly desires aroused by the delicious foods, drinks, and bodily stimulations of Egypt and the world? How many disciplined their bodies, subjected their desires, and kept their eyes and hearts upon the promised land? How many were faithful and steadfast, unmovable, and always abounding in the work of the Lord until they reached the promised land? Remember over two million began the journey: How many entered the promised land? Only two! Caleb and Joshua. Yes, Caleb and Joshua alone remained faithful to God. Only two did not sin and displease God. Everyone else, over two to three million, perished in the wilderness. They were scattered, corpses all over the wilderness or desert (1 Corinthians 10:5). Why? Because they did not please God.

The Bible says in Zechariah 1:2-3; 15 “The Lord has been very angry with your fathers. Therefore, say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord of hosts: “Return to Me,” says the Lord of hosts, “and I will return to you,” says the Lord of hosts.” … “I am exceedingly angry with the nations at ease; For I was a little angry, and they helped—but with evil intent.”

Jude says that what happened to Israel is going to happen to the false teachers and to all who follow their teachings. The doom that fell upon the unbelievers of Israel will fall upon anyone who forsakes Christ. What were the sins of Israel that brought judgement upon them?

(a) There was the sin of lust. We must not lust after evil things as they lusted. They lusted and craved for the delicious foods of Egypt (Numbers 11:4). As a result of the lust, a plague broke out among the people and killed many of them. In fact, so many died that the place become known as Kibroth Hattaavah – “the grave of greediness or of lust” (Numbers 11:34).

The lust of those believers is a strong warning to us: “Now these things became our examples, to the intent that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted” (1 Corinthians 10:6).

Apostle John says in 1 John 2:15-16 “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world.”

(b) There was the sin of idolatry. When Moses was on Mount Sinai receiving the law, the people became restless waiting for the Word of God. Therefore, they decided to go ahead and create their own for of worship (Exodus 32:1). The Bible says in Exodus 32:7-8 “And the Lord said to Moses, “Go, get down! For your people whom you brought out of the land of Egypt have corrupted themselves. They have turned aside quickly out of the way which I commanded them. They have made themselves a moulded calf, and worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, ‘This is your god, O Israel, that brought you out of the land of Egypt!’ ”

The point to see is this: the image of the golden calf was only to help them picture and imagine God. They felt the need for some image to help them in their worship of Jehovah. Note the reference to eating, drinking, and playing (immoral play). Such behaviour often accompanies idolatry, the worship of a self-made god created by a person’s own mind.

(c) There was the sin of sexual immorality. This was a gross sin of some of the believers of Israel. Over twenty thousand of them committed immorality with their neighbours and as a result they were judged and condemned to destruction, banned from the promised land (Numbers 25:1-9).

(d) There was the sin of tempting God (Hebrews 3:9). The word “tempt” (peirazo) means to try the Lord’s patience; to see how far a person can go; to test the patience of God. The believers of Israel…

=> often felt that God and His leader Moses demanded and expected too much;

=> often longed for the things of the flesh which they had formerly known in Egypt (the world). They became discontent with the things God provided and longed to return to Egypt (the world). Therefore, many of them perished in the wilderness and were not allowed to enter the promised land.

Lesson: Believers often feel that God expects too much and that they are missing out on something in the world. They often feel that God will forgive them (a) even if they do look; (b) even if they do taste; (c) even if they do touch; (d) even if they do slip a little; and (e) even if they do hold back a little.

The Bible says in James 4:13; Deuteronomy 6:16 “Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit” … “You shall not tempt the Lord your God as you tempted Him in Massah.”

(e) There was the sin of murmuring and complaining and grumbling. Some of the believers in Israel were always complaining and murmuring against God and Moses (Exodus 14:11; 15:24; 16:2; 17:3; Numbers 11:1; 14:27; 20:3; 21:5).

Lesson: How many believers grumble and gripe? How many become dissatisfied (a) with the direction God gives through His leaders?; (b) with the food God gives through His leaders?; (c) with the way of God guides through His leaders?; (d) with the words God gives to His leaders?

How many voice their complaints to others? The warning is clear to the believers of God’s church?

The Bible says in 1 Corinthians 10:10; Philippians 2:14; Jude 1:16 “Nor complain, as some of them also complained, and were destroyed by the destroyer.” … “Do all things without complaining and disputing.” … “These are grumblers, complainers, walking according to their own lusts; and they mouth great swelling words, flattering people to gain advantage.”

(ii) There was the example of the rebellious angels as we see in 2 Peter 2:3-11 “By covetousness they will exploit you with deceptive words; for a long time, their judgment has not been idle, and their destruction does not slumber. For if God did not spare the angels who sinned, but cast them down to hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved for judgment; and did not spare the ancient world, but saved Noah, one of eight people, a preacher of righteousness, bringing in the flood on the world of the ungodly; and turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes, condemned them to destruction, making them an example to those who afterward would live ungodly; and delivered righteous Lot, who was oppressed by the filthy conduct of the wicked (for that righteous man, dwelling among them, tormented his righteous soul from day to day by seeing and hearing their lawless deeds)— then the Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptations and to reserve the unjust under punishment for the day of judgment, and especially those who walk according to the flesh in the lust of uncleanness and despise authority. They are presumptuous, self-willed. They are not afraid to speak evil of dignitaries, whereas angels, who are greater in power and might, do not bring a reviling accusation against them before the Lord.”

(iii) There was Sodom and Gomorrah as we Peter explains in 2 Peter 2:6-9 “And turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into ashes, condemned them to destruction, making them an example to those who afterward would live ungodly; and delivered righteous Lot, who was oppressed by the filthy conduct of the wicked (for that righteous man, dwelling among them, tormented his righteous soul from day to day by seeing and hearing their lawless deeds)— then the Lord knows how to deliver the godly out of temptations and to reserve the unjust under punishment for the day of judgment.”

Let us introspect ourselves.

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the false teachers creep into the church secretly?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the false teachers chose to teach in the church as a profession as they are not called by God?

Shall we thank our God for cautioning us to be more careful in identifying the false teachers who are destined to judgement, who are ungodly, who are turning the grace of God into a license for immorality by promising freedom and enslaving people, denying the Lord Jesus Christ?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the false teachers are to be judged and condemned as they indulge in sin of idolatry, sexual immorality, and murmuring?

Let us Pray: Our Heavenly Gracious Father, we thank You for helping us to understand about “The Book of Jude (Part 02) – The Warnings Against Apostasy: The Characteristics and Judgement of False teachers – (SET A)”, today, Father. We thank You Father for revealing the fact that the false teachers creep into the church secretly, choosing to teach in the church as a profession as they are not called by God, Father. We thank You Father for cautioning us to be more careful in identifying the false teachers who are destined to judgement, who are ungodly, who are turning the grace of God into a license for immorality by promising freedom and enslaving people, denying the Lord Jesus Christ is from God, denying Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We thank You Father for revealing the fact that the false teachers are to be judged and condemned as they indulge in sin of idolatry, sexual immorality and murmuring, Father. We thank You Father for helping us to understand that a true minister is loved by You, guarded, watched after, guided, strengthened, given life both abundant, eternal besides assuring of Your presence and love through all of life by Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We thank You Father for making us to understand that a true minister is a person who has received the mercy, peach, and Your love Father. We thank You Father for filling us with Your joy, peace, and hope, for accepting us when we approach You through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ besides being merciful on us and loving us so much and predestined us to receive Your promise of glory through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We give all praise, glory, and honour to Your Holy Name. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

God bless you all.

[caxycreations]

Tylvinian Tales: Side Stories - Trace's Plan

Trace grinned wide, sitting down at the table David was sitting at while slamming his hands on it.

"I got a great idea!"

David sighed. Trace had asked to meet at the mall, and now the pair were sitting in the food court snacking on hot dogs and coffee. Trace had a habit of getting David in trouble, but their energy and attitude was so infectious it was impossible to turn them down when opportunity came knocking.

"Okay...I'll bite, what has you so excited."

The fox looked to the caxy with a smirk, reaching into their pocket and pulling out his phone. After typing for a minute, he held it out to David. On the screen was an image of a large building, an old shopping mall, with several warnings and legal declarations of condemnation.

"What is it? Some place nearby? If you're gonna pull some urban exploration, wouldn't it be better to get Nate to go with you?"

Trace rolled his eyes, growling softly for a second. He locked his phone and put it back in his pocket with a sigh. He lay his head on the table and groaned.

"Nate and I are on the outs right now, he stole my favorite jacket and only gave it back cause I made a big deal of it when I saw he was posting about his trip to Sen and he was wearing the damn thing."

David cocked his head to the side. He had never thought Nate was the type to do that, but it didn't completely surprise him either. Reaching to pet the grumbling fox, he smiled and slumped back in his chair.

"Alright, alright. I'll go with you. So what's the deal with this place?"

Trace lifted up, their sorrows immediately forgotten as they perked up, grinning wide. He was resilient, if nothing else. It almost made David jealous how well Trace could bounce back from everything.

"It's haunted~! Oh it's gonna be great, you, me, some demons, a couple poltergeists...Maybe we'll see a wraith or two!"

"You know that's not what I mean. It's you, I figured there was some supernatural allure. Now what's the catch?"

Trace chuckled, sitting back in his own chair and raising his hands up in defeat.

"You got me. I haven't told you everything. Place is good and proper condemned. Nobody allowed in, under any circumstances. But get this, they shut it down and blocked access before half the shops could even clear out, so there's TONS of stuff still in there."

David raised an eyebrow, leaning forward and crossing his arms over the table, tapping a finger on his forearm. Trace had always had a love of petty crimes, and it had gotten them both in trouble numerous times. Nonetheless, David's curiosity often drove him to join in the fun against his better judgement.

"So you want me to help you break into a condemned building?"

"Yes!"

"One that might be haunted by gods know how many ghosts, demons, and other unknown entities?"

"Yes!"

"And you want to commit petty and/or grand larceny in the process?"

"Yes!"

David sighed, sitting back again and looking to the excited fox across from him. It amazed him that Trace was three full years older than he was, and yet they had never stopped acting like a teenager. In some ways he admired their youthful attitude, and in others it left him wondering if the canid would ever grow up.

"You realize that could get you in a ton of trouble, right?"

Trace scoffed, putting a hand to his chest dramatically.

"David! I won't get in a ton of trouble!"

The caxy was about to retort, only to be cut off by the fox continuing.

"WE could get in a ton of trouble!"

With an infectious grin, Trace locked eyes with the caxy. David smirked in return, shaking his head and looking down a bit as he closed his eyes. He had already agreed to go, no point backing out now.

"Alright, alright. I guess I'm in. But this time, I'm taking my phone. I need to make sure Ryder can call me if he needs to."

Trace groaned, laying over the table dramatically. He hated when phones were brought on their adventures, they were just distractions. But David had good reason, even he couldn't deny that much.

"Fiiiine. You kids and your phones."

David laughed at the remark, looking to the fox mischeavously.

"Oh I'm sorry old man, you were young and dumb like me once and were more obsessed with your phone than anyone I knew."

Trace raised up, gasping in indignation.

"I am STILL young, thank you very much!"

"And dumb, too, huh?"

The pair shared a laugh, with Trace standing up to stretch while David did the same.

"Besides, Dave. I'm only a few years older than you, we're not that old!"

"No, I'm not. But you're old as dirt!"

Trace punched David's shoulder lightly, laughing.

"One more remark like that and you lose cell phone privileges. They ruin the fun anyway, part of the thrill is being disconnected. I never bring MY phone when I go exploring."

David nodded, speaking very matter-of-factly in reply.

"Yes, I know that. And one day we'll find your ancient, wrinkled corpse in a factory, or some old schoolhouse, and people will mistake you for a worker who died of old age when they shut down whatever abandoned ruins we find you in!"

Trace grabbed at David, who simply dodged the move and took off, with Trace running after him. The pair enjoyed their little chase out of the food court, with both of them eager and excited to see what they could find on their adventure.