#and wrapped their honored foe in these banners

[eelnoise]

seraphim

roronoa zoro x afab!reader c/w: bloodlust, consensual bloodplay, zoro bites, you scratch, religious themes, body worship, slight breeding kink, piv sex, creampie, manhandling, praise, post-murder sex (reader and zoro just killed a bunch of marines), public sex a/n: ? idk what even to say. i like my men bloody and i like when they bloody me. this is a rewrite of a previous fic which you can find here so if ur like "ive read this b4..." its because you kinda have banner by the lovely @buggyandthebartoclub!

Zoro isn’t a religious man.

No, he finds the very notion of reverence visceral.

Though as he turns back toward you, he’s dumbstruck. You face away from him, pulling the blade of your sword deep from the torso of a fallen naval officer and watching as the light fades from his eyes. Both of you had emerged victorious after a merciless and surprise assault from a group of marines in the middle of an open town square on some island that neither of you can remember the name of, where a large statue stands tall in honor of some long-forgotten hero at its center.

The scene is heavenly, you there - surrounded by the wages of spilled blood that pools beneath your feet, the remnants of singing steel permeating the now hallowed ground upon which you stand. There’s a certain beauty in chaos, and never has Zoro felt it quite as clearly as when he watches you tear into your foes with reckless abandon. The image makes him shiver - not in fear or revulsion, but something far more primal, deep within his gut.

He’s speechless as he observes you wiping the excess carnage from your blade, a sensation akin to delight igniting in his veins and fixated on you like a hawk. It’s beautiful, truly, a stunning vision that he couldn’t even dream up. 

“Well, we took care of that little rat problem, hm?” Your words are heavy with pride and exertion, but the sound of your voice only spurs him from a daze that he didn’t even realize he was in.

Then you turn to him, visage tattered and torn and stained with crimson. Zoro’s mouth goes dry, and words fail him, tongue tied tightly in a knot that he can’t seem to unravel. You’re immaculate, and for the first time in his life he’s fighting the urge to exalt, to sing your praise, to deify you.

He mutters something that’s beyond your field of hearing as he continues to stare at you like a starved man would a feast. Zoro’s seen you wield that blade countless times, watched on as you cut down enemy by enemy without effort or ailment, but never have you looked as angelic as you do now. Standing amid a symphony of battle and gore, covered from head to toe in splattered blood that’s both yours and that of the deceased around you, the look of delight and self-satisfaction twinkling in your eyes as you grin at him from across the square, fuck, it’s all too much. 

You’re right, of course, the two of you can and did handle these sin and sinew wrapped rats with ease, but the more pressing matter is the effect that you’re currently having on his heart. Zoro takes a step forward, taking in the beauty of your face, bloodied and bruised but not conquered.

Curiously, you leer at him, head tilted in question as you sheath your sword along your back, taking note of the lack of the usual snarky remark from the swordsman. “Zoro?”

His eye flickers to yours, lips parted in what could only be described as awe. He looks at you as if you’re a muse, descended from on high to grace him with your presence, one that’s stunned him into near silence. “Yeah?” Zoro manages to reply quietly, tone raspy and voice a barely audible whisper against the breeze - a timbre you only hear from him when he’s injured or exhausted, a weak and feeble inflection that almost has you questioning if the man was actually hurt.

Zoro’s jaw visibly tightens, his one open eye alight with the same burn that he eyes an opponent with, expression twisting into one that you know all too well. The face he only makes when -

He wants you.

Your war-torn, bloodthirsty appearance has overwhelmed Zoro, the innate desire etched on his expression like a fool in a daze. Lips twisting into a devious smirk, you’re keen on taking advantage of this rare opportunity of power that you’ve been given over him, and you know exactly how to proceed. With a step toward him, you do something he doesn’t expect, something that has his nails digging into his palms.

You lick blood from your lips.

Zoro’s blood blazes, a carnal, raw emotion swells in his throat with urges he cannot fight - will not fight. Ever a man of action, he’s upon you faster than you can react. Large, calloused fingers envelop your waist, pulling you close in an instant and slamming his lips onto yours in a starved, feverish, messy kiss. The metallic tang of blood on his tongue mixed with the taste of you drives him increasingly wilder each second you stay locked together in the embrace, hastening him further into devoted bliss.

You writhe as he leaves your lips to trail down your neck, lapping up the viscous liquid that coats your flesh in his wake. Zoro is fully prepared to kneel at your altar, to partake of and rejoice in each beautiful proverb that befalls from your sweet tongue, to bathe in every hymn you bestow.

Zoro's hands roam over your body, feeling the contours of your curves beneath the fabric of your torn clothing, tracing the delicate lines of your collarbone and shoulders before coming to rest on the small of your back, holding you firm against him. He feels like he could drown in this moment, in the warmth and passion that courses through his entire being.

Zoro grins wildly, a feral expression on his face as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of your breath against his neck, and the sound of your voice washing over in melodic harmony. He wants nothing more than to revel in this moment, to lose himself completely in the intensity of the connection that you share.

“You wouldn’t believe how good ya look like this,” He growls into your skin, his chapped lips dancing across your collarbone and up to your shoulder. “I feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to see ya. Feels…” words wane into a series of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent of blood, sweat, and battle on your flesh, “...wrong.”

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” You purr, allowing a soft, pleased sigh to slide from your throat when he adds his teeth to the wet assault upon your skin, gently nibbling and grazing at you in a manner that grows hungrier and more sporadic with every passing moment. 

“We both know I ain’t much of a rule follower.” Zoro’s husky voice is hot on your ear, his warm breath sending a jolt of longing right through your nervous system. The hand low on your back begins to wriggle its way through tattered tendrils of threads that once made up your shirt, fingers spread wide as it skims up your pliant softness, tracing along your waist and up between your shoulder blades.

Zoro's touch isn’t quite tender, a clear indication of his burgeoning lust you suspect, but there's honesty, sincerity in his newfound charge. He knows that you aren't fragile, the evidence fresh and red around you speaking well enough on its own, so why stay the hand that plys the sword? 

Men fall to their hands and knees in prayer to gods they’ve never seen, begging for mercy and crying out for deliverance that will not come.

But you - he can see you, he can hear you. 

He can touch you.

Taste you.

You're divine. A paragon of a twisted and bloodied form of justice. It's you that's stupefied him, luring him into a deistic high that has Zoro practically foaming at the mouth with innate desire.

His painfully hard cock strains against his thigh with means to worship you wholly, to partake in his own ideals of perverse, distorted devotion. He breathes in your salty-sweet scent once more and groans in longing, the taste of your crimson essence on his lips makes him feel like an offering to an idol., and every drop that drips down his chin only serves to heighten his senses even more.

He looks up at you through an eye glazed over with depraved adoration, and all he can think of is how good you look, how delicious you are on his tongue, how much he wants to please you, be consumed in your immaculate presence, and to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the darker and more nefarious desire within him.

The urge to claim, to take what he wants from you and find salvation surrounded by your benevolent hold. To act upon the impure aspiration that pulsates in his mind in ways that would make even the most vileindividuals gawk. He yearns to clean the blood from your sacred, championed skin, a lust filled ritual to send you both into sacramental euphoria. 

He’s in a frenzy, feeling and touching each curve and crevice across your body while pulling you impossibly closer to him. Before Zoro can even think, he’s sinking his teeth into your shoulder, overcome with enlightened debauchery and biting down until that deathly addictive taste of your blood is fresh on his tongue once more - a testament to the depth of his obsession and the power of your shared experience.

The pain burns hot, but brief - quickly dissipating away into a cry of raw pleasure, a moan so salacious and so absolute that Zoro feels the very last of his will slipping through his fingers. He laps over the decently deep mark, his saliva mixing into the cuts like kindle to flame and earning him another woefully delightful wail of exasperation.

He thinks himself safe for the interim, that he’s pulled some sense back from the brink - until you say the one thing that shatters him to pieces.

“Do that again.”

He doesn’t deny you, and without hesitation he obliges by drowning his teeth back into your shoulder, pressing deeper into the wound and savoring the way your blood flows across his lips and into his mouth, painting his face red in the process. He grinds his hips against yours in a primitive display of dominance, while his fingers dig into your flesh with bruising force as you dig your nails into his back through his sweat and blood damped shirt.

Despite the danger posed by your actions amidst the threat of more marines, there is something undeniably beautiful about this dance of life and death. In this fleeting moment, Zoro and you find a kind of transcendence - a place where boundaries blur and limits vanish, leaving only pure, unadulterated passion in its wake.

His lips return to yours, and soon enough you feel yourself being whisked off your feet. The open air of the square leaves little room for privacy, but you know he doesn't care. Zoro walks with you in his arms, lips locked together in a messy, bloody, passionate kiss, your legs tight around his waist before he eases you down onto the lip of nameless hero's memorial upon which he plans to ravish you.

Zoro releases his hungry attack on your lips and rips the remnants of your shirt in two, leaving you bare to him as if an offering of communion. To feast upon your body, to drink upon your wine.

You gasp, wincing just a little from the shock of the fresh air upon your chest. “Zoro-” you begin, his name emanating from your breathless lungs as you watch the fabric fall to the ground around you. 

“Y’can have mine,” He replies, leaning forward to pull one of your nipples into his mouth. “After I’m done with ya.” Zoro’s mouth suckles greedily, teasing your sensitive nub with his tongue before biting down hard enough to make you squeal and arch your back, but not draw blood.

His free hand traces down your side, finding respite upon your inner thigh and squeezing tightly onto it, growling as the fresh wound on your shoulder trickles down your chest and right onto his lips and eliciting an absolutely lewd groan from Zoro as he laps it up.

He gazes up at you with an intensity that borders on madness, his eyes burning with an unbridled lust that has you keening. “Ya taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls between his assault on your chest, “God, I can’t get enough.”

“Then take as much as you want.”

And fuck, he does. In an instant does he pop his lips from you to slide your pants away, somehow careful enough to not rip them to shreds - something you’d have to thank him for later. Without even removing his swords from his hip, let alone his own pants - Zoro simply rushes to undo the clasps and push the waistband down enough to free his length, thick and leaking, to bounce out against your pelvis. 

You can feel it even through your underwear, warm heat radiating from what you desire most in this world at this moment. Zoro looks at you, gaze lingering on yours as he slides the fabric shielding your sex to the side and grips your hip with one hand and his cock in the other. He teases it over your slickness tantalizingly while sliding it between your folds and inch by inch are you filled so wonderfully, stretched and stuffed so marvelously full that each tense or twitch of him inside you makes the edges of your vision blur and has you wailing in pleasure.

As soon as your hips are flushed against one another, he gives you but a moment of adjustment before rutting his hips into you quickly, a rhythm so ruthless and wild that leaves you able to do little more aside from gasp out breathlessly and brave his savage ruin. You’re not even sure when your nails crept up his shirt, or when they burrow sharply into his shoulder blades until they’re etching down his back, the crescent shaped lines running his skin raw and bloody, scathing scores fueled by ferocious, crude passion.

He folds you then, one of his hands coming to grip over both of your wrists to pin them above your head as an arm forces your thigh downward. Zoro leans over you, your ankle now bouncing wildly next to his ear while he plows into you at a newer, deeper, more luscious angle. 

Skin slaps against skin in company with brazen indulgence, a foul yet righteous lament for the fallen mere feet from you. From this more cramped position, you’re all but forced to keep eye contact with him - and he’s looking nowhere else but at your face, enraptured by every sound and move you make as you squirm in his hold.

Your desperate pants mix, leaving patches of sweat to pool between your chests. Zoro’s increasing gasps and snarls of ecstasy ring loud in your ear, the sounds echoing through you like a quake and causing you to flutter around his cock. He hisses, harsh and shrill in your ear and with a throaty grunt he pulls out of you, letting your legs fall to the stone pavement and releasing his grasp on your wrists to firmly twist you by the shoulders, spinning you around and sprawling his hand on your lower back to shift you forward into an arch.

He’s sinking into you again, fingers tight and stinging at your waist and burying himself fully inside of you once more. There isn’t even a moment given for reprieve, the man continuing to fuck you as if he hadn’t even left your dripping heat and making you cry out in hypnotizing delight. 

Zoro smacks your ass, relishing in the ripple effect in your pliable flesh left in the wake of his blow. “Shit,” he exhales, adjusting his machinations of impurity to wrap his arms around your waist and lifting you from the ground, holding you in place mid-air and thrusting into you with less and less fluidity by the second. “Feel so fuckin’ amazin’, always do but god damn do you feel so fuckin’ incredible right now.”

You reach back to lock an arm around his neck seeking any leverage to keep yourself upright amidst his onslaught. You’re moaning something incoherent, words neither of you recognize due to the lust-filled haze that fills your minds, feeling the pull of release pit low in your belly as his balls slap against your clit at a rapid pace. 

Delirium bids its toll upon you, tears prickling at your eyes as the climb to your closely approaching high reaches its limit. Drool slides down your chin and onto your neck, and in an instant Zoro catches it with his mouth, once again dissenting on your flesh and gnawing his incisors into your neck - sucking and biting with brutal obsession and marking your angelic skin in devout defiance. The growing familiarity of the warm flow of blood trickling from the bruised indents in your skin makes you crack, flying over the edge with a scream of his name.

He doesn’t slow as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body, still slamming into you a breakneck speed. You twitch and twist in his arms, the hard beating of his cock keeping a state of hyperstimulation over you, the whimpers and cries of weak will and breathless joy beginning to tip him over the edge. 

The only thing in Zoro’s fogged head is his need to flood you with his spend, to pack you to the brim with his cum until it drips out of you and onto the stone below. He doesn’t even care if you’re bred full of his brats after this - if anything it would show just how he reveres you, claiming you as his own personal magnificence. 

His jaw tenses, still attached securely on your neck, as he cums. Loud groans and grunts and sighs of relief vibrate against your skin, Zoro’s dick leaking and draining into you as your walls milk him for all that you can manage. 

A few final, slow motions and he slides out of you, gently placing you on the ground and instantly rolling his shirt from his shoulders to hand it to you. “As promised,” Zoro says, a deviously weak grin on his face, moving to wipe his brow after you’ve taken the clothing from his outstretched hand. “Want me to patch ya up when we get back?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.” You reply as you toss the shirt over yourself gently, minding the wounds that line your body as you do so.” Would rather not be asked any questions I don’t want to answer.” Zoro nods, chuckling softly before helping you clean up, using scraps of your ruined shirt as makeshift bandages and rags before he lifts you into his arms for a third time, though this one with the intention of carrying you safely back to the others - a soft apology for his brutality on your flesh, but one he knows he doesn’t need to say.

[tes-trash-blog]

Baseless Headcanon: Instead of drab greys and dark colors, the Snow Elves wrapped their dead in silks of many colors, embroidered with symbols of their deeds in life and adorned with the names of the deceased’s beloved ones: family members, friends, lovers, apprentices, there was scarcely a shroud that wasn’t covered in names. These shrouds were used to temporarily inter the dead, a sort of final embrace from those whose lives they touched, before their cremation and scattering.

These shrouds were burned with the deceased.

[tryingmybestpls]

Not A Team: Part 2- New World Order

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The Reader gives a speech at the opening of Steve’s exhibit and has a talk with Sam following his speech.

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER, talks of death, talks of mental illness, feelings of isolation

Read Part One here

Listen to the playlist inspired by the series here

Y/N felt like coming here today was a mistake.

Her stomach tossed and turned like a stormy sea, threatening to send her breakfast all over Rhodey's shiny shoes. She was second guessing everything. Was her dress nice enough? Rhodey had told her she looked great, but she hadn't worn a dress since Steve's funeral-Oh God, what if he was lying to her? No, he wouldn't lie to her-but what if he felt bad? Jesus, dd her shoes look stupid? Maybe she shouldn't have worn heels-but then she always wore heels with dresses and if she wore flats that would look childish. Did her speech sound coherent? Fuck, what if she messes up. Would they think she was doing it on purpose out of retribution for what Steve did? No, they didn't know what Steve did, what he had done to her. What if-

"Hey, hey. What's wrong? You look like you're going to blow chunks." Rhodey cuts through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter. He puts his hand on her back, "Breathe, Y/N."

"Maybe this a bad idea, Rhodey. I mean they have Sam. I think Sam can handle this." She stumbles over her words, trying to calm herself down. Her heart was racing a hundred miles a minute and she swore her hands were shaking,

"You're going to be okay, but you need to relax. I've read and reread your speech a dozen times. It's perfect." Rhodey tries to soothe her, his hand rubbing her back. Y/N squeezes her eyes shut, working on slowing her breathing. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Hey pretty lady, I was wondering where the exhibit is. I'm supposed to be giving a speech there today." A voice calls out, sending Y/N's eyes flying open. She turns on her heels, being greeted by the sight of Sam walking towards them, holding the leather case that carries the shield. Y/N can feel the tension melting out of her shoulders as a smile spreads across her nervous face.

"Rhodey, I think they might be letting anyone speak here today." Y/N teases, the anxiousness slipping away, releasing its hold on her. Rhodey chuckles, shaking his head at his friend's antics. She hadn't seen Sam since the days following Steve's funeral and right now, he's a welcome sight. Sam rests his hand over his heart, feigning hurt as he gets closer.

"You wound me, woman." Sam jokes, smiling right back at her. They embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck as his go around her waist, "I missed you, kid."

"I've missed you too, Sammy." She murmurs back, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment. They pull away and Sam smiles at her, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. Rhodey clears his throat, gently touching Y/N's upper arm.

"Hey I need to go talk to some people, alright?" Rhodey announces, almost as if he is asking permission. Y/N just smiles and nods, the smile staying on her face until he walks away from the two.

"How are you feeling, Y/N?" Sam questions, to which Y/N sighs, looking down at her shoes.  She stays quiet for a moment, feeling his eyes on her.

"You want the truth or you want me to tell you what I tell Rhodey?" She replies, looking back at him. Y/N shifts from one foot to another, glad they were far from the crowd that was gathering. He gives her a look, giving her an answer without opening his mouth. She sighs again, twisting her wedding ring around her finger.

"I don't sleep, not really. I get maybe an hour a night if I am lucky. I-The house is filled with boxes that I can't unpack because-" Her voice cracks, her chest rising and falling quickly. She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to not cry, "I thought that leaving the apartment would make him go away, but it didn't."

"Well Steve was always stubborn." Sam responds, making a laugh bubble out of her throat before she could stop it. There was an "I'm sorry" buried in the joke and Y/N knew it, but decided to only focus on the joke.

-

The stage looked daunting.

She forced herself up those steps, the person who had introduced her still had his hand outstretched towards her. Y/N wondered if she could make a run for it. Sure people will be mad at her, but she won't be forcing herself through this. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, the clapping nothing but a ringing in her ears. For a moment, her eyes landed on the giant banner of her husband, a lump forming in her throat. He was watching over her, his face emotionless as his eyes seemingly followed her every step. Cameras flashed as she stood on the stage, striding over to the podium. Once she stood in front of it, a hush fell over the crowd.

Y/N Rogers had saved thousands of lives. She was an Avenger and had faced countless foes. Hell, her wedding had more people in attendance than this event, but she still felt sick to her stomach. Y/N gave them all a smile as she forced herself to calm down, swallowing hard before speaking.

"To say that Steve Rogers was a special man is putting lightly. He was a hero that many of us, myself included, aspired to be one day. And while many of you only knew him as Captain America, I was among the lucky few that got to know him just as Steve Rogers. Now I could stand up here and tell you about every battle he won, how valiantly he fought-but everyone else is going to do that. Hell, you can read about it in the exhibit." Y/N chuckles, blinking away the tears in her eyes as the crowd laughs.

Y/N finds Rhodey and Sam in the crowd, both of them giving her smiles of encouragement. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the diamond on her wedding ring sparkling in the light. It's the first time she's worn it in a while, but it felt almost right to wear it. Once again, she's pretending like Steve didn't leave her. No, Y/N is ignoring that completely, almost blissfully. These people only know Steve as Captain America, as a god-damned American hero. She isn't going to tarnish that, won't ruin his legacy. And regardless of what Steve did to her, she is still in love with him and she wants to talk about the man she fell in love with, not the one that hurt her. Y/N inhales and exhales shakily before continuing.

"Steve was so much more than just Captain America. He was my best friend and my husband. He was the type of man to pick up flowers for you just because. The type of man to tell you that you looked really pretty even though you were covered in dirt and ash. He would let me go on and on about things that didn't even matter, but with the way he paid attention you would think that I was telling him the secrets of the world. Steve loved staying in and having movie marathons-he-he had a list he'd carry with him to write down things he needed to learn about. Before we dated, he would text me randomly, asking me why Jar Jar Binks is hated so much or asking me to explain what emojis are. He never quite got the hang gof the latter." A laugh comes out of Y/N's mouth, the crowd following suit. There was a smile on her face, a warmth spreading in her chest.

"He's the man I'll be in love with until the day I die, but then I'll fall in love all over again because I'll be able to see him again. Steve was the sweetest, kindest man I've ever met and while I will always wish we had more time together, I was lucky to have him as long as I did. We were all lucky to have him." Y/N pauses again, her throat constricting with emotion, "Even though he's gone, Steve lived a long life-a life longer than some of us get and I am happy that so many different facets of his life is going to be explored and shared with so many people. I hope you all enjoy the exhibit. Thank you."

The applause that followed was almost thunderous. Y/N smiled as her heart slammed against her ribcage, cameras flashing as she made her way off the stage. She was glad it was finally over as she moved to stand next to Rhodey and Sam. Sam kissed her cheek before he climbed up the stairs to the stage. Rhodey rubbed her back, telling her quietly that she did great. She just nodded in response, her eyes on her friend, watching as Sam leaned the shield against the plexiglass podium.

"Thank you Y/N for making my job a lot harder." Sam teases, causing everyone to chuckle. Y/N smiles right back at him, shaking her head as her friend carries on, "Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered poising stoically. "

Sam's a natural at this, standing up there like its nothing. And while Y/N should be focused on the speech, her eyes keep drifting down to the shield at his feet.

"The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we're in. Symbols...are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning. And this thing," Sam chuckles, picking up the shield, "I don't know if there's ever been a greater symbol. But it's more about the man who propped it up and he's gone. So, today we honor Steve's legacy, but also, we look to the future. So thank you, Captain America. But this belongs to you."

Y/N feels sick to her stomach as she watches Sam hand the shield off. Her chest feels tight and she-she can't be here. There's a ringing on her ears and she can't breathe. Y/N pushes through the crowd, not bothering with pleasantries as she does it. A dozen emotions rack her body, causing her hands to start to heat up. She forces it down, deep down as she walks into an empty bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Sam gave away the shield.

He gave it away.

Like it was nothing.

And she wants to scream, wants to cry, but it won't come out. Y/N won't let it, not now when she is still in public. She walks over to the sinks, her hands gripping the counter. Her eyes are rimmed with red, eyes all watery. Her red painted lips press into a thin line as she forces herself to not cry, practically glaring at her reflection. What did her therapist tell her to do? Ah yes, breath in and out. In and out.

This was all too much way too soon. She couldn't handle this. She was being bombarded with memories and emotions already and now Sam giving the shield away? She felt like she was going to lose it. A part of her felt like she was overreacting. overthinking this whole situation. And maybe she was. Y/N did that from time to time. Tony had told her she was an expert of making mountains out of molehills. Maybe Sam just didn't want to be Captain America, didn't want to shoulder that burden. That was understandable. It was a shitty, shitty job-one that Sam didn't ask for. He shouldn't be forced to take on the mantle of Captain America, not when the previous owner had tossed it away so carelessly.

Yet, the bigger part of her was incredibly upset. Angry at the fact that Sam handed off the shield to be shelved in a museum. Overwhelmed by the amount of Steve that was everywhere. Confused over the multitudes of feeling that were swarming her body.

And there was nothing she could do about any of them. She just had to grin and bear it, just like she's been doing since Steve decided he much rather spend an entire lifetime with a woman he knew for a few months. So Y/N collected herself, blinked away her tears, and left the bathroom. Her feet had a mind of their own, carrying her towards the one place she didn't want to be.

The exhibit.

Steve's image is plastered on every single surface, telling the details of every part of his life. Scrawny Steve, bootcamp Steve, darling icon of patriotism during the war Steve, frozen Steve, Battle of Manhattan Steve, cartoon Steve punching Hitler, Steve during Sokovia, Steve on the run. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. He covers every single square inch, which makes sense because this is his exhibit. And while Y/N knows she should just turn on her heel and not put herself through it, she throws caution to the wall. She's already incredibly upset, so she might as well pour gallons and gallons of salt and lemon juice into that open wound.  So she forces herself deeper into the exhibit, running straight into the very last man she wants to see at this moment.

"You know I wasn't expecting to find you here." Sam tells her as soon as her foot enters the next room. She keeps her mouth shut, so he adds "Rhodey is looking for you."

"You know on his right sleeve of his suits, right near his wrist, he had my initials stitched. He told me he wanted to carry a piece of me into every mission, into every fight." Y/N announces as she looks at a picture of Steve on a mission, most likely taken by Natasha. Sam sighs, walking over to her, wanting her to see his point of view.

"Look I know you're upset-" He starts, but is immediately cut off by a dry chuckle slipping out of Y/N's mouth as she walks around the room. She wants to lay in to him, wants to give him a piece of her mind.

"Oh I am far past the point of being "just upset", Wilson. It wasn't yours to give away. I-I don't care if you didn't want the mantle, but..." Her angry words trail off once she realizes what part of the exhibit she has reached, her face dropping.

Y/N stops in front of a part of the exhibit labeled 'Two Heroes United'. Her eyes roam over the pictures of her and Steve's wedding and the pictures taken throughout the duration of their relationship, so much more than what the file Rhodey had left detailed. So many smiles, so much happiness filling each and every picture. Her facade is cracking, chipping away as she forces herself to study every picture, studying their faces over and over, trying to see if there was something she had missed, if-if there was something she could have said or done to hold onto him a little longer. If there was something hidden behind his smile, behind his touches, they don't reveal themselves in the photographs.

She's just a footnote in his life, a blurb at the end of a long story. A tool to make him look like an all-American family man. Bucky and Sam had much larger parts of the exhibit dedicated to their roles in Steve's life and who they are outside of being Steve's friends. Y/N-well Y/N gets this, a paragraph saying that she was on the team and then married Steve. She is just haphazardly tacked onto the story of his life, a cute story to make people feel all warm inside. He got his happily ever after, they'll say-or they'll whisper to one another God she was so lucky to have him. They won't ask if she got her happily ever after or if she feels lucky now.

Sam got to hand off the shield, got to throw away the title of Captain America. He gets to keep on living his life after this, but Y/N-Y/N will always be Steve's wife. And it doesn't matter how many people she saved or what she did with her time on earth, she will only be know for being the wife of the man who abandoned her. Y/N's tied to him for eternity, stuck loving a man who decided to love someone else.

And then, just like that, something inside of her just snaps. Her facade fully crumbles, leaving her unable to mask what she's going through.  Y/N's eyes fill up with tears and she's unable to blink them away before they spill over the edge, sending tears rolling down her cheeks. And as she stood there, crying in the middle of the exhibit dedicated to Steven Grant Rogers, a depressing epiphany popped into her mind.

The shield was the last part of Steve that she had that wasn't tainted in some way, a piece of him that she could still bear to see. And Sam had just given it away, leaving her with nothing but memories that would haunt her.

-

"I watched your speech. You did really good, Y/N." Her therapist praises, giving her a soft smile. Y/N nods, twisting her wedding ring on her finger. She had decided to start wearing it again, even though her feelings about Steve were still conflicted. While a part of her thought that this meant she was healing, Y/N knew it was more likely tied to the fact that Sam had given up the shield.

"It-It felt good." Y/N replies, shifting in her seat. She had thought it was a subtle movement, but Dr. Raynor gave her a look. After a few months of court-ordered appointments, the therapist knew Y/N all too well and she sure as hell knew when Y/N wasn't telling the truth.

"Something is upsetting you. What happened?" The doctor questions, clicking her pen. Y/N dreaded the noise. It meant a longer session, more bandaids being ripped off in order to force the wounds into the light. It would mean she would return to her home a little colder, a little emptier.

"Nothing happened. It-I had a good day. A good week." Y/N tries to reassure her, even going as far as to give her what she thought was a honest smile. Dr. Raynor held up her pad of paper, making a show of slowly bring the pen down to the paper. Y/N's smile falls and she looks down at her hands, letting out a small sigh.

"He-Sam gave away the shield. He gave it away like it was nothing." The ex-hero announces, feeling like a scolded child. Raynor lowers her pen and paper, settling back into her seat.

"And you feel like he shouldn't have?"

"No. No, Steve-Steve chose him. Steve gave him the shield because he knew that Sam was good, that Sam could handle it. And-And Sam just gave it away." Y/N stammers, picking at a thread that was hanging off her shirt.

"You know, I think that is the first time you have said his name aloud." Raynor mentions, causing Y/N to stop her movements. The thread is caught between her fingers, pulled taut. The doctor continues, "You always refer to Steve as 'he' or 'him' or 'my husband'. You never say his name."

"I don't think I was ready to be around...Steve. Not that much." Y/N tries to shift the focus, shame filling her, her face feeling hot. She knows she has her reasons not to say his name, but she still felt terrible about not being able to say his name.

"But you still spoke at the opening of his exhibit. I'm sure everyone would more than understand why you couldn't. So why did you decide on speaking?" The therapist asks, taking down a couple notes of her pad of paper. Y/N stays silent for a moment, letting go of the thread to start twisting her ring again.

"I-I don't know. Rhodey asked me and I-I guess I thought I could do it. And the speech wasn't bad I just-I wasn't expecting Sam to give away the shield." Y/N responds, her voice soft. She feels so small, sitting here on this charcoal grey couch. Y/N almost felt...stupid for being so angry at Sam. It wasn't his fault at all and as Y/N said everything out loud, she felt like such an asshole.

"If you would've known that Sam wanted to give the shield away, would you have stopped him?" Dr. Raynor replies, leaning forward slightly as she takes a few notes. Y/N feels herself sinking into the couch.

"I don't know. I-I wish he would have just told me so that we could've talked about it." She answers, looking out of the window. Dark grey clouds filled the sky, blocking out a lot of the sunlight that wanted to shine down on the city. Y/N didn't know if she would have actually forced him to keep the shield. That wasn't on him to have hold on to hat chunk of vibranium. It was wrong for Steve to have thrown that all on Sam. What would be the alternative? For her to keep the shield? Y/N highly doubted that the United States government would allow that.

-

Y/N was watering her garden when her phone started to ring in her back pocket. She quickly moves to shut off the water hose before she slips the phone about her pocket. Sam's name and picture appears on her screen, making uneasiness fill her stomach. Y/N exhales through her noise loudly before answering it, holding the phone against her ears.

"Have you seen the news?" Sam asks, not even letting her get a single syllable out.

"No, I've been outside-What's going on, Sam?" Y/N questions, making her way to the house. Something was definitely wrong. Sam never called her unless it was for emergencies. if they did communicate, it was mainly through texting. Her heartbeat started to race, as did her thoughts. A million different scenarios filled her head, each one worse than the last.

"You need to turn on the news right now." Sam replies as she opens the back door, quickly crossing the kitchen and walking into the living room. Her hands are almost shaking as she picks up the remote, turning the television on. Luckily for her, the last thing she had been watching was the news. Unluckily for her, she was greeted with a man holding the shield-Steve's shield, dressed in what looked like an off-brand, shitty version of the Captain America suit.

Anger filled her body. It had been four days tops since Sam handled off the shield and already, they had found their 'new Captain America'. The man in question was smiling smugly in the ill-fitting suit, waving at the camera, holding onto his shield tightly. God, Y/N wanted to beat the shit of the man and every single person who had okayed this. She could only hear bits and pieces of the speech as the news replayed it, but even that bullshit was too much for her to handle. She muted the television, tossing the remote on the couch.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Y/N exclaims, her hands getting warm. The Avenger was unable to get to anything articulate as rage filled her. She quickly put the phone on speaker, setting the device down just in case her hands caught flame.

"I know. I know. It's fucking bullshit." Sam replies, sighing. Y/N paced in front of the television, trying to calm herself down before she burned a hole through her rug. On the screen, the fake Cap was talking about something, a saccharine smile spread across his face. Y/N wanted to take that God damn shield and smash his teeth in.

"That asshole has my husband's fucking shield. They-He isn't supposed to be Captain America, okay? It's just not-It's not theirs to give away." Y/N's voice cracks towards the end, tears filling her eyes. While she wasn't Steve's number one fan, she hated that they had already chose someone to take up his title. If Sam wasn't going to be Captain America, then no one should be Captain America.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I wouldn't have given away the shield if I would've known...I'm sorry." Sam murmurs over the phone. Y/N covers her face with her almost glowing hands as she tries to control her breathing, not able to respond to Sam’s apologies. Her sadness and anger quickly shifted into something else. 

Something inside of her switched on, something that she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she was a hero, back when she was an Avenger.

Y/N wanted to go to work.

------

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@lady-elena-adeline​ @simonedk​ @hersilencedscreams​ @rqmanoff​

[a-libra-writes]

Unexpected - Tywin x Reader

Hey yall! Im really sick with a cold, so I haven’t been able to get to the Imagines +Alphabets Instead I’ll post this requested fic, and I’ve got two more fics in the queue for the next few days while I recover.

This wasn’t exactly as requested, but I really enjoyed writing it! 

Incoming: Fighter!Reader and Tywin having their meet cute and bond over being sick of other people’s shit. 

Every inch of her body protested as she untied the dirty shirt and slipped it down to her arms. A squire had helped her out of her armor and padded gambeson, and she put on a strong face for that, but upon reaching the maester’s tent she nearly collapsed.

There were voices and scattered chaos outside, but she held her dizzying head and tried to focus on the maester’s instructions. Her strong facade finally fell when he gently pressed his fingers to the ugly black and purple bruises forming on her chest. 

“Not broken,” The haggard man said. He looked as worn as the men she saw leaving his tent. 

She hissed and cursed, but had no energy left to flinch away. Thank the gods, she assumed the worst when that blow knocked out all the wind she had in her lungs and toppled her backwards. Damned Northmen. She threw herself to her feet soon enough, but the pain wrenched a scream from her everytime she cut through a foe.

The maester began cleaning a more pressing wound on her arm. It wasn’t her dominant hand, another stroke of luck. 

The gods give and take, she thought bitterly. The cut on her arm did not trouble her near as much, nor did the slice on her leg. She carelessly tore her breeches for the maester so he could wrap it. Her modesty wasn’t even crossing her mind.

Instead, she asked the maester, “Have you tended to my lord father, or seen him? He is of House Lydden, our standard has the badger.”

The maester’s weary eyes only looked up from his work for a moment. “I have not, my lady. House Lydden is not amongst my patients.”

The bitterness and anxiety began to creep up her stomach, touching at her throat, becoming an uncomfortable bile. Of course not. She was the one who broke formation, who left her father and their knights. 

I thought the old man could handle himself. I would only be gone a few minutes, then I’d return to him -- stupid, reckless girl --

She could still see the way her father’s arm snapped backwards, as if he were in front of her again. She still heard his scream echoing through his helmet, and the way his strong body crumpled back. She was able to lunge forward, fight off his attacker, but the real fight was leaving his side. She couldn’t stay and help him, cry over him, hold him. She had to keep moving, it’s what he always told her. 

He would teach her the sword, her lord father said, but she had to learn to be hard. Soft hands and soft hearts made for softer blows.

The maester must have noticed her stormy thoughts. The fatigue on his face lessened as he gave her a soft smile. “Your lord father is a known knight, and fine warrior, my lady. Doubtless you will find him when the camp gathers.”

She nodded, but the dark thoughts continued. Even if I do, what condition will he be in? That was his sword arm. He may never hold one again.

She should have been there to watch his back, and their men. She should have, but … 

Kevin Lannister led their host, nearly 10,000 men strong and composed of other houses, not just her own. When the chaos of battle reached its height, the neat formations began to break, and she noticed her commander was surrounded. Even if she had lost her own horse, she threw herself into the defense, allowing him to ride to safety. 

She did the right thing, she knew, but the anxiety still twisted at her. She asked the maester, “May I leave now?”

“You would do well to rest here, my lady. You should not be walking with that wound.”

“I can make it to my own tent and rest there,” She said stubbornly, even though she wasn’t sure where her house had set up their war tents. The maester was ready to protest, but a commotion outside pulled away both of their attentions.

There was the noise of horses and clinking armor outside the tent, not the sound of wounded men groaning as they were carried in. A squire opened the tent flap, and a tall, armored man entered. 

The maester instantly bowed his head. She followed his gesture after a brief moment of shock. “My lord.”

When she looked up, the squire was taking his helmet. She found his eyes in an instant, a striking green that only looked bolder against his fine gold armor and the splash of blood that dried on his cheek.

“I understand it was you, Lady Y/N of House Lydden, who came to my brother’s defense.”

“Yes, my lord,” She said. She’d heard him speak before, but that was to crowds of people, swaths of armored men. In such a small tent, in close proximity, she could hear just how deep and commanding his voice was. She was determined to keep her own steady.

“300 armored men, yet a stray soldier was the one jumping to the task. He wanted to know your name.”

Her mind scrambled for a response. “You spoke it true, my lord, and you have honored me with a visit. Might I ask why?”

While the unwounded and surviving soldiers outside the tent were already beginning to celebrate victory, their liege lord’s manner was steady. Take the fanciful armor away, and you would never guess he was returning from battle, save for an unmistakable glow in his eyes. She was sure that wasn’t just the candle light.

“Your father has relinquished his command to you. He was one of my strategists, so in his place, you will join the war council tonight.” 

A wave of emotion washed over her, slowly ebbing away the pain but bringing in a new motley of feelings. Regardless, she nodded. “I understand. I will serve well, my lord, as he did.”

Lord Tywin’s eyes glanced up her body. He turned to his squire. “Find her proper clothes before the evening sets in.” 

The young squire hastily opened the tent flap for him and bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

When they departed and the tent clothes, she felt her body sag on instinct. All the warmth seemed to have left the room, replacing it with a comforting chill. She released a breath and instantly regretted it, wincing at the pain in her ribs.

Then she winced again as she flinched. Gods be good, nearly her whole upper body was exposed in front of her lord paramount. She hastily tied her shirt back. The damage was done, but at least she could keep herself covered in front of the camp.

“It seems you cannot stay here even if I wish it,” The maester said. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. 

“I’ll return if my wounds take a turn for the worst, I promise. Thank you for your help.” Her promise felt silly as she uneasily stood on her bad leg. The pain began to dissipate as she walked, not because it felt any better, but because her mind was spinning, replaying the conversation. 

It had been a short talk, but she kept going over what he said, the way he stood, the way he looked at her -- well, she was just imagining that last part. She hastily pushed aside her exposure and focused on finding her house’s tents.

As was commanded, a set of fine clothes were brought to her tent, in addition to her set of newly cleaned armor. She raised her eyebrow at the dress - presumably, what she was expected to wear. She sighed and put it on. On one hand, it was irksome that she couldn’t wear a doublet and breeches, on the other, she was grateful to not have to don the armor. Her body was still aching from the morning battle, and a skirt was easier on her wounded leg.

The wartent was just as impressive as it was the last time she saw it. The canvas was a bold crimson that was lit up from the inside, making it glow in the night, with embroidered gold lions on the side. Tywin’s squire recognized her and allowed her inside with a courteous “good evening, Lady Lydden”.

As expected, several of the lords gathered at the table stared pointedly at her. Some recognized her, most didn’t, and it was Kevan Lannister crossing the room that quieted any protest. He offered his hand. “I owe you a great deal of thanks, Lady Lydden.”

“I was merely doing my duty, Ser Kevan.” The gratitude was unexpected, but welcome. Kevan led her to an empty seat, only two seats down from Lord Tywin, she realized. Was this truly her father’s seat? She ignored the other lord’s gazes, but she could feel how confused and indignant they were.

Lord Tywin began the discussion. Even after a heated battle, a victory, he would not rest. The young wolf had surprised him. She listened to the talks and strategies the men threw out, interjecting when she felt the need to provide her own knowledge. Some lords ignored her, others gave her pointed retorts. It seems only Ser Kevan was responding to her favorably, and she had yet to have a chance to respond to Lord Tywin, until now.

“We will need a smaller host to stay in the center, and go where is needed,” Ser Kevan said, pointing to a map and moving several figures. Banners of various houses were attached to small stone-carved knights, representing their forces.

“They will need to be swift riders, with a keen awareness. Whichever side begins to crack under pressure, they’ll be there to relieve it.” Lord Tywin said. He looked around the table, expectantly.

She met those green eyes as she leaned forward. Close as she was, it was as though she were speaking directly to him, not addressing an entire war council. “My lord, I have some of the finest riders at my command. I can lead two or three hundred of them -- the rest will replenish whichever hosts have lost the most men.”

There was a loud scoff behind her. She turned sharply, recognizing the source at once. Of course, Ser Amory Lorch. “It is so … refreshing to see enthusiasm in a … lady such as yourself, but such an important task should be left to one with experience.”

Lord Leo Lefford leaned back in his seat and adopted a tone that was better suited to addressing a child. “I agree. I was at the center of today’s battle, my lady. Surely you understand our soldiers will not be eager to obey your commands, no matter what they may be.”

“They will listen,” She retorted hotly, the pain in her wounds and worry for her father creating a bite in her voice. “My orders would be coming from our liege, Lord Tywin. To disobey me is to disobey him... Surely they understand that?”

The men around the table did not immediately respond, falling into an uncomfortable silence that made some of them shift in their seats. Ser Amory obviously wanted to argue, but now it was a matter of what their commander would say.

Her father taught her to meet men’s gazes, to not demure and look away. Her mother taught her to straighten her posture and keep herself tall, never shrink and simper, even if they tried to make her feel small. Their lessons helped her become who she was, and she looked upon Tywin Lannister’s green eyes again. 

Just like at the maester’s tent, the room felt smaller and warmer than it had moments ago. It was foolish to say time crawled, because it didn’t. She just breathed a little slower.

“Lady Y/N’s host will lead in the center. They’ll be supplied with the best mounts, after the vanguard has had their pick.” Lord Tywin said, and gestured to his brother. Ser Kevan placed a figurine with House Lydden’s banner, and just like that, any room for argument was over.

It would be unseemly to smirk and gloat, so she’d do it in the privacy of her tent, or perhaps when the next battle was over. For the next hour, her contributions were received with noticeably less ice, save for Ser Amory. She became engrossed in the meeting, not noticing how the man sitting just two seats away was taking note of the certainty in her voice and the strength of her conviction.

Some ladies flourished in court, some in marriage, some in solitude. It was obvious where this one’s talents lied.

She hadn’t even noticed how the hours passed, especially once wine was poured. The council was dismissed and Y/N tried to subtly finish off her cup. She didn’t get fine vintages like this often, and her aching ribs thanked her for the alcohol.

She set it down once she realized she was being watched. “Pardon, my lord. I don’t often have the luxury.”

“I imagine you’ll need it to sleep.” Tywin said. His goblet was still half-full, and she wondered if it was still his first cup. She hadn’t been paying attention. “Most men would’ve yielded from that wound.”

She touched her chest, feeling pain from just the brush of her fingers. “My ribs are not broken, my lord, and besides, I’ve never yielded to any man.”

“Is that so? I believe it.”

Why was there amusement in his voice - was she imagining it, and the way his eyes looked lighter? Why couldn’t she stop looking at them? Desperate to look at anything else, she realized the other lords had shuffled out of the tent, even Ser Kevan. The only one left was a servant clearing the table.

She stood from the war table and slid her chair in. It would hurt less to curtsy, but she wouldn’t do such a thing. Perhaps if she were leaving her lord paramount at a feast or gala, but this was her commander. She bowed her head and kept her posture rigid, ignoring the pain that shot up her spine. “I’ll speak with you at the next council, my lord.”

“That you will, and louder than tonight. The likes of Ser Amory and Lord Kenning are hard of hearing, and not half as clever as they think. They need a reminder of what I expect in this army.”

His flippant tone brought a slight smile to her face. “I’ll gladly speak loudly and slowly for them. Rest well, my lord.”

[surpraises]

Solemn Thanksgiving

how does one find heaven’s comforting throne?

i’m desperate to understand a tragedy and need to go there.

through the glory of the knowledge of the LORD

could a psalmist take me up yonder, I wonder?

 the softened pages of my old Bible is where I seek;

wrap, my soul, around a new dimension;

eyes, strain and see with spiritual sharpness;

ears, carefully listen to these few revealed words.

 with David, I somehow approach Jehovah;

in a safe holy place, His throne of grace.

where are the resounding praises of mighty seraphs?

they’re important, I sure, but here purpose matters most.

 we hear only the solemn call of the great I AM,

“sit at My right hand.”

Jesus my Lord responds and is now enthroned  

given all authority in heaven and earth.

 His suffering complete, He is at peace;  

unrushed, He reigns at Jehovah’s right hand;

sitting honored, sitting exalted, sitting anointed;

waiting timelessly upon the Ancient of Days.

 harm cannot come here no matter what threatens below;

Christ remains calm as hostility torments earth’s streets;  

far beyond the shame of rebellion, the Messiah sits;  

let me humbly draw near Him to find peace and rest.

 the Great Jehovah addresses my Savior;

His eternal oath fervently resounds,

“You are a Priest forever.”  

praise! my Advocate is placed in the seat of dominion.

 worship; what a big smile crosses my face.

but it’s hard to keep fear from distracting my praises;

the Sovereign wages war on my Lord’s behalf;  

He fights mere mortals and other hapless beings.

 everywhere, the Covenant Keeper goes to work;  

for the Son’s Name He breaks nations and evil’s rebellion;

how easily the King Priest rules His adversaries now;

Jehovah subjects stiff-necked enemies well.

 oh, I’m starting to get it--my Messiah reigns in transition;

He will arise and return to finally destroy all our adversaries;

heaven’s great army musters, willing to follow;

the people of God, purchased by blood, enlist under His banner.

 soldiers mysteriously appear like the dew at dawn

consecrated and filling His ranks with youthful vigor;

freshly arrayed in uniforms shining with beauty of holiness;  

obviously, the quiet Priest King sits as commander.

 getting older, as I am, I consider my fighting days over.

yet now invigorated!  jump-to, my spirit, I must announce,

“willing, O Lord, You know I’m willing!” Hurry, join  

legions whose glories sparkle like the sunrise on dew.

 even shoulder to shoulder with those who have gone on before;

only cheerful righteousness-clothed warriors;

no grievers doubting, “what if--if I had only done this!”

yes!  thank you, Lord! our greatest achievement lies ahead.

 notice the psalm’s focal point becoming prophetic;

see now my Adonai conquering on earth.

the Spirit predicts fierce justice on the day of His vengeance;

depicts Christ triumphant in relentless pursuit of His foes.

 worship…Great Jehovah;

worship…my Lord, High Priest, Commander, coming King!

worship…my Comforter;

Jesus, today I am willing.

 thank you, solemn LORD, for Your Word;

thank you, Sovereign LORD, for all things!

  from Psalm 110

[therabidjackalope]

Nightmares And Dreamscapes

The sleeper moaned softly and twitched in sleep. Eyes rolled restlessly beneath closed lids as if to escape their darkened champers. From tangled lashes, a single tear slipped free. Haunted by visions, the restless dreamer slowly reached out a hand, as if seeking rescue. Lips quivering, a single word escaped into the world, but faded quickly, as if too timid to break the silence.

“Awa.”

The sleeper frowned deeply, drowning worries of the future in sorrows of the past. The clang of metal and shouts of battle protected ears from an oppressive silence. Words came like waves on the sea, approaching swiftly before tumbling over and washing away. Colors flashed as spells were cast, but the dreamer was trapped in glue and could not affect the scene as it played out, just as it did every time eyes were closed. Faintly, a voice that crackled like dry parchment begged the still night for one single favor.

“Save them.”

The sleeper's mouth opened in a silent scream, but no sound could escape. Muscles tense with a need for action, they could only twitch and thrash as the nightmare took hold, wrapping a tired mind in tendrils of guilt and fear. Fingers clenched and flexed, desperately trying to claw free of the dream without success. A denial was sent out into the night, but the message was lost in a passing breeze.

“No.”

The sleeper's body made no movement to betray the pain within. A mask of serenity glossed an agony too deep to feel. Tired and broken, the dreamer sent one wish into the darkness, with no hope of it being granted.

“Peace.”

The sleeping druid sighed softly. More tears escaped her tightly shut lids, leaving slimy trails down her muzzle as they fled. Her legs twitched in the waking world as she walked in the dream. She wore helplessness like a cloak against the cold, wrapping it tightly around herself, but still she shivered from the chill.

Once more a milk calf, the druid was surrounded by flames and destruction. Smoke clogged her lungs and stung her eyes. Flames singed her fur. All around her was chaos, but she saw none of it. “Awa.” She said softly, the single word a pleading, a command and a question all at once. “Sun.” She said again, but the sun stubbornly refused to rise. As did the still form lying a few feet away.

The jruu tossed restlessly in the grip of sleep. In his dream, he was surrounded by the chaos of war. Fires ringed him and the clang of steel striking steel sang out like a melody. Blood soaked the ground around his feet and bodies of friend and foe alike lay strewn about the blood-soaked soil. He tried to call out, but his voice choked in his throat. He tried to run, but the sucking mud held fast to his feet.

And suddenly he heard a familiar voice thrown into the air behind him. “Give no quarter, men! The savages must die!” Familiar words from so long ago tore at his soul with jagged teeth. He turned to see a man rushing toward him, sword drawn and shield held high. A robed figure ran at his side. He knew them both, and knew that there was nothing he could do to stop what was about to happen next.

The druid thrashed in her sleep, her black fur seeming to melt into the shadows of the night until they seemed to become one in the same. Her cries and protests fell on deaf ears, failing to free her from the prison of her own mind. Woven into a tapestry of pain, she could not pause long enough to see that it was her own hand doing the weaving.

Claws raked flesh made of shadows while teeth tore into fleeing illusions, but no matter how hard she fought, she never seemed to make any progress. Still her prize was pulled further and further away while she struggled to keep from falling too far behind. Fear and rage fueled her strength, but the enemy fed from the same pool, and she was helpless against herself.

Taiyra toddled closer to the fallen figure, her tiny body growing bigger with each step. “Sun?” She asked even as she grew into herself, her stride lengthening and yet somehow never quite managing to reach her destination.

“Mother?” She finally cried, crashing to her knees beside the forever stilled form. “Mother? Can you stand?” But she received no answer to her inquiry. “Please get up.” She reached out to touch the figure, but suddenly her arms felt too short, and no matter how hard she tried, the doe's body remained just out of her reach. “AWA!” She screamed the word once more, wielding it like a magic word meant to bring back the dead. But it was not her mother's voice that finally answered her.

“So, dere be survivahs hea afterall.”

Taiyra turned, and she was a milk calf again. Sitting astride a large beast sat an agwa, his hair red as flame and skin blue as if with chill. He watched her with golden eyes soft with sympathy. She knew this jruu, the one that saved her from every nightmare. Her savior. Her guardian. She tried to speak, to ask him his name, but all that came out was “Awa?”

“She be gone, littah one. Come wit me, now. Come, littah moarnah. I take you some place safe, yah?” He reached out his arms, somehow able to reach her without ever dismounting, and the doe went with him willingly. In his strong arms she found safety. Curled up against his chest, she found solitude.

The dreamer stilled, and then smiled.

Tesio could only watch helplessly as the two men approached, the warrior protecting the robed figure whose spells gave safety and health. One after another, orks, agwa and elves fell to his blade. All who came against him were slain.

The dead began to pile up around him, trampled under foot as the two men advanced. Book open, the robed figure chanted endless with one hand upraised. The warrior had a soft golden glow about him, magical protection making him arrogant.

Arrows and spears were like teeth of some giant predator, but they broke harmlessly against his magical shell. Swords flashed like lightening, but his crashed like thunder. Axes bounced off his great shield and bodies crumbled under his great strength. “Honor will be ours this day!” He cried out, his words a banner of glory.

But unseen behind him a single arrow flew. Striking the wizard in the back, his golden magic faded with no words to feed upon. “Fredrick!” the man turned to his injured companion, failing to deflect the blade that pierced his armor. He spun to strike down the ork that had wielded it, his own blood painting the creature's face as it fell, but more swords were waiting behind that one.

The jruu could only look on helplessly as the two men were savaged and finally left to die of their wounds. As the wizard slowly reached out to his companion, his whispered words echoed up through memory to ring loudly in the jruu's ears. “You...” Fredrick groaned. “You can still... save us all.... Tesio.”

The human tried to reply, but his breath bubbled out through the leaking holes in his chest and no words would come forth. The jruu's own chest constricted in sympathetic pain.

Fredrick clung tightly to his book and muttered a soft chant, his hand glowing a moment before transferring to the dying man beside him. With the warrior's last breath, the glow leapt from his body to that of a nearby corpse.

The agwa gasped for breath as he came to life. Fredrick smiled and then fell still. The newly woken agwa sat up slowly, confused, then looked around himself. Upon spotting the bodies of the two men, he rose swiftly to his feet and rushed over to pull Fredrick into his arms. “No!” He cried. “Don't you dare die on me!” But it was too late, for the wizard's life fed the thirsty ground.

“You can't die on me.” Both agwa said together, their voices echoing to each other. The agwa looked up, pleading, imploringly, into his own face. “Save them.” They echoed together.

Matna snarled in rage as she fought her enemy of shadow, but no matter how much ground she gained, she continued to lose so much more.

Far from her grasp, her family watched from a small puddle of light in the darkness. She struggled to reach them, but every step she took closer only seemed to send them two steps further away. The shadows clung to her like tar, tentacles of darkness wrapping around her limbs and blocking her path. Savagely, she tore at the darkness, her foes fleeing before her rage, but still more rose to take their place.

A dark wall of guilt and doubt continued to separate her from those she loved and she couldn't figure out how to break through. She could only watch helplessly as they faded further and further away, while her need to protect them only grew stronger. She couldn't let them out of her sight or she would lose them forever, but she couldn't free herself from the grip of her own selfish needs.

“No!” She roared out as her family finally faded from her sight. “Don't leave me! Please!”

Nadirah stood before an old ork in her dream. He glared at her with only one eye, a hyolf claw held around his neck by a thin cord of leather. “You were weak.” He growled the accusation.

“I was weak.” The doe agreed calmly.

“You were defeated.” The words were spat at her feet.

“I was defeated.” Nadirah echoed in further agreement.

The ork scowled at her, his face a mask of disdain. “There was no honor in your death.”

“But I fought well.” She argued weakly, her head falling until her chin rested against her chest.

“With all of your strength?” The ork asked.

“With everything.” She whispered.

“Then why are you not at rest?” The ork demanded. “Those who do not die with honor may never rest.”

“I was... for a time.” Nadirah sighed the words. “But then it was taken from me. And now I'll never find it.”

“Find what?” The ork demanded. “Your lost honor?” His lip curled in a sneer of disgust.

Nadirah's head rose slowly, her features slack in defeat. “Peace.”

The dwarf finished tying up his trousers as he wandered back into the camp. He nodded brief acknowledgment to the the dapple grey kentaur who stood guard over the sleeping forms before returning to his sleeping roll.

Only moments after he closed his eyes, his loud rumbling snore filled the air, his dreams filled with feasting and wine. After all, what else was there to dream about?

[tumbleintonothing]

If you were at the fight- You are 100% ok welcome to say you saw Mae there and if this gives you the chance to message me for rp, I welcome it. Some NSFW some spoilers. )

Music- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fngvQS_PmQ

It felt cold. Not like ice or snow cold, but as if the warmth from leather clad fingers was fading, my bow having fallen quite a while ago it seemed, my toxic hues drifting in slow motion around me, watching friend and foe alike fight. Cas was there, so was Sil, for… Some strange reason. Had they been the reason I was fighting a war I never asked to fight. Were they the reason I felt that arrow in my chest sink deeper, feel the liquid pool around the other two in my back. 

As if it were not of his control, he’d feel a deep thud resound along the ground, the weight of his knees digging to earth. Eyes flickered upwards once more, around- A troll’s arm flying off to his right, forsaken spewing plague to his left- The young king and Jaina in the far off distance, a cry of war and hoard, seeing Sylvanas’s arrows fly true above head, even hearing her cry in her namesake. The world grew a bit more fuzzy- And if this were a movie you’d probably hear the narrator say something along the lines of ‘ You’re probably wondering how he got into this mess in the first place’, which, at this point he was wondering the same himself. Gravity took control of his form, and he’d hear the snap of arrows as he brushed across a wall to fall backwards, slumped there, feeling his body grow stiff. He’d lost track of Tao, and he only hoped the massive tiger that was his animal companion got out alive, away from the blight.

As he slumped there, his thoughts slowly turned about, recollecting the moments that led up to this particular point in time…

………………………………………………

“This is fucking suicide. You realize this. “ Mae’Thyn shook his head, watching his shorter, sharp tongued older brother a moment, arms now moved to cross over his chest, that cascade of ruddy tresses falling over his shoulders and back. He hadn’t expected -this- particular company to find him at the inn room he had taken home to that night in the city, but here he was, Castinus Shadowsong.

“ Brother. Every fight can be our last. Are you not hearing me? This isn’t a fight you can just turn your back on and expect it not to affect you, not to affect this world. We have to heed its call- Did you not even hear yourself a moment ago? She burned the -tree- down. -Their- tree.” Cas watched his brother with that mirrored green eyesight, his smooth leathers a vast contrast to the heavy mail that the hunter wore.

Mae’Thyn paced now, one hand moving to thread fingers through thick red tresses, boots making soft thuds against wooden floor. “ I know Cas. I know. I heard the rumors. I came here to try and find work- Find somewhere to back me before this shitstorm got worse… But I guess I don’t get that luxury do I? Why is it always go with this fucking war…” He’d let out the deepest of sighs now, turning back to face his brother once more. Unlike Cas, Mae’Thyn had taken off most his armor, bare chested with his leggings and boots still on when he got the knock on the door, so the vast amount of tattoos and scars that littered his form were bare to the candle light, jagged things weaving a horrendous and colored past.

Cas couldn’t help but chuckle then, giving Mae’Thyn a sideways glance, before his own right hand lifted to tap his cheek thoughtfully. “ I wish I had the answer to you for that one dear brother, but as it stands I hardly understand our father, let alone much of anything else. Truth of it I tried to stay as far from the fight that transpired when the demons attacked us, but even that found this city…” He’d shrug, and hand dropped away.

As the speak of the Legion, Mae’Thyn felt his features turn darker, his lips pulled into a thin line. Left hand had lifted then to touch the necklace he wore, bearing two slender wedding bands- Both having the nature to be feminine. A moment, the barest of touches before he’d release them and look back to his brother, that same hand now moving to rest at his hip. “ War always calls for a price brother. It will never stop calling for one. That is the nature of it all, hm?” This last retort was left with a very bitter taste into the mans mouth, his usually smooth baritone voice riddled with jagged edges. Cas could only shrug then, before tossing a missive towards Mae, with he caught with deft ease.

“This is the call that Saurfang gave to the whole of the Horde. You should look it over- There is a bit of gold in it if you join to save Lordaeron as well… Though I’m more or less going in the hopes I can get some action going, possibly ass afterwards.. Who knows.” Once more that dry tone that Cas offered had Mae lift his brow, looking the envelope over, before attention was once more pulled to his brothers features. “ Well… I guess we go tomorrow. Save the world?” Cas would only chuckle then, before shifting to the door to pull it open.

As he started to walk through he’d pause, and let eyes drift back over his shoulder to Mae. “ Oh. Sil will be there, too. Family reunion, yay.”

…………………………………………………………

Mae’Thyn always hated teleportation, felt it was far to tricky and always left his stomach queasy when he’d feel land underfoot once more - However this had been the way they had been told to take to get to Lordaeron, or more aptly known the Undercity. Once there he’d hear the call of the Queen, of Saurfang to collect yourselves and be aware of your surroundings, that the siege had already started. As always Mae’Thyn had called to the aid of his trusted companion Tao, a massive black tiger with eyes of jade to be the eyes in his back.

He never liked the Undercity. TO dusky, to moldy- The stench of decay and the ugly fel rot that bubbled around the city proper always something that set the hunter at unease with. The questionable motives that often were handled deep in the bowls of this place of death. As he’d shift a bit he’d take a careful look around, duly noting others that looked upon him as well.

For elves, particularly blood elves he was tall, much taller than his kin race, a sort of bastardized fact he often used to intimidate people simply to keep them from bothering him. As always he’d be wrapped in deep greens and golds with leather that accented in tans and deep rich browns, the leather itself soft and worn from years of rigors use, this evening his fingers wrapped in leather as well. Atop his head would sit that hood, its mail chinks softly chiming as head drifted to one side, then the other.

As others of the Horde gathered together, he could hear the whispers of some of the combat-ions. Some of them scolded the actions that Sylvanas had done, that they sided with the idea that there had been no honor in the actions, while others had gleefully been chomping at the bit to spill alliance blood, that the war between the demons and Azeroth wasn’t nearly enough for there taste. Either way, the hunter had no enjoyment on his face this day, rather stoic and stiff, he hadn’t really slept much the night before.

After his brother had left him, he had written a letter to the headmaster at his children's boarding school, informing him that if something were to happen to himself, that all of his estate and what he had stored away as a ‘rainy day fund’ would be used to keep the kiddos at the school until they themselves could choose their path in life. And as thoughts drifted to this moment, he’d let his mind's eye fall to the pair. Jae'Dren and Vari'Delsa. Jae was starting to form out a bit more, having his mother's snow white hair, but that strange mixture of one blue eye and one green. His sister had taken the red hair of Mae’Thyn, and aptly named after his wife Vari it suited her, she too taking the strange two toned gaze. Both had fair skin, and both were so intuitive now.

Mae’Thyn felt something inside his chest tighten, and he’d shake the thoughts out from his head, hearing as Sylvanas and all the commanders now started to rally the troops, call people to arms and draw them to the fight ahead. As he’s ready his bow he’d feel one hand touch his arm, another give him a punch at his shoulder. Head turned left, then right, the smirking face of his younger brother Siliron and his passive older brothers face Castinus greeting him.

“You ready there pretty boy? Ready to face death?” Sil taunted, giving Mae another smirk before his fists glowed a deep blue, and he’d push forward at the call of the army to force itself forward. Cast as always had vanished, his skill set much better seeded in the darkness- And rightly so. A sigh echoed across Mae’s lips, and he’d pull bow closer, moving on the outskirts of the collective mass, picking targets out with steady fingers, plucking magic enchanted arrows from his quiver and lining up shots as if it were childs play.

The sound of elves and humans like tore through the walls of the decaying city, as the Horde pushed it way through the massive circle, up and across the stone and tattered banners, the forsaken that lived here having already taking up arms to protect their home. As Mae rounded a corner he’d come face to face with three forsaken looming over the corpse of a felled druid in bear form- The three clawing out innards and flesh and chewing like ravenous wild animals. It took all the willpower within his stomach and throat to keep the bile that rose quickly to fall back down, and a snap turn had him face to face with one of their shadow steppers.

A quick arch of bow and the sound of metal on metal had him strike dagger wide, before thick big booted foot pushed forward, squarely kicking the night elf off balance- Bow back in hand before arrow was nocked and let to fly free, striking the elf in the throat. A gurgle of protest was all the elf could give before blood spilled from both wound and throat. He’d turn then, and follow the mass once more through the winding curving city- Till finally they were escorted to the courtyard.

Once here the collective group started to fight, and oh did they fight with a vigor that was almost murderous and insane. Mae himself had taken up a perch on a rock, letting arrows fly wherever he could manage- That was until Slyvanas took it upon herself to let loose the blight- And with only second to spare both hunter and pet had ducked backwards towards the city proper, the massive green goopy air thick and acidic. Mae at this point felt himself fall to the stairs of the city proper, still trying to pick off targets with arrows - That was until he realized that not only had she killed alliance… But Horde as well.

He’d feel his arrow falter, and then bow slowly dipped down, hearing the screams of his comrades as they fell to the blight, realization setting in as hunter let his toxic hues drift backwards to find Sylvanas, the moment she called to her dark magics to raise the very mass of graves she just dug.

W..Why would I fight this war for a leader that gives little care for my well being….

His thoughts would quickly be shattered as the sky parted in a massive wave, clouds being peeled away like wrapping paper, a massive ship soon to spill free from the parted clouds. Mae would watch in both awe and fear as the massive ship turned on the city wall proper, he’d see the chill of ice start to descend across the land, once again only having seconds to duck back behind a wall to keep from tasting its cold bite. At this point the man was severely doubting his need to be in this fight, but with little in the way to stop or leave he was there for good or worse.

War raged, walls were shattered, and once the fight spilled proper into the city, it was almost as if the very thing Sylvanas had been trying to protect and keep safe was simply lost- So it was in that moment that he had let his guard slip, a second was all it took before three arrows found themselves true in his form, and this was where he now settled, resting against a wall, tasting the tangy sweet of copper as it spilled over his lips, a soft cough splattering it. Moments passed, and he’d let eyes slowly drag across the spill of bodies around him, both alliance and horde, see others cry out and fall, a massive tangle of corpses.

A moment more and he’d feel the soft bump of something to his side, Tao having found him, the massive cat now settling against his side. A smile touched faintly at the corners of the hunters lips, and right hand weakly lifted to rest against the top of Tao’s head, before his eyes closed now, and he’d allow himself to sink into the depths of darkness, even as the world around him waged war and scream left restless sounds to fade from ears.

“My wolf…..” Eyes opened then, and he’d find himself standing in a bright white room, his form still wearing the blood splattered war torn armor, a sore sight for the room he was in, a sore thumb really. His eyes drifted slowly around him now, trying to find the source of the voice, a sensation of peace, of warmth overflowing within the confines of his heart.

The moment eyes settled on a bright edge in the room, and as he’d focus the edges shifted free, pulled long and created form, and there stood a beautiful willowy woman with snow white hair and eyes the color of the sky on a clear summer day. Dressed in robes of white that flowed freely around slender form, drifted around her and flowed as if there were a breeze, as if she were in water, however in this room of white there was no source.

Man then took a step forward, then another, before falling to his knees, and for the first time in a long, long time he’d feel tears fall from his eyes, though no sensation of this was felt, even as the liquid dropped to the floor. Woman smiled softly, mischievously in nature before she’d near float to him, each step placed delicately in her path to the hunter. Right hand lifted, and pale glowing fingers touched the man's cheek, brushed softly, near lovingly.

“ My Wolf…. You’re not ready for this time yet.” Hunter closed his eyes then, and head moved forward to rest forehead against her stomach, a sob wrecking his chest as he’d growl deeply. “ My Snowflake. My love. It wasn’t time for you to leave me…. I am… So lost without you.. I don’t know what to do…” He’d lift hands now, and like a drowning man he’d grasp to her slender form, cling to her as if he were a little boy and she were his mother - And in this moment, he might have very well been.

Soft echo of a chuckle found itself in his ears, and he’d feel her lips place a tender kiss to the top of his hooded head. “ Ah Mae’Thyn, you’ve been doing wonderful. I’m so proud of you… So proud of what you have accomplished. Just remember to live every day fully and to keep our children safe.” As he heard the last of her words fade off in his ears, that voice he craved like a drug, the solid form of his dead wife started to fade, his fingers now finding themselves starting to brush and dance with air.  “ No… Please… Vexie… Please…. Snowflake… Don’t leave me.”

But his words were left to open air as her voice once more danced against the air, teasing his senses.

“ Wake up…. Hunter…. Wake up…”

Eyes of toxic green opened, and then he’d feel his breath drag hard into his lungs, feeling the touch of gentle fingers against his flesh. “ Ah! Hunter! You’re awake! Good. Just… Just take a moment.. You’re in Orgamar. You’ve been out for a day or so.. “ His half hued eyes shifted slowly to the voice, a gentle warmth around its edges as he’d see a younger elf smile to him, though her skin was a deep hue of purple. For a moment he’d almost jerk backwards from her touch, before growling in deep pain at the fire that tore over his back.

“O..Oh! No sir! Please don’t move. You are lucky to be alive! Someone saw your tiger trying to drag you to safety and picked you both up before the city fell to blight. You are very lucky indeed!” She’d smile then, and it clicked in the hunters head of the city Suramar.. Of a race trapped that is now free. Hunter slowly settled back into the bed as the slender woman now dotted gently over him. “ Speaking of, your tiger has not left your side, not one bit!” Mae would still stay silent, letting eyes shift across and down to the side of his bed, seeing Tao curled there, eyes of jade slipping upwards to greet the hunter.

A small nod was all he could muster, letting eyes slip back to the woman once more as she then stood there, hands folded over lap, smiling at him. “ You should rest ow hunter. The worst is over- For now. You are healing wonderfully. You were very lucky.”

For the first time in this interaction the hunter allowed voice to softly retort, gruff and webbed in fractured pain.

“Yea. Lucky.”

@handofcards​ as an honorable tag )

[scoundrelstars]

BECOMING, Part 2

<<Previous Next>>

[108.M42]

“My lady, it’s almost time.”

Nazarena was keeping a careful eye on the chronometer as she and Ysmin finished fussing over Esperanza’s body glove. Her ladies-in-waiting had been practicing the ceremonial donning of the traditional pilot’s suit for the last week, determined to get it everything just right.

The two girls had sequestered their charge in her apartments, fussing over every detail of Esperanza’s appearance. Every eye on Higara would be on the latest class of noble scions undergoing their Rituals of Becoming and it would not reflect well on the House to be underdressed. Sunset was close, the horizon sky was beginning to shift from deep azure to shifting violets and Esperanza knew it was time.

The suit itself was made of a body-hugging electroreactive mesh that would contract in response to augury input from a Knight’s armor. In concert with the mind impulse unit at the heart of the Throne Mechanicum, the suit allowed pilots to feel what their armor felt and gain the critical sense of spatial awareness that every warrior needed.

Ysmin finished pinning an elaborate plait in her raven hair, lifting it away from the puckered red skin around the synaptic jacks freshly implanted at the base of her skull. The recently-healed flesh felt hot to the touch and stung gently in the cool air of the castle apartments.

The two of them stepped back and let Esperanza pull on the control gauntlets that would complete her panoply. She nervously examined herself one last time, making sure everything was as it should be. The suit itself was a lustrous black, almost silken, material, and spider-webbed with bronze circuitry. Dataports were interlaced into key positions at the elbows, shoulders, and sides of the knees. More of the intricate wiring was inlaid into her gloves and boots. Nazarena and Ysmin nodded their approval.

“Ready,” said Esperanza. She’d stayed mostly silent throughout the entire process, only speaking to answer questions about fitting and comfort. She’d been afraid that her voice would have quavered, betraying the flutter in her stomach to her two friends.

“You’re ready,” said Ysmin, with a surety that made Esperanza smile, grateful for her friend’s confidence. It didn’t do much to ease the silvery fear that coursed through her, but she was glad for the support.

Nazarena took up the long silken cloak that had been draped over one of the ornate chairs in the dress. It flowed in her hands like water the color of night, the blue-black cloth drinking in the light from the glowglobes set into the dressing mirror. Emblazoned on the dark fabric was the rampant white Lion of Teliodes. Two silver clasps fastened the serous garment to her shoulders and Esperanza pulled the deep hood over her head.

Fully clad in the raiment of her house, she took a deep breath and let it go, keeping the shudder in it under control.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Ysmin and Nazarena made way for the sweep of her cloak and hurried ahead to open the carved double doors that led out of her rooms. In the long gallery, slanting orange light was streaming through the towering windows, setting the white marble in a fiery cast.

Esperanza strode down the hallway as she had a hundred times before. Her feet carried her on their own, her mind lost in keeping the silvery flutter of fear in her stomach from overwhelming her. Her boots were soft on the carpet, the cloak a soft swish. The only thing that broke the silence of the fortress was the thundering of her heart in her ears.

Finally, she arrived at the antehall, a chamber of vaulted white stone and gilt frescoes just before the Camarinas’ Grand Hall. Tapestries and trophies hung from banner poles jutting from the columns that rose away into the darkness of the ceiling above. Upon entering, Esperanza was greeted by the sound of a great many people talking all at once.

Groups of noble families, all dressed in their finest attire, were circulating throughout the room in a complex web of social niceties and deferences. Fashions from all across Higara swirled in a dazzling display of the planet’s elite. The House of Al-Sabir, the Furuys-lords of northern jungles, were resplendent in amber bodysuits, stylishly slashed to show silver silk beneath.  House Ursline mingled with their long-time allies, House Agon, both from the High South and both clad in ceremonial armor made from the Caldera Serpents that dwelled in the volcanic craters there.

“Esperanza!”

As she descended the steps and spotted her two older siblings, Astrela and Toma, making their way through the crowded antechamber. The twins were some decades older than her and quite the pair, bedecked in the newest capital fashions and representing the Teliodes colors. Tall and lithe, they were the picture of Higaran equatorial nobility. They both had the bronze skin, raven hair, and piercing blue eyes of true scions of the House. Toma looked every inch the Grandee, the midnight blue of his suitcoat complemented by the white Steppe Lion mane that adorned the collar and flowed down his back. Astrela had taken the opposite approach, her white dress seemingly made of one strip of cloth that had been wound around her body to great effect. She’d eschewed the long hair that was current Camarinas convention and had shorn her hair short, displaying the cranial implants at the base of her skull for all to see.

Toma hugged Esperanza and brought her in conspiratorially between him and his twin sister.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Of course she is,” whispered Astrela, a wide grin on her face, “she’s a Teliodes. ‘Victory or the Gates.’”

Esperanza took a deep breath, glad of the strong presence of her siblings. “I’m ready.”

Toma put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into Esperanza’s eyes. She looked up at him and saw through the smile on his face to the worry beneath.

“What is it?”

“Just… don’t force it. When you’re down there.”

“Stop it, Toma,” scolded Astrela, “she’ll be fine. Just make sure you let the ghosts know you’re in charge.”

She nodded dumbly, trying to absorb the conflicting advice. The two of them were experienced Knights, prodigies and crowd favorites. Together, they had felled the Leviathan Wyrm of East Higar. Fought back-to-back against greenskin hordes. Even destroying a xenos witch-construct of the Aeldari. Whatever guidance they could give her, however contrary, was a precious thing.

“Come on, we’ll be announcing you,” said Toma, guiding her to the base of the steps leading up into the Grand Hall.

Beside her, the other Houses were readying their candidates that had come of age. She knew each of them, having faced them across the sparring arena ever since she had been big enough to hold a sword. Coran Al-Sabir, Stensa Ursline, and Veldtren Agon.

They were all products of long and noble lineages dating back to before the Imperium of Man spanned the galaxy. Each was archetypal of the character of their Houses. Coran Al-Sabir was thoughtful and quick. Stensa Ursline was stubborn as a grox. And Veldrtran Agon was putting on a brave face. Of the four of them, odds were against even two surviving the Becoming.

But they had to do it. Not only for the honor of their Houses, but for the protection of their people. The Oath of Becoming was what they were born to endure. Trained from childhood to pilot the great Knight armors into battle against the foes of humanity. To glorify the name of the Emperor in valiant combat against the great darkness of the galaxy. It was their honor and it was their burden.

Trumpets blew a fanfare and great war horns sounded, signalling the start of the procession. They passed through gilded doors big enough for two Knight Armors to stride abreast and into the Grand Hall of the Fortress of Camarinas.

The rafters of the hall stretched high into the darkness, eighty meters or more, and the galleries and platforms that jutted from its walls were packed with the planetary elite. Administratum dignitaries, scribes, and logos-historitors chronicled every step the solicitants took as they entered. The High Sacristan, an imposing figure of fused cybernetics and withered flesh wrapped in the red of Mars, was accompanied by a retinue of Mechanicum priests. He rode an anti-grav platform that hovered over the heads of the gathered nobility, forever apart from the rest of Humanity.

By far the largest group were those that thronged the ground floor of the Grand Hall. The assembled noble Houses had turned out in force to see the newest Knight hopefuls. Each had brought a suit of armor to represent them, tapestries and honor scrolls hanging from the huge war engines. They towered over the assembled crowd, machines built for war, but restrained by honor. Bound by duty.

Esperanza recognized the heraldry of each in turn, having learned the heraldry of every Higaran House by long lessons unders strict lineage historians. Defiance of Fire, Sword of Hashan, Ironbreaker, and Irascible Foe. She knew them all by heart. Their presence loomed, making her feel small as she passed beneath the martial machines.

All eyes were upon her, weighing down her limbs and making each step an effort of will. She pushed through, determined not to hesitate. The four solicitants  swept down the hall, followed by their familial escorts. Floating servo-skulls equipped with pict-capture lenses buzzed around them, capturing the moment from every angle.

By tradition, each of them hid their face--Teliodes and Agon with deep-hooded cloaks, Ursline with a furred mask, and Al-Sabir with a veil of mirrorsilk. Only after they emerged from the Chamber of Echoes would Higara know their face. For while the Becoming was a celebration for the great Houses of Higara, it was also a wake. The Oath was a cruel thing, leaving only a fraction of those who attempted it alive.

Their procession came to an end at the foot of the throne dais which rose from the marble floor beneath soaring stained glass windows, alight with the orange fire of the setting sun. Three tiers of white marble steps held the assembled highborn of Higara, from the smallest and least influential on the bottom tier to the Houses that could lay claim to the throne just below the top level. The highest tier, just below where the Grand Duke sat, was the smallest and was the traditional place for the Keyholder Barons of the six High Fastnesses.

Esperanza searched the tiers until she found the faces she so desperately wanted to see. The Marchesa of the Meditara Steppe, Camila Teliodes, looked on from the second tier, her hand clasped fiercely over that of the man next to her, the High Shield Arturo Teliodes. Her mother and father. They watched with tears in their eyes and Esperanza’s heart lurched in her chest. She wanted to reach out, to run to them, but knew there was no way she could.

The solicitants came to a halt upon the six-pointed compass rose that had been laid into the stonework before the throne dais. Each sank to one knee, bowing low before the Grand Duke. His Grace, Arai Tyto of Higara, pilot of the legendary Thousandfold Blade, stood and looked down upon the Knight candidates that had been brought to him. He was a severe man with a voice as deep as the Sea of Scorn.

“People of Higara, rejoice! A new cycle brings a new Becoming!”

Tyto spread his arms wide and and the Grand Hall erupted in applause. The Knights’ warhorns sounded, commencing the ceremony. Esperanza’s heart leapt into her throat as she stood, but she put steel in her spine. She’d been born for this.

[amollion]

Newcomers Pt6

“EAT IT!!!”

“NO”

“I SAID EAT IT!”

“GET OFF ME WOMAN!!” Hesky shouts throwing Karen off him and running out the door.

“YOU WILL ACCEPT MY VALENTINE LOVE!!!” she shouts chasing after him holding her home made chocolates above her head.

The two Humans screaming and running past Dr Loop's door was nothing out of the ordinary these days, he liked the Humans and found them fascinating and rather good company. That did not mean that he did not find them odd to the point of thinking they were all insane. Some were quiet and preferred to be alone and other were loud and found hurting themselves to be hilarious. Suddenly his door opened with another Human limping.

“What happened to you?” Dr Loop asks.

“Sergeant Stabby got me” he replies.

“Why do you keep it around and why the Admiral allows that thing to stay I'll never know”

“Don't talk ill of Sergeant Stabby, he is war hero you know”

“IT is a cleaning machine”

“Irrelevant he is a hero and deserves our respect”

“But-”

“SHHHHHH here he comes”

Sergeant Stabby made his way into the Dr's office and bumped into a few wall and furniture all the while the Human stood up and saluted it until it left.

“Tell me something um...” Dr Loop said

“Cho”

“Cho, tell me something Cho is it the norm for you race to be so....nuts?”

Cho smiled “You've never been to Terra have you?”

“No”

“Shame, because if you think we are crazy you'd love to see us on our home world”

Dr Loop just scoffed and went to look at Cho's foot. “The bleeding has already stopped”

“Well yeah he doesn't stab us deeply”

“But still  for wound like this to stop bleeding so soon”

“Yeah it's clotting? Wait...have you worked on Humans before”

“I have studied Human anatomy yes”

“But actually worked with one? In person before we got here?”

Dr Loop did not like his skills being questioned, his race the Seelom were a very proud race especially of their skills.

“It matters not, I know all the ins and outs of your kinds bodies, probably better than you and the rest of your backwards and primitive kind”

Cho raised an eyebrow “Give your arm for a sec” he asked.

“Why?”

“Just trust me”

Dr Loop gave him one of his right arms and Cho stuck out his tongue all the while looking at his face for a reaction but Dr Loop just looked confused and a little disgusted.

Cho licked his arm and a split second later Dr Loop was screaming as Cho's saliva burned through his skin.

Dr Loop fell tot he floor cradling his arm and after a few more seconds the burning stopped and Cho was on his feet.

“Guess you forgot our saliva is like acid to your kind” he said and left without helping him up.

The Benemar Chief of Admiral Polts fleet was back on Bento Prime, he had already been disgraced for not seeking justice after one of his clan leaders was killed by a Human female. And to let the Humans gain all the glory for the liberation of Remer making their kind out to be a joke.

“Cheif Goolack of the Benemar step forward!” called one of the High Chieftains and he stpped forward.

“You are a coward and weak, you let the murder of your own kind go unanswered and these Humans push you around like your are their slave, what say you in your defence”

Chief Goolack stood up straight, the chains around his wrists were heavy and those around his legs were heavier, his pig-like nose snorted and his tusks had been cut to show his disgrace.

“I am a Benemar and I fought for our people and uphold my laws and our laws say that the STRONG!!! rule. Well the Humans have shown their strength and I saw their might in battle against a foe who outnumbered them many times over and they came away from that battle covered in the blood of their enemies. They are the only race who has ever besieged our world and you judge me as a coward for respecting strength?”

“They are the ENEMY!!! they burned our breeding pens and they must be wiped out. They are gaining too much power, power they are taking from us”

The court cheered and banged their weapons which were a combination of ancient war axes and rifles against their armour.

“Let this cry go out across to the star to all Benemar, the Alliance high command has given us the location oft heir breeding ground, we march...TO WAR!!!!”

The Benemar all over the Alliance suddenly began disappearing from Alliance ships, when asked why they were going back to their home world they simply replied “The High Chief has risen the banner”

Many thought this was the Benemar about to begin an independent push into Gal territory but they did not deny or confirm this and the army on Bento Prime continued to grow, the Humans though did not trust the Benemar and kept their eye on them.

Life in Admiral Polts fleet went on a s usual, or as usual it could be with the Humans around and with the Benemar now gone their was no hostility in the air. The Humans did their best to include the other races in their odd practices such as celebrating the anniversary of ones birth. They even as far to inquire to the other races celebrations and traditions and asked to take part which made the others rather flattered. They ranged from celebrating the unification of the Fookkarl under one banner which the Humans described as one large orgy as there was a lot of kissing but the Humans obliged.

The fun did not stop there.

Depit, an Elong like Admiral Polt was travelling in the ship main elevator to the observatory when it stopped to let a number of other crew off but only person got on. It was a Human, female by the looks of her but her stomach was huge, maybe she had just eaten he thought to himself. The elevator stopped a few more times and before long it was only him and this Human who from her tag her name was Sergeant Cathy. He started to sweat, he saw what was left of the body of the Benemar that she had attacked.

She smiled at him and gave a nervous smile back but nothing was said between them, until the elevator suddenly and harshly stopped.

“Ahhh!” Cathy screamed at the sudden change of momentum.

“Are you okay?” he asked and she nodded. “Must be a power outage” he tired raising maintenance but go response, there was no power to the that call button either. Suddenly Cathy was breathing fast and hard.

“Umm, are you sure you're okay” he asked again but she shook her head and held her large stomach.

“The baby is coming” she panted.

“Baby? What baby?”

“I'm FUCKING PREGNANT YOU ASSHOLE!!! she screamed and he jumped.

“Oh? OH?!!! CRAP!”

Cathy sat down as her water broke and leaned back.

“What do I do!! HELP!” he shouted into the call button in some hope that someone would hear.

“What...what is your name?” she asked.

“Depit”

“Depit, come here I need you to help me” she said holding out her hand and he slowly came and she grabbed it.

“I don't know what to do” Depit said.

“Just hold my hand and squeeze when I squeeze!”

“What?”

“AHHHHHHH” Cathy screamed and squeezed Depits hand so hard she broke two of his fingers as he had tried to pull away when he heard the word squeeze.

“WHY YOU PULL AWAY!!!” she shouted at him.

“You'll break my hand if you squeeze it”

It then dawn on her that Humans were far stronger than Elong, so she pulled off her trousers and tore off a piece so she could bite down on it and screamed again.

“Why are you screaming what's happening I don't how to help” Depit said panicking.

“IM HAVING CONTRACTIONS YOU FUCKING IMBECILE!”

“WHAT ARE THOSE!!!!”

“MY BODY IS GETTING READY TO PUSH THE BABY OUT!”

“OF WHERE!!”

“WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK?!!!”

Another contraction came and she screamed so loud Depit had to cover his ears.

This went on for over and hour till finally Cathy stopped screaming as contractions suddenly stopped.

“Okay...okay” she said to herself with Depit fanning her with his wings.

“How long does this usually go on for?” he asked.

“My mother was in labour for 32 hours with me”

“32 HOURS!”

“Ah don't shout, I'm lucky the contractions have stopped”

“What happens next?”

Cathy looked at him “Next comes the pushing”

“Elong births are lot...faster than this”

“You're a bird race, you have it easy” she laughed. Then started panting. “Here it comes! Get between my legs!!”

Depit obeyed and cathy spread herself and Depit froze.

“What do I do?”

“Catch!”

“Catch?”

Cathy burst into laughter “I'm kidding, just guide it out”

Depit got ready and Cathy screamed again, this time louder and so much Depit thoughtt he walls were shaking.

“I can see the egg”

“IT'S NOT AN EGG IT'S A FUCKING HEAD!! WE DON'T LAY FUCKING EGGS!!!”

“WHAT!!! HOW THE...I'M SORRY...BY CREATION WHAT THE.....!” he screamed as the head appeared.

Cathy started breathing again and moved her hand to feel where the baby was “okay, one more” she positioned herself and Depit put his hands by the baby's head and Cathy pushed with every ounce of her remaining strength and it fell into Depits arms.

After the baby began crying he handed it to Cathy who wrapped it up in her jacket and cradled it.

“It's a boy” she said.

“No wonder your race is so tough, you endure coming into the world like that and are willingly go through it to bring one of your own into the world”

“And we do it over and over again, I'll be doing at least two more times I think” she laughed “What did you say your name was again?”

“Depit, my name is Depit”

Cathy smiled and looked down at her son “Do you mind if I call my son Depit?”

Depit's eyes nearly shot out of his head, for a child to bear ones name is a great honor among his people. “You would do me that honour?”

“Of course, you brought him into the world, well I did most of the work but still”

“Thankyou” he said smiling.

“Oh beware of the after birth”

“The what?” Depit said looking down just as it slumped down in front of him.

In the higher levels and completely unaware of the new addition to their family the Humans were having a friendly game of football with some of the Aliens when Captain Clerk called for a stop. Admiral Polt was with him and everyone could tell by their Captains face that something had happened.

“Men and woman of the 8th Human army” Clerk started “Approximately 16 hours ago the Benemar launched a full scale assault on Terra”

The air became heavy as if every Human and Alien had stopped breathing, no one spoke.

“The battle is still going on and all Human forces are being recalled to aid the defence force fighting there, our latest report says they have breached our outer defence net and are landing their troops. So get your stuff I want us ready to go yesterday!!”

The Humans didn't say anything and as a single mind dropped what they were doing and ran to their quarters and collected all their belongings and things they brought with them. The cargo hold that they had made their own was dismantled within 10 minutes, every Human was found and accounted for including Cathy and her new son Depit. Hesky was thrilled to see his son but annoyed that she named him something that reminded him of cesspit.

Within 2 hours the Humans were all loaded onto their own ships, they said a quick farewell to their Alien friends and set off for Terra.

The Benemar continued their assault, unaware that word had gotten out about their attack on Terra, unaware of the armada coming for them.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Here’s the Bjorn piece! Trigger warnings: blood, animal sacrifice, and magic.

The clang of swords beating against shields faded into the back of my mind as the warriors began to run, the tide of their bodies carrying me along like spinning driftwood. My grip tightened around my staff, topped with a longer, more slender imitation of a spearpoint, and I fingered a line of familiar knotwork where my hand lay.

I ran alongside the edge of the massive army, commanded by the avenging sons of the great Ragnar Lothbrok. As the heathen army clashed with the waiting Saxon forces, the chanting began, ripped from some primal place deep as the marrow of my bones. “Cast fear into the hearts of our enemies, O gods, and embolden our own stout warriors. Allow us to hew many foe-men, felling a forest of foes like the fury of a winter storm.”

At the army's head, the great banner streamed back as the standard-bearer ran. I had woven it with my own hands, each strand a plea to the gods for the glory of the sons of Ragnar—may their names echo through the vast emptiness of the ages.

The blood-trance clutched me now, the thunder of Thor beating through me until I felt I might burst from the ferocity of it, and so I gave it voice. “Death to those who brought death to Ragnar, basking in triumphant glory in Odin's hall. Victory in battle to his sons, powerful in battle as a storm that sinks sturdy ships. Come, o winged women, and take us in victory to Valhalla. Help us beat back the Saxons, send them in shameful defeat to the cold earth. Thin their blood, send them running before us like beaten hounds. Grant us only victory or Valhalla, the glory of conquest or the honor of Odin's hall. Beat your mighty hammer, O Thor, and make quake the hearts of men.”

When at last the army of the Ragnarssons had gutted all the Saxons abandoned in the sloppy retreat, I sank wearily to my knees, rested my elbows on them, and cradled my head in my hands. Thor's hammer-beats still thudded between my eyes, deafening me to the approach of hoof-beats. A tall, blood-spattered man swung from his lathering chestnut horse and tossed me onto its back as if I weighed as much as a feather. My beautiful carved staff lay on the ground and I reached out for it. He followed my motions and hesitated, fearful of its power. Magic is the work of women, and for men to practice it was forbidden. To touch my staff might bring him bad luck, or make him unmanly.

He whirled the bearskin off his shoulders and wrapped my staff in that to give it to me. He grabbed the reins, and I swayed with the steady motion of the horse's walk. The leaving blood-trance always left me weak. The man cleared his throat, and I opened my bleary eyes. “You have helped us secure a great victory today. My brothers and I want you to help us with the sacrifice of a stallion to thank the gods. You obviously have their ear.” I nodded, trying to rub the memory of Thor's hammer from behind my eyes, and inspected the man. The long blond braid and powerful shoulders, the easy grace with which he carried himself stirred something in the back of my mind. Bjorn Ironside, the son of Ragnar and the shieldmaiden Lagertha.

After a few minutes of riding through the camp, noisy with men already in their cups to celebrate their victory, we reached a makeshift altar in the middle of the camp. Ubbe held the bridle of a massive stallion, glossy-black as a raven's wing. The magnificent beast's eyes rolled in his head, tossing his mane and pawing as he sensed his own impending demise. Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye hefted a bloodied battle-ax, eager to deliver the death blow. Ivar the Boneless sat near the stallion, holding the ornately carved wooden bowl that would catch the blood.

I jumped from the horse's back, unsteady as my feet hit the ground, but Bjorn steadied me with a hand on my elbow. “Are you well enough to do this?” He asked, brows knitting together in concern. I nodded, exhaling through pursed lips, and he squeezed my arm protectively. “I will be here to steady you.” Bjorn and I walked to the stallion, his hand still at my elbow. I laid my hand on the beast's strong, sweating neck. His coat was slick and warm beneath my hand, and I could feel the nervous twitching of his muscles.

“Go gladly to Odin's hall, and there greet our mighty king, Ragnar Lothbrok, and tell him of our victory in his name. May the wild red blood in your veins please the gods and give us the courage to fight again tomorrow, unwearied from today's bloodshed. Bestow upon us the boldness of your great heart, the swiftness of your graceful legs, and the strength of your broad back. To Valhalla we send you,carrying our plea for victory with you, and may a Valkyrie honor you and choose you as her own mount.”

I dropped my hand and stepped back as the snake-eyed warrior's ax swung and bit deep, spraying blood from the stallion's neck. The bright red fountain caught the last of the sun's red rays, and Ivar moved his bowl to capture as much of it as he could. The horse faltered, gurgling, before dropping down dead. Ivar held the bowl to me and I took it from him. Holding it in one hand, I dipped my fingers into the warm, slick blood, closing my eyes as I swirled my fingers through it. Bjorn's grip faded from my elbow, but as my sing-song chant began, I didn't notice. The thick iron-and-salt stench of the blood carried me away in a magic all its own.

Opening my eyes, I turned to face the sons of Ragnar, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in birth order. I began with Bjorn, continuing to sing as I painted their faces—pleading with the gods to grant them victory, courage, and cunning. I knelt to paint Ivar's face, sitting at the end of the line, and felt his breath catch at the stickiness of the blood. I finished my work and stepped back, and with a final, keening cry, I tossed the remaining, thickening blood in a red rain over the brothers. It arched down, thick and cooling, and stuck in their hair and on their shoulders as the first twinkling stars appeared in the darkening sky. I swayed where I stood, the withdrawing magic leaving me sapped of all strength, and Bjorn stepped forward to catch me as I dropped. His arms closing around me were my last sensation as I fell immediately into the thick blackness of magic-induced sleep.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Psalms and Proverbs

for Tuesday, April 7 of 2020 with Psalm 7 and Proverbs 7, accompanied by Psalm 20 for the 20th day of Spring and Psalm 98 for day 98 of the year

[Psalm 7]

A David Psalm

God! God! I am running to you for dear life;

the chase is wild.

If they catch me, I’m finished:

ripped to shreds by foes fierce as lions,

dragged into the forest and left

unlooked for, unremembered.

God, if I’ve done what they say—

betrayed my friends,

ripped off my enemies—

If my hands are really that dirty,

let them get me, walk all over me,

leave me flat on my face in the dirt.

Stand up, God; pit your holy fury

against my furious enemies.

Wake up, God. My accusers have packed

the courtroom; it’s judgment time.

Take your place on the bench, reach for your gavel,

throw out the false charges against me.

I’m ready, confident in your verdict:

“Innocent.”

Close the book on Evil, God,

but publish your mandate for us.

You get us ready for life:

you probe for our soft spots,

you knock off our rough edges.

And I’m feeling so fit, so safe:

made right, kept right.

God in solemn honor does things right,

but his nerves are sandpapered raw.

Nobody gets by with anything.

God is already in action—

Sword honed on his whetstone,

bow strung, arrow on the string,

Lethal weapons in hand,

each arrow a flaming missile.

Look at that guy!

He had sex with sin,

he’s pregnant with evil.

Oh, look! He’s having

the baby—a Lie-Baby!

See that man shoveling day after day,

digging, then concealing, his man-trap

down that lonely stretch of road?

Go back and look again—you’ll see him in it headfirst,

legs waving in the breeze.

That’s what happens:

mischief backfires;

violence boomerangs.

I’m thanking God, who makes things right.

I’m singing the fame of heaven-high God.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 7 (The Message)

[Psalm 20]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

May the Eternal’s answer find you, come to rescue you,

when you desperately cling to the end of your rope.

May the name of the True God of Jacob be your shelter.

May He extend hope and help to you from His holy sanctuary

and support you from His sacred city of Zion.

May He remember all that you have offered Him;

may your burnt sacrifices serve as a prelude to His mercy.

[pause]

May He grant the dreams of your heart

and see your plans through to the end.

When you win, we will not be silent! We will shout

and raise high our banners in the great name of our God!

May the Eternal say yes to all your requests.

I don’t fear; I’m confident that help will come to the one anointed by the Eternal:

heaven will respond to his plea;

His mighty right hand will win the battle.

Many put their hope in chariots, others in horses,

but we place our trust in the name of the Eternal One, our True God.

Soon our enemies will collapse and fall, never to return home;

all the while, we will rise and stand firm.

Eternal One, grant victory to our king!

Answer our plea for help.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 20 (The Voice)

to be accompanied by these lines mirrored in The Message:

See those people polishing their chariots,

and those others grooming their horses?

But we’re making garlands for God our God.

The chariots will rust,

those horses pull up lame—

and we’ll be on our feet, standing tall.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9:7-8 (The Message)

[Psalm 98]

A song.

Compose a new song, and sing it to the Eternal

because of the unbelievable things He has done;

He has won the victory

with the skill of His right hand and strength of His holy arm.

The Eternal has made it clear that He saves,

and He has shown the nations that He does what is right.

He has been true to His promises;

fresh in His mind is His unfailing love

for all of Israel.

Even the ends of the earth have witnessed how our God saves.

Raise your voices; make a beautiful noise to the Eternal, all the earth.

Let your joy explode into song and praise;

Make music to the Eternal with the harp;

sing a beautiful melody with the harp and chorus.

With trumpets and horns,

fill the air with joyful sounds to the King, the Eternal.

Let the sea rumble and roar, and all the creatures it holds shout praise;

let the whole world and all those who live in it join the celebration.

Let the rivers applaud

and the mountains join in joyful song

In the presence of the Eternal because He is coming

to judge the earth.

He is coming,

and His judgment will be what is right for the world

and just to all people.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 98 (The Voice)

[Proverbs 7]

Stick close to my instruction, my son,

and follow all my advice.

If you do what I say you will live well.

Guard your life with my revelation-truth,

for my teaching is as precious as your eyesight.

Treasure my instructions, and cherish them within your heart.

Say to wisdom, “I love you,”

and to understanding, “You’re my sweetheart.”

“May the two of you protect me, and may we never be apart!”

For they will keep you from the adulteress,

with her smooth words meant to seduce your heart.

Looking out the window of my house one day

I noticed among the mindless crowd

a simple, naïve young man who was about to go astray.

There he was, walking down the street.

Then he turned the corner,

going on his way as he hurried on to the house of the harlot—

the woman he had planned to meet.

There he was in the twilight as darkness fell,

convinced no one was watching

as he entered the black shadows of hell.

That’s when their rendezvous began.

A woman of the night appeared,

dressed to kill the strength of any man.

She was decked out as a harlot, pursuing her amorous plan.

Her voice was seductive, rebellious, and boisterous

as she wandered far from what’s right.

Her type can be found soliciting on street corners

on just about any night.

She wrapped her arms around the senseless young man

and held him tight—

she enticed him with kisses that seemed so right.

Then, with insolence, she whispered in his ear,

“Come with me. It’ll be all right.

I’ve got everything we need for a feast.

I’ll cook you a wonderful dinner.

So here I am—I’m all yours!

You’re the very one I’ve looked for,

the one I knew I wanted from the moment I saw you.

That’s why I’ve come out here tonight,

so I could meet a man just like you.

I’ve spread my canopy bed with coverings,

lovely multicolored Egyptian linens spread

and ready for you to lie down on.

I’ve sprinkled the sheets with intoxicating perfume

made from myrrh, aloes, and sweet cinnamon.

Come, let’s get comfortable and take pleasure in each other

and make love all night!

There’s no one home, for my husband’s away on business.

He left home loaded with money to spend,

so don’t worry.

He won’t be back until another month ends.”

He was swayed by her sophistication,

enticed by her longing embrace.

She led him down the wayward path right into sin and disgrace.

Quickly he went astray, with no clue

where he was truly headed,

taken like a dumb ox alongside of the butcher.

She was like a venomous snake coiled to strike,

so she set her fangs into him!

He’s like a man about to be executed with an arrow

right through his heart—

like a bird that flies into the net,

unaware of what’s about to happen.

So listen to me, you young men.

You’d better take my words seriously!

Control your sexual urges and guard your hearts from lust.

Don’t let your passions get out of hand

and don’t lock your eyes onto a beautiful woman.

Why would you want to even get close

to temptation and seduction,

to have an affair with her?

She has pierced the souls of multitudes of men—

many mighty ones have fallen

and have been brought down by her.

If you’re looking for the road to hell,

just go looking for her house!

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 7 (The Passion Translation)

and these opening lines of the same chapter mirrored in The Voice:

My son, live according to what I am telling you;

guard my instructions as you would a treasure deep within you.

Stay true to my directives, and they will serve you well;

make my teachings the lens through which you see life.

Bind cords around your fingers to remind you of them;

meditate on them, and you’ll engrave them upon your heart.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 7:1-3 (The Voice)

[allanpaulvin]

MADE IT MA, TO THE TOP OF THE WORLD

Well, good morning to those of you, out there, in "DiatribeLand."   It's 9:52 AM,  on June 27, 2017.  Yup, it's the anniversary of my arrival here on earth.  My thanks to those of you who've acknowledged my landing.  Life, for me, has been a blast.  I've had Some great days and some shitty ones, amazingly, I'm still breathing.  My role is to entertain, inform and provide you with some, not a lot, of positivity.  My daily rants began as a few sentences and have grown into numerous paragraphs.  I know that occasionally my poor spelling and missing words diminish the impact of what I have said.  I'll try to do better in the future.  Now, let's talk about you.  What's up?  Are you behaving yourselves?  Are you still, "healthy, wealthy and wise?"  Are you "living the life fantastic?"  Is the Lord up above allowing you to move forward with the life you choose to live?  I don't need answers to these questions now.  Take your time and let me know when and if you have a chance.  

Since the New York Mets had a day off yesterday, there will be no Sports Report today.  Please, no standing ovations.

The "Weather Mavens," at AccuWeather, are forecasting a mix of sun and clouds to surround those of us lucky enough to reside, here in Central New Jersey.  Temperatures should range from fifty-four to seventy-nine.  

Next, is today's Hot News items.

1.  Health Bill in Peril.  Maybe, just maybe, if the Republicans worked closely with the folks on the other side of the aisle, there be less peril?

2.  White House warns of possible Chemical Attack by Syria.  Perhaps, if the DUMPSTER focused more on "Keeping America Safe," rather than making trips to Marlago, our nation would feel safer?

3.  College Students Want to Talk About Sex; They Just Don't Know How.   Wow, I find that very interesting.  My advice is to,  just open your mouths and let the words flow.

(For more information, please visit today's issue of the New York Times.)

Now, without further ado, it's time to move on to today's issue of, "Al's Diatribes."  Our subject is:  "MADE IT, MA! TOP OF THE WORLD."  Yes, I know these words are not mine.  They flowed from the mouth of Mr. James Cagney, in the 1949 film classic, "White Heat."

You know you made it to the top of the world, when:

-  people you don't know, pat you on the back -  you walk into a room and receive a standing ovation -  you receive a letter telling you that you're now a member of some honor society -  the News Media wants to interview you -  you receive a free meal at your favorite restaurant -  you're invited to sing the Star Bangled Banner at a local sporting event -  others begin to believe what you have to say -  friends and foe suggest that you run for Political Office -  Juniors Strawberry Cheesecakes arrive at your front door -  the "DUMPSTER." is impeached -  his allies, in both the Senate and House, stop echoing his words -  when more Republican Senators intend to vote against the Healthcare Bill -  I wrap myself around a particular hot babe from Cranford, New Jersey -  I receive a positive comment from one of my loyal constituents

You've got more important things to do than directing your eyes and other body parts to today's Diatribe.  So today's installment is over and done.  Keep doing, whatever it is to help you get to the top of your world.  Make it a great day!