#crawl in a ditch and shrivel up? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dfroza · 8 months

Text

it begins in the heart

“For the mouth simply shapes the heart’s impulses into words.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 12th chapter of the book of Matthew:

The Sabbath came, and Jesus walked through a field. His disciples, who were hungry, began to pick some of the grain and eat it.

When the Pharisees saw this, they reacted.

Pharisees: Look! Your disciples are breaking the law of the Sabbath!

Jesus: Haven’t you read what David did? When he and his friends were hungry, they went into God’s house and they ate the holy bread, even though neither David nor his friends, but only priests, were allowed that bread. Indeed, have you not read that on the Sabbath priests themselves do work in the temple, breaking the Sabbath law yet remaining blameless? Listen, One who is greater than the temple is here.

Do you not understand what the prophet Hosea recorded, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice”? If you understood that snippet of Scripture, you would not condemn these innocent men for ostensibly breaking the law of the Sabbath. For the Son of Man has not only the authority to heal and cast out demons, He also has authority over the Sabbath.

Jesus left the field and went to the synagogue, and there He met a man with a shriveled hand. The Pharisees wanted to set up Jesus.

Pharisees: Well, is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath too?

Jesus: Look, imagine that one of you has a sheep that falls into a ditch on the Sabbath—what would you do?

(to the Pharisees) You would dive in and rescue your sheep. Now what is more valuable, a person or a sheep? So what do you think—should I heal this man on the Sabbath? Isn’t it lawful to do good deeds on the Sabbath? (to the man with the shriveled hand) Stretch out your hand.

As the man did so, his hand was completely healed, as good as new.

The Pharisees went and mapped out plans to destroy Jesus.

Jesus knew that the Pharisees were plotting to kill Him and left the area. Many people followed Him, and He healed them all, always insisting that they tell no one about Him. He did this in keeping with the prophecy Isaiah made so long ago:

This is My servant, whom I have well chosen;

this is the One I love, the One in whom I delight.

I will place My Spirit upon Him;

He will proclaim justice to all the world.

He will not fight or shout

or talk loudly in the streets.

He will not crush a reed under His heel

or blow out a smoldering candle

until He has led justice and righteousness to final victory.

All the world will find its hope in His name.

Some of the faithful brought Jesus a man who was possessed by a demon, who was blind and mute, and Jesus healed him. The man could see and talk, and demons no longer crawled around in him.

People (astonished): Could this be the Son of David?

Pharisees: It is only through Beelzebul, the prince of demons, that this Jesus can cast out demons.

Jesus knew what the Pharisees were thinking.

Jesus: That would be like a father splitting his own household down the middle or a king cutting his kingdom in half—the household and the kingdom would fall apart. So, too, if Satan imbued people with the power to drive out demons, Satan’s kingdom would collapse. And you should think about this too: you have friends who drive out demons. If I am working as a tool of Beelzebul, whom are your people working for? When I come to you and drive out demons by the Spirit of your Father in heaven—for the glory of your Father in heaven—you should recognize and rejoice that the kingdom of God has come to you.

Imagine you wanted to break into the house of your neighbor, a strong brawny man, and steal his furniture. First, you’d have to tie up your neighbor, yes? Once he was bound and tied, you could take whatever you wanted. Similarly—he who is not with Me is against Me, and he who is not doing the Father’s work of gathering up the flock may as well be scattering the flock.

It is one thing for you to speak ill of the Son of Man. People will be forgiven for every sin they commit and blasphemy they utter. But those who call the work of God the work of Satan utterly remove themselves from God, and those who blaspheme God’s Spirit will not be forgiven, neither in this world nor in the world to come.

Good trees produce good fruits; bad trees produce bad fruits. You can always tell a tree by its fruits. You children of snakes, you who are evil—how could you possibly say anything good? For the mouth simply shapes the heart’s impulses into words. And so the good man (who is filled with goodness) speaks good words, while the evil man (who is filled with evil) speaks evil words. I tell you this: on the day of judgment, people will be called to account for every careless word they have ever said. The righteous will be acquitted by their own words, and you evildoers will be condemned by your own words.

Scribes and Pharisees: Teacher, we want to see some miraculous sign from You.

Jesus: You wicked and promiscuous generation—you are looking for signs, are you? The only sign you will be given is the sign of the prophet Jonah. Jonah spent three days and three nights in the belly of a great fish, as the Son of Man will spend three days and three nights in the belly of the earth. One day, the people of Nineveh will rise up in judgment and will condemn your present generation—for the Ninevites turned from sin to God when they heard Jonah preach, and now One far greater than Jonah is here. The Queen of the South will also stand in judgment and condemn this generation—for she came from the ends of the earth to listen to Solomon’s wisdom. And today One greater and wiser than Solomon is among you.

Let Me tell you what will happen to this wicked generation: When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it rattles around through deserts and other dry places looking for a place to rest—but it does not find anywhere to rest. So the spirit says, “I will return to the house I left.” And it returns to find that house unoccupied, tidy, swept, and sparkling clean. Well, then not only does one spirit set up shop in that sparkling house, but it brings seven even more wicked spirits along. And the poor man—the house—is worse off than he was before. This evil generation will suffer a similar fate.

While Jesus was speaking to the crowd, His mother and brothers came up and wanted to speak to Him.

Someone in the Crowd: Your mother and brothers are waiting outside to speak to You.

Jesus: Who is My mother? And who are My brothers? (pointing to His disciples) These are My mother and brothers. Anyone who does the will of My Father in heaven is My mother and brother and sister.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 12 (The Voice)

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 6th chapter of the book of Amos:

Grief is coming to those who live comfortably in Zion

and those who feel secure on the mountain of Samaria;

The noteworthy of this nation

and those respected by the people of Israel have much to dread.

Go over to Calneh and look at what happened there,

then cross over to the great city of Hamath in Aram,

Then go down to Gath, the city of the Philistines.

Are you any more powerful than these fallen kingdoms were?

Are your lands any larger than theirs?

You try to hold off the evil day,

but your actions bring the reign of violence ever nearer.

Grief is coming to those who lounge on beds inlaid with ivory,

who stretch out on their luxurious sofas,

And who feast on lambs from their flocks

and stall-fattened calves anytime, not just during festivals.

Grief is coming to those who sing foolish songs to the sounds of the harp,

who think they can play like David;

Who guzzle fine wine by the gallon from elegant bowls;

who apply expensive oils to their bodies, when cheaper ones will do,

But they are not grieved by the awful state of Joseph’s people.

That is why they will be the first ones carried off into exile,

and their lives of leisure and feasting will disappear.

The Eternal Lord has sworn by His own holiness,

and the Eternal God, the Commander of heavenly armies,

Promises this:

Eternal One: I detest the pride of Israel, descendants of My servant Jacob,

and I hate their fortresses,

And I will hand over the city and all its wealth to their enemies.

If there are only 10 people left in one house, they will all die. If a man arrives to take his relative’s remains out of the house for burial and he calls back into the darkened house, “Is anyone else with you?” the only survivor will respond, “No.” The relative will cut the survivor off: “Quiet! Not another word! We mustn’t mention the name of the Eternal One.”

Look: the Eternal gives the order,

and the great house is smashed to pieces, and the little house crumbles.

Do horses gallop over big boulders?

Does a person plow such rocks with a team of oxen?

But you have somehow managed to make justice poisonous

and turned the sweet fruits of righteousness into bitterness—

You, who celebrate taking back worthless Lo-debar

and ask, “Haven’t we captured Karnaim with our own strong armies?”

Eternal One: You will see—I am raising up a strong nation against you, people of Israel,

and they will hound you from Hamath pass in the north

To the Great Rift Valley at Arabah in the south.

So says the Eternal God, the Commander of heavenly armies.

The Book of Amos, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Didn’t God institute the festivals? Didn’t He instruct His people to sacrifice? Didn’t He inspire the singers and songwriters to praise His name? Yes. Even the most beautiful ceremony can become empty ritual, and a sacred time should not be mixed with activities that displease God. He wants more than pious exercises; He wants His people to follow His instructions, to do what is right, and to honor Him because they recognize that He is the one all-powerful God.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, january 18 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the significance of the exodus:

The great exodus of Israel from Egypt (יציאת מצרים) is the central parable of the Torah, and indeed of the entire Bible. It provides a picture of our salvation given in Messiah. The bondage of the Israelites to Pharaoh represents humanity’s slavery to sin; redemption from this bondage is effected by trusting in the blood of the sacrificial lamb of God; deliverance from death to life is depicted through baptism into the Sea of Reeds; the journey to truth represents the pilgrimage to Sinai, and so on.

It is important to see that the great redemption in Egypt led directly to revelation given at Sinai exactly 49 days later, and when the LORD God there gave his people the Ten Commandments, he did not begin by saying he was their Creator, but rather their Redeemer: "I am the LORD your God (אָנכִי יְהוָה אֱלהֶיךָ), who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery" (Exod. 20:2). This is because the purpose of the creation itself is to demonstrate God's redemptive love and to be known as our Savior and Redeemer, just as Yeshua is the "Lamb slain from the foundation of the world" (Rev. 13:8; 1 Pet. 1:18-20; Eph. 1:4; 2 Tim. 1:9). "All things were created by Him (i.e., Yeshua), and for Him" and in Him all things consist (συνεστηκεν, lit. "stick together") (Col. 1:16-17).

Creation therefore begins and ends with the redemptive love of God as manifested in the Person of Yeshua our Mashiach, the great Lamb of God and our Savior... He is the Center of Creation - the Aleph and Tav - the Beginning and the End (Isa. 44:6; Rev. 1:8). All the world was created for the Messiah: “For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen” (Rom. 11:36).

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Isaiah 44:6b reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa44-6b-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa44-6b-lesson.pdf

1.16.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

The Torah portion of Bo (Exodus 10:1–13:16) tells of the final three plagues visited upon the Egyptians before the Exodus from Egypt. The Torah notes that during the ninth plague of darkness, while the Egyptians could not see one another or move around, “all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings” (Exodus 10:23). This contrast between light and darkness serves as a powerful metaphor for the enduring struggle between good and evil that resonates throughout Jewish history and into our present times.

The Symbolism of Light in Jewish Tradition

In Jewish tradition, light is a symbol of wisdom, goodness, and divine presence. The nation of Israel is often seen as a beacon of light, tasked with a sacred mission to illuminate the world with principles of ethics, morality, and monotheism. This idea is encapsulated in the prophecy of Isaiah (49:6), where Israel is charged with being “a light unto the nations.” The design of the windows in the Temple, constructed to project light outward, further underscores this mission. Israel is not meant to bask in its own spiritual light but is called to share this light with the world, serving as God’s emissaries.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

January 18, 2024

The Gods Shall Perish

“Thus shall ye say unto them, The gods that have not made the heavens and the earth, even they shall perish from the earth, and from under these heavens.” (Jeremiah 10:11)

This is a unique verse. Jeremiah, the second-longest book in the Bible, is written in Hebrew except for this one verse! Why would Jeremiah make this remarkable exception here?

This verse was written in Aramaic, which was the official language of the great Babylonian empire—the world’s chief nation at that time. The Babylonians, as prophesied by Jeremiah, were soon to be used as a weapon in God’s hand to punish His chosen people, carrying them into exile and captivity, and the main reason for such punishment was apostasy. God’s people had corrupted the worship of the true Creator God with the teachings and idols of the Babylonians and all the other nations around them who had rejected God.

Jeremiah had repeatedly condemned this apostasy, showing that God’s people were to be punished by the very nations whose religious philosophies had so attracted them.

But those nations needed also to understand that this was not because of their own strength nor the merits of their own gods. Thus, Jeremiah appropriately inserted a special word to be conveyed to the Babylonians in their own official tongue. Only the true God, who made the heavens and the earth, is in control of the heavens and the earth.

The same type of warning, delivered in the “official” language of the modern world (“science?”), is needed even more today than it was in Jeremiah’s day. Today’s “gods”—Marx, Darwin, etc.—are even less deserving of trust than Zeus or Baal, and yet professing Christians have gone after them in droves. It is urgent that we call them back to the true Creator and Savior, Jesus Christ, urging them—before God’s judgment falls once again—to repudiate every vestige of evolutionary humanism. HMM

0 notes

stockholmdolly · 3 years

Text

EASY PREY (BEWARE OF THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD) 22

Characters: Brock Rumlow, Bucky Barnes. Y/N, Ransom Drysdale.

Warnings: almost drowning? car accident?

Word count: 843

Author’s note: Hello fanfiction world, it is me! Stockholm Dolly. I’m not going to say anything because we are at the end and this is getting exciting. I didn’t really proofread this last chapters because I’m at work, so I hope I didn’t fuck up that much, sorry in advance. Happy reading...😈

CHAPTER 22/26 DAY 33 CONTINUES, UNCONSCIOUS BASTARD

I was buckled in. Ransom was not. As we nosedived into the water, I calculated our fall at about a slight ten-degree angle. We were, thankfully, on the low end of the ditch. Across the way, the wall was about thirty feet high from surface to ledge; a fall from that end would have been much harder to take. Our fall was only about four feet. So really, it was more like we were driving down a boat ramp. Nevertheless, although short-lived, our descent was pretty fast, so we entered the water hard.

Only days before, the ex-captain America my then captor informed me that the ditch was forty feet deep in some spots, so I braced to keep falling and falling. But actually, we stopped short almost as soon as the car was submerged, hood first. All in, I’d say we were ten feet deep. No big deal, as far as I was concerned. Still, let’s not minimize the situation. People have drowned in as little as two inches of water.

The back end of the VW began to sink and we settled flat. We’d landed on a cliff in the ditch, and I could tell it was a cliff, because although we’d kicked up a ton of sediment and the water was murky, out before us the water was lighter on top, and darker below, much darker below. This meant, just ahead, the water dropped steeply to a deeper hell.

Also, something floated on a rope in front of us, and the rope seemed to extend further down from where the car rested. I knew exactly what was on that rope, even though the grainy water needed to settle for a clearer view.

Beside me, Ransom slumped on the steering wheel, passed out from hitting his head or out of sheer shock over his dumb self, I have no idea. Either way, I was thankful I didn’t have him thrashing about like a fool. Asset #48, Unconscious Ransom.

Water began to rise in the car, creeping in the cracks in the doors and the up-rolled windows. My too-big Nikes were covered, next my shins. Rising, rising, rising to my hips. The water around us became clearer and clearer; I marveled at how fast this ditch recovered herself, as if all she had done was swallow yet another victim, another pile of metal, into her vast, dark stomach. Ho-hum, her liquid body seemed to groan.

The floor of the ditch was a junkyard: bent rebar, a child-size metal tractor flipped upside down, buckets, bricks, chains, and indeed, a chain link fence that crawled out of the depths in front of the car and onto the cliff, as though a long, curling tongue reaching out of a devil mouth.

The water kept washing in, like liquid being forced through closed teeth. Next, my hips were covered, my wide belly, my babies. I sat still.

Out before me, the picture was opaque, but she was visible, floating on the wakeboard, the rope harnessed around her cut torso. She shifted slightly in her underwater grave, tethered and buoyed in death, her hair slowly waving in the scant movement of the water. Together, her and her contraption appeared like a shriveled balloon, inexplicably flying high above a deserted car dealership, somewhere out West, somewhere where no one drives anymore, unless lost and out of gas. Waiting for vultures.

To my right, that man agent began crashing his flat hands on my passenger door window, pounding, pounding, pounding with his palms. Bam, bam, pounding, pounding, and so returned the school gunman, firing his gun. The pop, the screams, the banging, the ringing of his bullets through the classroom.

I fought my anger switch from turning on. I stayed the course; I sat still. I clutched my own fists, fist in fist. I turned to the agent, who remained furious at the window—his thuds dulled by the water—and yanking on the door—his strain slowed by aquatic gravity. Of course, all of his flailing was useless.

I held up my hand to stop him, fanning my palm against the glass. Because my head was still in breathable air, but the water up to my neck, I said, “The water has to equalize on both sides first. Then the pressure will be even and the door will open. Calm down!”

Doesn’t anyone remember anything from high school physics?

The water covered the roots of my hair. I unbuckled. I reached for Ransom’s ring of keys, hanging from the ignition, and turned to the agent, who was foolishly still banging like a wild school shooter on my window.

Will this noise always haunt me? Will I forever be reminded of that day? Who can I hunt down to stop this infernal racket? Who can I torture with this sound?

I eyed the agent and raised my hands to gesture, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He tried the handle once again and opened the door.

I swam ten feet to the top.

Taglist: @cjand10

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x brock rumlow #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #brock rumlow

8 notes · View notes

writing-of-ongoing-life-crisis · 3 years

Text

The Body

Ruth’s body lay in a ditch, cold, alone, starting to smell. She realized now that she was never coming back. “Look at that” a sad smile crossed her face “a butterfly.” It landed on her nose, taking sips of the red blood that streamed down her face, the color complemented the vibrant blue of the butterfly. Thunder crackled. “It’s going to rain.” Ruth said, looking up at the sky. The butterfly flew off. “Goodbye.” She said. Rain started to fall, splashing on the asphalt road. Drops of water landed on Ruth’s body, she couldn’t feel it, not the cold, not the wet, not the wind, not even the grass she lay in. The rain water started to pour off the road and into the ditch “That’s what it’s for.” She said, “Rain. Not people.”

A car drove past. It didn’t see her, they never did. Her body lay in the water that pooled in the ditch. Her skin was starting to slough off, she could see the muscle underneath. Her empty eye sockets screamed at her. “How did this happen Ruth?” they said. She didn’t know. She wanted to stay, wanted to make sure her body rest in peace, but lingering only made things worse. It made them win. They were long gone. They’d never get caught and she’d never be found. She knew that. A beetle crawled out of what was her mouth, but now it was just a weird hole with tanned and shriveled skin pulled tight over her teeth. Maggots ate through her tissue, they squimed and wriggled, it sounded like a pot of mac and cheese. She was squeamish at the thought of it. She wanted to shoo them all away, instead she just sat down next to her body and cried.

#micro fiction #ghost story #poetic kinda #short story #thoughts?#write more #leave it #detail it?#butterfly #ok. I LOVE this #I added a second paragraph as a continuation

4 notes · View notes

breath-of-the-hobbies · 3 years

Text

BOTW2 - A Return to Darkness

(I’ve never written fan-fic before in my life, but all of these new BOTW theories and art inspired me to write this idea out. Special shout-out to @autumn-sweet-fae for the idea about Link’s ability reset! [x])

The series of caverns beneath Hyrule Castle seemed to be a source of boundless interest and excitement for Zelda, who stopped to document every carving and luminescent gem with the Sheikah slate no matter how small or difficult to reach. Link felt the absence of Revali’s Gale acutely whenever Zelda lamented being unable see the carvings far above their heads, but Revali and all of the other Champions had long since moved on, taking their gifts with them.

The two Hylians, displaced in time, had initially begun exploring the newly uncovered cave system as a way to escape the realities involved in rebuilding a kingdom. Soon enough, though, it became obvious that there were important secrets tucked away beneath the ground, perhaps even older than the Sheikah. Zelda hoped that uncovering these secrets could help in the rebuilding process, and so their short, escapist trips had turned into full-fledged expeditions.

They had recently discovered a steeply descending path near an entrance by the Great Plateau. Although Zelda continued to record her findings as diligently as always, they both felt a strange sense of disquiet as they descended into the darkness. Though they had been seeking answers to their questions for months, this was the first time they were afraid of the response.

When they discovered Ganon’s mummified corpse, things began happening very quickly.

Perhaps it was the presence of all three people of legend in one space that activated the chain of events. Within moments of the Hylians stepping into the final cavern, the earth began to shake and malice oozed from the floor. A glowing turquoise light leapt like lightning from Ganon’s form to Link’s arm, which he had instinctively extended to shield Zelda as stalactites and whole chunks of the ceiling rained down around them.

The shock of the light touching his skin—no, entering his skin—was nothing compared to the acidic burning of malice as the slime piled up on itself and swarmed the glowing arm, as though with a single-minded purpose.

Zelda screamed his name over the thundering of stone, knuckles white on her sword grip. Neither of them had seen anything like this, and neither knew how to combat it. Link stepped backwards, tearing at the ooze and trying to keep it away from his princess, noticing how it seemed to be exclusively targeting him. Afterwards, he would remember that small step with piercing regret. If he had only been closer, if he could have moved a little faster…. The ground collapsed beneath Zelda’s feet. Link lunged forward, desperate, reaching—their fingers brushed, and then she was gone.

Link could barely process anything. The earthquake had stopped. Ganon’s corpse had disappeared into the yawning black mouth that now filled the cavern, the same mouth that had eaten the only person who mattered to him in this world. The malice had somehow shriveled and sunk into his arm along with the strange light, and now a black rot was crawling up towards his shoulder, rendering the whole limb dead. He was unable to handle a glider or climb down into the hungry darkness, and the gnawing, unnatural pain in his arm was enough to drive him to his knees.

Slowly, painfully, and with an involuntary cry of agonized frustration, he tightened a belt around his upper bicep in an attempt to stem the creep of malice and stumbled up the debris-filled path to the surface.

When he finally emerged into the calm summer evening, his horse startled and shied at his approach, registering the scent of his arm as a corrupted enemy. Nearly delirious with pain, fatigue, and fever, Link still managed to soothe it, leaning his face against its neck and pretending that it was sweat running into its fur. He could barely stand to look at Zelda’s beautiful horse, but forced himself to clumsily fasten its lead to his own horse’s saddle.

But where to go? His champion allies were gone. The castle was still largely abandoned, the guardians erratically active and monsters as yet un-eradicated. The closest source of help was days away, and the slate had been with Zelda, so there would be no teleporting.

Purah’s not going to be happy about this. He thought nonsensically, and set his horse’s nose towards Hateno Village.

***

He did his best to cling to the horse’s mane, but as the familiar village appeared in the distance, his sense of relief overpowered the adrenaline that had kept him going for the past several days. Slowly, gently, darkness clouded his vision and he slipped from his mount’s back, falling into the ditch on the far outskirts of Hateno Village. The horses, exhausted themselves, barely registered the change in weight and continued on to the place where they knew that apples and good hay could always be found.

The children of the village, who had frequently begged rides from Link and clung to him on past visits, immediately recognized that something was wrong when they spotted the tired creatures trudging up the cobbled street. They ran to the eccentric scientist up in her tower, and joined Symin, her chief researcher, in a frantic search of the area. The sun was beginning to set when they finally found the unconscious Link. Symin scooped the small hero up in his arms, a knot of fear in his stomach, and carried him to his lady.

***

Link opened his eyes to sunshine streaming through a window, birdsong, the warm scent of hay and machine oil. The agonizing, corrupted, wrong pain in his arm had faded, but in its place was a weak and draining numbness. Remembering Zelda’s fall, he sat up with a gasp, and immediately crumpled, spots swimming in his eyes, heartbeat rushing in his ears. As he panted, head between his drawn-up knees, he heard soft steps as someone came up the ladder to this bedroom.

“I would have thought you’d slept long enough the last time, Linky.” Said Purah dryly, but not unkindly. “You’re really pushing my skills here. I had to research tech that hasn’t been used since the Zonai disappeared.” Link slowly lifted his head to look down at his arm. The rot was still there, shriveled black skin stretched over tendon and bone. Two things were different: there were engraved metal bands that clasped his arm from wrist to bicep, softly buzzing with energy, and there was a Sheikah emblem tattooed on the back of his blackened hand.

Purah remained uncharacteristically quiet, letting Link take in the changes, before starting up again to enthuse about the tech. “I’m going to keep optimizing it, of course. It’s wildly inefficient at the moment but I needed to get something on you or you’d lose the arm. Currently the runes are drawing directly from your energy just to stop the procession of the corruption, but I plan to improve that. As such I think it’s going to take you a while to get your strength back. I saw you lost your slate—“ her voice hardened in sudden anger “—but until you get it back I’ve got plans to add some capabilities to this tech in the meantime.”

Link finally found his voice. “Zelda.” he croaked, his defeated, exhausted gaze rising to meet Purah’s.

Her face softened. “We were worried why she wasn’t with you, why you were in that state. We sent some people to the tunnels, but they haven’t returned.”

The half-hoping, half-pleading look in Link’s eyes disappeared immediately, replaced with stubborn determination as he placed his feet on the floor and rose, legs visibly shaking.

Purah sighed, as though she had expected this. “You’re in no shape to go after her now. Zelda has held her own in this world for longer than you have, and she can handle herself. You, on the other hand, need to build your strength back up or you’ll be knocked over by the first bokoblin you meet. Or the first gust of wind.”

Link ignored her, taking slow and unsteady steps towards the ladder. “Link, your clothes!” She yelled after him in exasperation just as he missed the second rung and disappeared from view. A loud thud and a startled exclamation from Symin rose back up through the hole in the floor. “Hylia, why me?” She asked the air.

***

Link glared at the straw monster in front of him, sweat running into his eyes. It took all his effort to raise the stick in his right arm, the numbness of the limb and unfamiliar weight of the tech making every movement sluggish. He had been hacking at the doll for hours and yet it looked fresher than he did.

Symin watched from the window, sipping a cup of tea. “Should we stop him?” He asked. It was several weeks now since the scrawny hero had picked himself up off the floor and legged it out the door, only to collapse less than halfway down the hill. Since then, he had spent every waking moment making his best attempt at training.

Purah didn’t glance up from her book. “The man just lost everything he cares about for a second time. In many ways he’s worse off than he was when he woke from the century’s sleep. At least that time he had his strength, if not his memory. Let him work things out his own way.” Unspoken between them was the knowledge of reports from central Hyrule that the castle was once again filled with malice and making the ground tremble day and night. Link had not told them the details of his encounter, nor indeed spoken hardly at all, but his grim determination said more than enough.

Only a few days later, the morning after Purah had successfully implanted the first upgrade into Link’s arm, Symin slammed open the door to her tower study, panic and worry twisting his face. “He’s gone! Link’s gone!”

Purah turned to gaze out her window. She didn’t look surprised, but her normally boisterous personality was briefly extinguished. She shook herself and turned back to her notes with renewed vigor. “He’ll be back. Let’s be ready for him.”

Chapter 2

#botw #botw2 #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #link #zelda #purah #symin #botw fic #botw2 fanfic #breath of the wild 2

8 notes · View notes

only-hyuran · 4 years

Text

w.i.p. wednesday?

a little something i wrote for chai because we are hyping through shadowbringers. it still has a lot of formatting issues and needs an ending. hope it is not too scuffed!

"That's it, then? One of the hive-minds of this scourge."

June marched with certainty and patience into the Lightwarden Philia's grotto, a round expanse of flowery beds of grass, and stone walkways leading only in circles. The terrible creature met their presence with a slobbering roar, barring vicious teeth as it steadied itself on its enormous hind legs. Torturous chains draped from its body jingled metallically as it readied for battle, smashing its spiked tail into the ground in ruthless impatience.

In the godly luminescence of the 'Everlasting Light', the rogue's hair appeared a vivid bleached white, advancing a few yalms closer to his prey with what looked to be a bounce of excitement in his step. His neck turned to face her half-way, smirking lips visible beneath the tangled tresses twisting down to his eyes, his devilish expression all too fitting of the horned circlet adorning his head.

"Take it easy for a few more minutes, Nowi. You need to learn what you're up against first."

After a quick squat to stretch his knees, June breathed deeply and closed his fists around the curved hilts of his daggers. A telltale sound of metal on metal gave away their brandishing, jutting his hands out by his sides as his legs burst into action to take him closer to the center of the arena. Utter confidence exuded from him, until the chilling fingers of an unexpected magic came crawling across his abdomen. He felt as though he was being held around his waist, struggling against the force of the spell to try and take another step forward. With great speed, June's body suddenly slingshot backwards, his boots grinding into the soil as he was 'rescued' back to the Mi'qote's side.

"Please. I've been doing my research. How's about you take a break, mister."

"St-Stupid--... Where'd you learn to..." He struggled to find words after such a heart-stalling surprise, furious yet embarrassed as he turned his body to stand back-to-back with her. "A White Mage, hm? Finally taking care of someone other than your self?" June prodded rudely, but Philia had grown impatient of their banter, decidedly ripping a small dead tree from the ground and hoisting it at the heroes with killing force.

A springy, electrical thud echoed through the arena as Nowi stood at her tallest, an open hand extended forward in just timing to raise her bubble barrier, glistening graciously above them. The tree had shattered into mere twigs upon impact with the shield, warranting the first cocky grin to be seen from the Mi'qote in some time.

"Lets just get this over with." She concluded smugly, cueing them both to charge graciously into battle, side-by-side. With staff extended, Nowi circled to the flank of the rampaging beast, lifting her hands in rhythmic gestures as she deployed her defensive magics on her partner. June had already opened the floodgates of the action, weaving choreographed steps between the ravenous swipes of Philia's claws, and the erratic waving of her tail. The Lightwarden went still a moment, before emitting a terribly ear-piercing screech, enough to interrupt the nearby ninja to close his hands over his ears and droop his torso forward. In this advantageous moment, the Sin Eater swatted one of its forearms forward, closing its beastly fingers around June's middle and lifting his flailing body off of the ground.

In panic, he sunk both of his daggers into Philia's massive hand, only to find them stuck in her flesh. The warden winced, but it only caused it's grip to grow tighter, a breathless gasp leaving his lips as his ribs were compacted, soon threatening to crush him. Nowi scowled in quick-witted offense, swaying her staff off to her side to quake a stray boulder to life, willing it to lift off of the ground and launching it with pinpoint accuracy at the back of the monsters' head.

A dazed, wobbly cry hissed from it's lips when the stone shattered into pieces in impact, toppling backward in pain, dropping June to his hands and knees. He felt a sudden resurgence of energy when the comforting stardust of Nowi's Cure rained down on him, finding the strength to climb to his feet and stare up at the temporarily immobilized Philia.

"D-Ditch the stick and do some real damage, will’ya?"

Having lost his weapons, he was left no choice but to provide support. Nowi watched in confusion for a few long moments as he crunched his knees down to a squat, holding his hands open in front of him, as if offering her... a boost? The enraged Lightwarden had begun to flail again, running short on time as the Mi'qote caught on to her partner's plan. She nodded in agreement, her eyes fluttering shut as she lifted a hand in front of her face, a flow of aether lifting her off of the grassy ground and shrouding her in blinding light. The flash faded to reveal her elegant robes had transformed into brazen black armor trimmed with gold, and her effeminate cane into a thorny gun-steel lance, taller than her in stature.

The visor of her mask sank down over her eyes as she elegantly metamorphosed into the skillset of the Azure Dragoon, her head bowing forward as she broke into a sprint. It took her but a second to close the space between her and the awaiting June, lunging her last running step to plant her foot in his clasped hands. His arms wrenched upward in all of his might with a powerful roar, working in tandem with the kickoff of her legs to send her bellowing up nearly a malm into the air. He stared fearlessly at the monster as Nowi began the descent of her assisted leap. The speed of her fall guided her lance straight downward, crashing with the impact of a fallen meteor blade-first into the creatures' crown, her steel meeting with Philia's flesh resonating a sound not unlike a gunshot.

A last wretched gurgle escaped the slain stewardess of Light, collapsing lifelessly, a thick cloud of dirt masking its immediate area after it tumbled forward with body limp and mouth agape. Through the obscured, dusty view of their target, Nowi emerged triumphantly, leaping off from the corpse and landing back in June's view with a dramatic pose. The remains had began to dissipate into a clear white gas, seeping from the dead Lightwarden as it rotted and shriveled into nothingness. The flowing cloud of toxic ivory mist seemed eerily attracted to Nowi. In absolute focus, Nowi remained still as she let the essence of the Lightwarden gather and flow past her -- to no effect. It worked.

"Haa! haaah! Don't ever tell me to 'take it easy Nowi~'." She remarked proudly, even going as far to imitate his deeper voice as she quoted him. "You should've seen the look on your-- ... June?"

The glossy pearl-white mist exhuming from the fallen Sin Eater tumbled past Nowi to her relief, her heart rising to her throat when she noticed it clustering around her partner. He had staggered to one knee, hands on the ground to steady himself while he fought to catch his breath.

“I’m, - I’m fine... Hhn...”

#ffxiv #original characters #shadowbringers #fanfiction #im embarrassed pls no

14 notes · View notes

heartwoodventures · 4 years

Text

The Sickness

The long, spindly black arm of the voidsent came surging up toward the knoll Aislinn had found for herself. Always take the high ground if you can. But now she was left exposed, no nearby trees within the Shroud’s forested glen behind which she could take cover. Short of breath, heart already in her throat from terror, she stumbled back, tripped, fell to the soft, mossy ground. As the black mass came rushing towards her, she could have done any number of things, she could have done what G’lewra ultimately did. Instead, she froze, twisting away as she braced for the impact. At the last moment the creature’s arm crashed against an aetherial barrier G’lewra had hastily scribed into place around the hyur. The shield was no match for the voidsent’s force and while it shattered, it had left Aislinn in one piece. Realizing she’d been given a reprieve, she scrambled for her gun and hurriedly pulled herself to her feet.

Why did it have to be damned void magic? When Heartwood Ventures took up this latest contract all that was known was that some sort of sickness was infecting the Shroud, deep into Sylphlands. The posting asked for medics and a few of the more martially inclined just in case. Aislinn was no medic, but she could fire a gun, weave aether if need be. However, it quickly became clear to all of them they were dealing with something far more sinister than a simple illness.

Their contact, a white-haired miqo’te scholar by the name of G’lewra, had met the crew in the Shroud and led them through the forest, explaining the plight as they went.

"I've scouted the area, my dears, the plants have plenty of water and there are no signs of scorch marks on the ground that would show signs of a fire I do however have a terrible feeling tis something none wish to usually mess with." A fairy fluttered over to rest upon the Seeker's head as her summoner continued to speak. "I believe we're dealing with a voidsent."

As the group traveled through the Sylph lands they noticed the devastation G’lewra had spoken of. A trail of dead grasses clearly marked the way, even some morbols had perished and looked like shriveled, rotten pumpkins scattered across the forest floor. Even those not sensitive to aether could feel the pressure in the air the deeper into the glen they went. The miqo’te brought them to a halt, turning to them with a look of concern.

Nazyl glanced at the shriveled morbols and grimaced, the dead flora and chill of the dread corruption near palpable, "Sheesh, ta so easileh bring down this maneh morbols...it has ta be at least be fourth rung...."

"Please be careful as we get closer as I'm sure this beast has fed on enough aether to give us trouble." G’lewra said, the Seeker's fairy moving to hide within her long snowy hair.

"Nymeia's Blood." Aislinn swore softly as she too took in the corpses strewn along the way, the oppressive air causing her ears to pop. There was surely a large concentration of aether somewhere close by. She shuddered, as if something had shot through her body. A sudden dread.

Y'ahn shifted the strap of her medical bag to rest more comfortably on her shoulder. "Lovely... If it's Voidsent we're dealing with I'd best double check I'd brought enough supplies to tend to whatever wounds this party is about to receive..." She huffed as she sat down in the grass, taking inventory of the contents of her bag.

As Y’ahn made her check, G’lewra continued on, "The beast has made its home deep within the Sylph lands, not even the poor darlings feel safe within their own homeland and have moved as far away from the thing as possible. When I went further in I could sense it had become rather large, ‘tis best we do what we can to eliminate it and quickly before it causes more damage to the land."

“Aye, if those cabbage fairies are afraid of the demon, then it must be something nasty. We ought to give it a good beating and show it who’s boss,” Aiswyda proposed. “Unless there’s some caveat on how to approach the thing.”

Y'ahn closed the flap of her bag, latching it back in place, seemingly satisfied with what she had on hand. "To Aiswyda's point, we do have a plan of some sort to handle the beast, don't we?" She asked as she stood back up.

"I could help with that, once we identify the demon." Nazyl offered.

Not just a voidsent. A -large- voidsent. Aislinn put her fingers to the bridge of her nose, pressing for a brief moment. "Aye, depends on what sort we're looking at here." she said, her voice sounding small even to her.

While her partners discussed the best plan of attack, Aislinn stood quietly staring into the dark wood, unable to focus on their words. She had run up against void magic only once before. And once had been enough. The mages had called themselves thaumaturges but she suspected that was more for their own protection than anything. Black magic was outlawed in Ul’dah, after all. Well, so was drug running but that hadn’t stopped the cartels either. Plenty was outlawed in Ul’dah that still carried on right in the shadow of the Sultana’s proud palace. She’d been young and naive. A fresh refugee and just desperate enough. Lured by the promise of payment in return for taking part in the mages’ study. As were many of the urchins the mages managed to find. In the end, she had been lucky. She had managed to escape. Others had not. The experience had been enough to convince her there was some knowledge that should be left well enough alone.

Off to her right, Koh nodded, his words bringing her back to the present. "The wood was weakened enough in the Calamity, best to save it from more damage, for its sake and the sake of those living in it best we handle this sooner than later." He'd lived in the outskirts of the wood, he knew how rough it could be. He didn't want those living there to have it any worse.

G'lewra started to move forward to lead the group further in, her ears perked to listen for any movement. "Please be on your guard, my dears."

The group moved with careful steps through the dark glen. The forest here was oddly quiet. No birdsong, no rustling of forest creatures through the undergrowth. It was almost as if all life within had been holding its collective breath. And then, all at once, the silence shattered. There came a sudden, rumbling roar from a deep ditch ahead. Black limbs reached up from the depths, grabbing onto the ledge as a gigantic voidsent heaved itself up and onto the ground, towering over them. Its dark, bloated body littered in masks that opened and closed rapidly as if searching for its next meal.

"By the twelve it's huge!" G’lewra cried out.

The masks as one almost seemed to scream with delight as it focused on the group in front of them.

"Aw, hells it's a Persona..." Nazyl gritted. The knight drew his weapons, mythrite blade and shield glimmering in the dim light, "Watch fer its magic, they can be fastah than they look, n' will freeze ye in place with but a gesture."

Nazyl may have been inured to the hazards of his job as a void hunter but for the rest of them the shock of the creature’s sudden and grotesque appearance reverberated through the group, crashing over them. Aiswyda let out an audible gasp, Aislinn fell back a step with half a mind to outrun her terror and Koh struggled to remain centered, taking several shakey, deep breaths as he stared up at the abomination before them.

While the others struggled, the lalafell was more than happy to be the first in, kicking off the hill and sliding down, shield raised to slam himself into the base of the creature, rearing back his sword to swing down hard onto the nearest mask, dragging Oathbrand across the earth in a turn, and cut upwards into it again, spraying dirt into it in the process, "All those faces n' yer still an ugleh bastard." He was already vying for the thing's attention.

So began the fight that brought the story to the present, with Aislinn scrambling back to her feet after narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath the voidsent’s grip. Now, the creature lashed out at Nazyl, hitting him squarely in the chest. The mail thankfully absorbed much of it, but gods did it smart. Coughing out a curse, he stepped back in and thrusted his blade forward into the black flesh, twisting and cutting upward to pry off another mask.

The voidsent’s gelatinous body wrapped around the blade and started crawling slowly towards the lalafell, devouring the sword.

"Sonofa..." Nazyl grunted as he struggled to pull his sword free.

The creature was far from finished. Its oozing form slipped up his arm, further and further until it had simply swallowed the lalafell whole as the rest of them could do little more than look on in horror. There was a suspended moment in which it seemed all of them wavered, frozen in shock and disbelief. Those that remained were fairly new to the Company. They hadn’t yet lost a comrade on a job. They hadn’t come back with any less than they had started out with. Comfortable and sure in their successes. Koh was the first to shake himself into action, calling up aether as he spun around, his steps light as he dodged the creature. With the miqo’te distracting it, Aislinn hurried to reload her weapon, letting out a string of curses, everything under the sun and then some, as her shaking hands struggled to fit the rounds into the chamber. Each of the creature’s unholy bellows and screams causing her to flinch in reply.

The fight was a punishing reminder that tested each of them sorely as they tried to keep up the momentum, to work together, to press their advantage. With each mask that they destroyed, the voidsent grew smaller until at last, with one final punch from Aiswyda the last mask cracked and fell away. As the powerful Roegadyn blasted the last mask off the voidsent, the beast withered on the ground as it started to shrink until it was nothing but a small little slime, squishing around until it finally burst into nothing.

Finally, quiet. The weight on Aiswyda’s heart had lifted, but something heavier had taken its place. The voidsent had just...dispersed, and the lalafell was nowhere to be seen. Aislinn dropped her firearm to her side, heart still hammering, knees weak. After a moment to collect herself, she slipped her gun back into place. Sucking in lungfuls of air, she slid down the hill to the others, relieved that it was over but still not quite back to rights.

"Nazyl." she said blankly. "What about Nazyl."

Aiswyda knelt down and felt the ground, searching for some sign of Nazyl. A hair, his sword - anything. But he was gone, and Aiswyda felt very, very small.

Y'ahn Tsunhe frantically looked about for the missing lalafell. "I... I don't see him anywhere!"

G'lewra’s snowy ears flicked in response to the mercenaries’ obvious discomfort as she drew closer. "Fret not, my dears, I'll find him in no time and bring word back as soon as I do." she said gently as she offered the group a warm smile to ease them all. "I'm still able to sense his aether so he's still around, I just have to locate him where this voidsent has sent him off to, never fear as I'm quite skilled in aether knowledge so I'll be able to find him in no time."

Koh looked up from where he sunken down to the ground, head lowered to his knees as he collected his breath and fought back tears. "Wait, he's...not dead?"

Aiswyda jumped a little, still in fight or flight mode, tunnel vision and all. But she took some comfort in the Seeker’s words “Ah..Aye. There isn’t much I can do now anyway. No use lingering in this dark place,” she responded, though her words sounded a bit hollow.

His aether could still be sensed. That was something. The tightness in Aislinn's chest eased a bit as she gave Aiswyda a concerned glance. The Roegadyn sounded how she herself felt. Hollow. Empty.

"We'll find him. We will." she said quietly to Aiswyda, trying to reassure both her friend and herself at the same time. She nodded to G'lewra. "Please...send word as soon as you find something." she said, trying to lend her words life she didn’t feel.

There was nothing left to do now but make their way back to Heartwood and give their report. A wordless exchange of somber glances said that not one of them was looking forward to that task.

(To be continued!)

#ffxiv #ffxiv rp #balmung rp #ffxiv crystal rp #Heartwood plots #Koh Srenh #Y'ahn Tsunhe #Nazyl Tharazyl #Aiswyda Nuthalwyn #Aislinn North #sickness must be purged

13 notes · View notes

themockingcrows · 4 years

Text

Familiar Ch. 5: Quicken

This chapter is mildly not safe for work This chapter is available on my AO3! All the preparation in the world won't ready you for some things when it comes to cohabitating with a bird hybrid, but some things come more naturally than others.

“Hold still,” Dave said, carefully aiming the shot so he could capture John and the surrounding moss in the shot. He’d been trusted with Dad’s camera for the day again, and he wasn’t going to mess up the chance to make the most of it. He’d already taken shots of the surrounding woods, but taking some nice shots of himself and of John were still high up on his list. He had to keep track of so many things with this camera: how much film was left, that the lens cap was off, that everything was in focus, that his hands didn’t shake, and God forbid that he didn’t drop the camera again.

“How much longer till I can move,” John groaned as if he were dying. Seventeen years old, and he still didn’t have an ounce of patience to his name. Dave took a snap, pulled back from the camera and threw some leaves on top of John before adjusting them individually, trying to make it look as careless as if he’d been sleeping in the forest all autumn instead of dodging puddles of mud and praying it didn’t rain yet again before the shoot could be finished.

“Close your eyes and stay still,” Dave grumped, snapping a few pictures at different angles before giving the go ahead to rise.

Grunting, John sat up and pulled leaves out of his hair, dusting sticky flecks of dirt and moss off his jacket and the back of his head. “Oh FINALLY, my ass was going numb. Do you realize how cold the ground is out here?”

“I was born outside, John.”

“I mean currently. With a human ass. Human ass thermometer says it’s too cold to be sitting on the ground,” John explained, coming to stand closer to Dave’s side as he looked around. “Where else did you wanna take pictures? It’s supposed to rain later, Dad wouldn’t want his camera wet.”

“I know. I was thinking somewhere a bit further… there’s a stand of trees and this huge pile of rocks, I wanna get some angles of that.”

“Big pile of rocks. Exciting.”

“It’s a huge pile, John, wait till you see it.”

John hummed and nodded to show he was listening and believing as much as he could, but it was difficult. For one, he was chilled and Dave’s fascination with photography could be tiring to keep up with. For another… he was distracted.

Dave had been more hands on the last few weeks, more touchy feely than usual. He lingered with wake up kisses, kept finding more and more excuses to settle on John’s lap. He also kept making sure John got the bigger half of things suddenly, making sure his plate was first in the line and that he got plenty of snacks. Dave kept being caught staring, watching, lingering in doorways to keep track of where John was. He’d improved his rock collection with shiny stones from here and there… though also he was gifted with bottle caps and soda pop tabs, beads and odds and ends from around the house and up in the attic. It was sweet, really, but it was a bit confusing, a ramp up on his usual behavior.

Noticing so much of Dave’s abnormal behavior was making John notice Dave and his mannerisms more. The way he touched his face when he was crouched on a chair, the way he flipped his hair out of his eyes but refused to let Dad trim it shorter, the way his face screwed up when he got a good scratch between the shoulder blades, the way his wings twitched and splayed out when it was grooming time. The way he smiled, frowned, the way his face relaxed when he napped against his shoulder in the afternoons while John worked on schoolwork.

“...John?”

“Huh? What.”

“The rocks are here,” Dave said, gesturing proudly. “I was asking what you think. Thought,” he corrected.

John blinked, realizing he’d been following without paying attention. He glanced around to orient himself before taking in the view. The rocks were, as promised, pretty sweet. They were massive boulders with moss and speckled markings, balanced atop other boulders. The very top held a decrepit sapling that had tried to flourish and dried upon death, dangling at an angle by its roots. John whistled softly at it.

“Okay, this is cool. What kind of pictures did you want?”

Considering for a moment, Dave soon gave directions for John to climb the first stone and sit in different ways, standing on the last shot, before carefully coming down. If they were developed right, they’d hopefully come out looking how they did in Dave’s head. Maybe if they were in black and white they’d be more pressing, or sepia…

“Hey, let me take a few shots of you,” John offered with a grin, reaching for the camera. “I bet your wings would look great against the stone.”

Dave’s wings abruptly fluffed and splayed out showily before stretching and flattening out. He cleared his throat, coughed, and righted his wings again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Go up where I was and crouch. Maybe ditch the jacket, if you can handle the temperature,” he said, holding the camera up in front of one of his glasses lenses and smirking, crouching down to one knee for the full effect before standing up again. Okay, that was silly, he couldn’t see from that angle.

Hesitating for a moment, Dave pulled his jacket off and flared his wings again, flapping them a few times before he turned and scaled the rock face, finding the stable point John had been at before turning around and crouching. As expected, the dark feathers against the stone looked amazing in the dull light, and John found himself wishing he was better at photography to catch it in some better light. Maybe when they were home he could get a look at the feathers under the light and get a snap of them there, black and faintly iridescent close up where the filaments of feather connected.

“Got it! Come on down!” John called, grinning as Dave splayed his wings and hopped down, coasting a bit before flapping to stabilize his landing. When John grinned broadly at him, Dave’s wings twitched and tried to flatten out once more, fluttering when he turned to pick up his jacket and pull it back on.

A stick broke in the distance, though it didn’t catch Dave’s attention. John’s attention, however? He was predisposed to being overly aware of their surroundings when his head wasn’t in the clouds, especially when they were away from the yard. It was his job, guarding Dave’s existence from the outside. This deep in the woods should be safe, but there were natural threats to worry about, bears and other creatures.

...Or humans.

In this case, a hiker with a cell phone who was staring at them from a ways away before freezing and taking off running the opposite direction as if pursued. Cursing, John stuffed the camera back into Dave’s bare hands before grasping his upper arm and tugging, dragging him into a run the other direction.

“Fuck, wait,” Dave cawed, trying to cover the lens with the cap without dropping the camera before adjusting his grip and hurrying along after John, back towards the house. They sprinted, John leading them astray till things started to look more familiar and he corrected the route since Dave was the one who’d led them in this time, and didn’t stop till they reached the edge of the woodline.

Slowly, John sank down into a crouch and grasped the back of his head with both hands, panting heavily as he listened to his pulse hammering in his ears. “Shit, shit, shit… Shit.”

“John?” Dave panted, watching him before mimicking him, crouching down. One wing stretched out and curled loosely around John’s back like an arm, shielding him while he was down. “...John?” he asked again, worried.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. We’re fine. This is totally okay. We were just seen by a stranger with a phone, no big deal,” John rambled, only to go quiet and croon an upset noise out once more.

Biting his lip, Dave considered his choices. He looked around the empty yard, the distant shape of Dad’s car parked in front on the gravel, the shriveled remains of the garden and the last crops that hadn’t been picked yet, the vast amount of pumpkins on display. He looked back over his shoulder, back towards the woods he knew so well from before, then back to John’s shaking shoulders and panicked expression.

“Oh fuck, oh man, oh God Dad’s gonna be pissed off why wasn’t I watching clos-”

Dave had leaned and grasped John’s chin, holding it carefully as he pecked his lips once. Twice. Three times. Normally he’d pull back then and nuzzle while cawing affectionately… but this time Dave remained in place, lip to lip. He was letting out a soft sound, croaky singsong noises that were surprisingly comforting to hear, and didn’t pull back till John’s breathing was slower and calm.

“...Uhm.”

Dave just grinned at him and fluttered his wings hopefully, giving them small shivery shakes before folding them against his back once more.

“...Heh. Haha. Hahahahaha.”

“John?”

Caught up in the giggles, Dave adjusted his glasses and shook his head, holding a hand up begging for a moment to collect himself. It took the full minute before he could wheeze. “I’m s- Ahahaha. I’m sorry. Just. Fuck I was so freaked out and suddenly I’m getting kissed and just?? Ahaha that’s just so funny for some reason. Can’t panic while you’re being kissed I guess? Off switch located on the lips.”

Dave’s grin widened and he leaned forwards to repeat the kiss now that John was laughing, which only made him giggle more. The camera was set aside in favor of Dave crawling messily onto John’s lap, knocking him over, and then crawling up his body to keep the kiss going. They were a pile of laughter and kisses, Dave’s wings splaying out over the two of them and John’s hands playing along Dave’s ribs to tickle him, making him join in the giggles.

It was so hard to be stressed around Dave. It’s like he outright didn’t allow it to happen. Fuck he was lucky to have a friend like him.

...Er. ...Was he just a friend? Had he ever been just a friend, when so much hinged on making sure he was happy and safe and by his side? When his daily morning routine involved kisses and affection that John knew he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing with anyone else?

He was still being kissed by Dave when the giggles died down and he didn’t feel the urge to break it off or push him away. John felt warm in his stomach, a flush in his cheeks and down his back, lightheaded from the rush of laughter and the sudden stimulation. Dave was warm against him, his body weight slight but welcome, and the shadow of his wings beautiful against the dim light of the sky. John forgot how cold his ass was on the ground, that his dad might be able to see them. All that mattered then was keeping Dave close for just a little longer.

Lifting both hands up, John grasped Dave’s waist before raising up higher to touch the base of his wings, getting a soft, startled caw out of Dave before they fluttered and flattened out again as they had earlier. What was up with that? Or with the throaty noises Dave was making? It was cute, sort of like a sound effect from a game, clicky and croaky and tinged with the warm tones of his voice.

All good things come to an end. Dave was the one who eventually parted the kiss, face flushed and body stiff. He was arching away a bit, body seeming to want more contact but trying to avoid it at the same time. Specifically, he was keeping his hips awa-

Oh.

… Oh.

Clearing his throat, John gently pushed at Dave’s shoulders to get him off his lap, realizing he was at risk of the exact same thing. This was normal. Well. Not normal for them persay, but it was a natural thing to have happen? Fuck, he hoped he didn’t need to have a chat with him about it. Or worse, Dad.

… Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He’d handled the introduction to those things well enough when John himself was learning them, maybe having The Talk with him wouldn’t be life ruining.

Wait, why was he thinking about this, there were bigger problems at hand.

“Dave, we need to tell Dad what happened.”

As if remembering minutes earlier, Dave’s tense frame wilted and he nodded, glancing back to the camera before he crawled over to pick it up. Well. At least they’d managed to get a lot of pictures before being interrupted. … Not to mention getting to kiss him, that had been nice. Very nice, if the zinging in his pants was anything to go by.

Slowly rising, adjusting his jeans and dusting debris off of himself again, John slapped either side of his face a few times. “Okay. Okay, we’ll just go inside and Dad’ll be all ‘Hello, son! How are you!’ and I’ll be all ‘Hey Dad! We got seen by a hiker!’ and he’ll be all..” John trailed off, realizing he wasn’t sure what his father would say or do. He groaned quietly.

“John,” Dave said, reaching a hand out. It was a simple gesture, a single word being a command as much as his name, an offer of comfort. John took his hand and laced their fingers before slowly starting the walk towards the house.

They were still peeling their jackets off when James strolled into the mud room with a smile. “There you two are. I’ve got some hot apple cider to share, if you boys would have some with the pie from earlier.”

Leave it to his dad to bake circles around everyone, but the idea of hot cider and some fresh pie was good, especially after the time in the woods.

“Sure, Dad.” Might as well get him nice and busy first. No, no, putting it off was bad. Gnawing his lip and squeezing Dave’s hand tight once again, he shook his head. “Dad? Something… something happened.”

Almost immediately James’ stance changed and his eyes narrowed, looking them both over from head to toe, checking for injuries or signs of damage. With no sign of blood of serious scuffs, he let out a pent breath and smiled again.

“Take a breath and tell me, Son, it can’t be that bad. I’ve seen your surprises before after all,” he said, gesturing to Dave before turning to head to the kitchen, the unsaid request for them to follow him hanging in the air.

“We uhm. We went to go take pictures, yeah?” John said, taking a seat at the table.

“Is the camera damaged? It’s okay if it is, but I’d like to know.”

“No, camera is fine,” Dave promised. “Not a scratch.”

“...You’re making me a bit concerned,” James chuckled as he cut apple pie into even slices and pulled out some whipped cream to top them with. “Go ahead and tell me before I start jumping to more conclusions.”

“Well uh. We.. We got the pictures,” John said encouragingly. “Then someone… might have probably seen Dave. Their phone was up, too. They might have gotten pictures.”

James slowed to a halt at the news before slowly making himself start to move again, bringing over the pie slices before going to get big mugs of cider for each boy’s place. He didn’t speak till everyone had a mug, and even then he was quiet as he sat down with a soft sigh, warming his hands on his cup.

“How close were they to you? Close enough to tell they’re not a costume?”

“I don’t know,” admitted John, looking down at his pie, one hand still clasped in Dave’s. It helped. “They looked fairly far away.”

“Well. I’ll keep an eye out for any signs of things, but odds are if they weren’t close, any photo they could get wouldn’t be the best quality,” James said. He smiled a bit. “We all knew this day might come. We’ll just deal with it best we can. Okay, son?”

John pulled up a smile the best he could, but he still felt worry. The smile faded and he eventually released Dave’s hand to clasp his mug, tilting the contents and swirling flecks of cinnamon and thicker liquid around the bottom. Home made cider really was the best.

“What do we do if the word gets out, though?” he asked, looking over to Dave. Though the bird boy had taken a sip of cider and seemed content, he’d taken out his chewing toy from beneath his shirt and was idly gnawing at it while the conversation remained intense, stress bouncing his teeth on the material. Gone were the days of stress biting elsewhere, but it was still a reminder that the topic needed to ease out soon enough or that toy wouldn’t last nearly as long as it could under normal circumstances.

“We’ll deal with it one step at a time, as it happens,” James promised. “If anyone comes knocking from the press, we’ll just have to keep Dave cloaked for a while. If anyone comes knocking from our higher authority… well. We’ll tell the truth and hope they understand the circumstances and that you were just a child.”

John’s stomach ached a bit, but he nodded. It was the best answer he could get given the circumstances, and it wouldn’t do to push further hoping for more. He finally took a sip of the warm liquid, feeling it slip down his throat to soothe his stomach like a hug. “Okay, Dad.”

“Now, let’s lighten up those faces, you look like the council is breathing down our necks already,” James chuckled. “What if Dave becomes his own form of notoriety? A… oh, what’s the word. A cryptid.”

“Like Moth Man or the Jersey Devil?” John asked. Dave looked at him, confused, not understanding. He spit his toy out to go back to sipping his drink, then set the mug aside to dig into the pie wholeheartedly. Even stress wasn’t enough to deter Dave’s appetite when snacks were involved, especially not freshly baked ones.

“Yes, precisely,” James said, before explaining the basic premise of a cryptid to Dave. “You see, if enough people believe a winged boy exists in the woods… the funnier and less real it sounds. The fewer people would believe the story to begin with.”

“But then you’d also get diehards who’d want to practically live in the woods, stalk the house, and never buzz off,” John warned. “We’d have to move!”

James pursed his lips as if the idea’s downside had only then occurred to him. “My. You may have a point there, John. Perhaps that wouldn’t be ideal after all.”

“I think being a cryptid would be fun, I could scare people,” Dave said, cawing loudly a few times and flaring his wings out in a showy fashion before they rustled and went back to normal folded against his back and the back of the chair.

“Hah! Well, at least he’s game if it came to that,” James chuckled. “Ah, I’ll develop the pictures for you later. Do you want them a certain way?”

“Black and white, please,” Dave asked. “Or sepia. I like how those look.”

Nodding, he reached for the camera and checked the number of shots left. “Hmm. We’ve got a few left on this roll. How about you keep the camera for now, and give it back when all the pictures are used up instead?”

“Are you sure?” Dave asked, pausing his pie destruction to look up with wide eyes.

“Positive. You’ve been very careful with my camera and it shows, I trust you with it.

Giddy, Dave beamed at him and went back to devouring the pie slice and whipped cream, getting a dab on his cheek and nose in his excited fervor of snacking. Laughing, John reached over with a finger to scoop the cream off, popping it into his own mouth without a second thought.

The sound from outside came first as a soft, low rumble that steadily grew in intensity until the windows rattled. Everyone went quiet before James looked to the window and hummed.

“Ah. The rain should be coming any minute now, then. The clouds were looking ready to burst all day today.”

“Should we get the candles? That was a lot of thunder.”

“Candles might be a good idea. Be ready to cast a few orbs as well for your room when you go to sleep, you know how dangerous it is to sleep with candles lit.”

“We know, Dad, don’t worry. Right, Dave?”

“Mhmm. Yessir,” he said quickly, rubbing his face with his forearm before putting his hands on the table and using them to push himself up from his seat. He scampered out of the room before coming back to put his dishes in the sink, then took off again at a dash, already knowing where the candles and matches were stored in their preparedness boxes and knowing which scented ones he wanted to use more than others.

“I promise, John. Everything will be okay,” James said softly once they were alone. “Try not to worry about anything. We’ve come this far and gone this long without any issues, we can handle a few bumps in the road. We’re family, after all.”

“Okay, Dad. Thanks,” John said, finishing his snack up before going to hug his father, accepting the kiss to the side of the head and the firm squeeze of two large arms that eventually released him. “What’s for dinner later?”

“Leftovers,” James said. “And if the power goes out, snacks. Remember, don-”

“Don’t open the fridge, you’ll let all the cold out and it’s a pain in the neck to adjust cooling spells to the precise temperature in a confined space for however long it’d be out,” John rattled off. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. I remember the icicle milk.”

James chuckled, eyes crinkling at the edges as he stood up to take care of the dishes. “Go help Dave then, and make sure the windows upstairs are all shut for me?”

“Alright,” John called before taking off at a jog to catch up with the bird boy.

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

The storm that hit the house that night was bigger than anticipated. It didn’t knock the power out, but it was taking every opportunity to rattle the windows threateningly, to pelt the car with debris and what they were pretty sure sounded like hail, and to put pressure on every single tree in the forest. Breaking branches rang out like gunshots in the blackness, startling everyone who heard them.

Though they didn’t need them, John and Dave lit candles anyway, while John got a few light orbs going in different colors to drift lazily around the room, set to dissipate within several hours like gently floating nightlights. Dave was blissful with the scent of the ocean and the soft shadows the candles cast against the wall, curled up against John’s side on his bunk as John read a book. The camera had been left on the desk for now, safe and out of the way. His book didn’t hold his attention for too long, however, not with Dave pressed so warm up against his side and memories of earlier rushing through his head.

Unable to take it any longer, John coughed and set the book aside.

“Hey, uh. Dave? About earlier. What uh. ...What were you doing?”

“Earlier?” Dave asked, looking up from where the book was set, confused. “How much earlier.”

“You know what I mean, right? The kiss?” John asked, keeping his voice down to avoid his dad hearing. The last thing he needed was a Congrats On The Liplock! Cake in the morning. “You uhm. It was different from the ones you normally do, like in the mornings.”

Dave nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Of course it was different, John, weren’t you paying attention?

“...Why?” John finally asked.

Here was where things got a bit difficult to answer. Dave opened his mouth, closed it, tried again and failed again. When the words wouldn’t come he puffed up and made an agitated cawing sound before dropping his head back to look up towards the ceiling and underside of the upper bunk to try finding the words hidden there instead.

“...Was it okay?” was what he finally asked.

“I’m. Well. ...Yeah. It was okay,” John finally said. It had been more than okay, actually. It had been kind of fantastic in the moment, but how could he explain that?

“Can I do it again?” Dave asked, cocking his head.

“Do. ...Do you want to?” John asked.

Dave smiled at him and nodded, already moving to straddle John once more, before John put his hands on his shoulders, face flaming. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Just. Give me a second,” he said, fluster growing more intense when Dave didn’t seem phased. Though held back, he spread his wings and flattened them out as he had before, crooning that soft, croaking song once again as he bobbed his head a few times, eyes looking slightly glazed.

...Wait.

“...Are. Are you flirting with me when you do that?”

Dave paused his crooning, face reddening, and looked askew.

“Is this a bird flirting thing? Earlier too?”

Slowly, Dave leaned back and covered his face with his hands as he started to make the crooning noise again.

“It is, isn’t it! It’s. Wait, no, birds don’t flirt. Oh my God is that a bird sex thing?” John asked, smirking. Shit, Dave looked pretty cute like this, burning red in the face in the candlelight and trying to continue making his sounds as if he wasn’t able to stop himself from doing it.

It suddenly all made so much sense. The extra food, the preference for him going first in things, the shiny odds and ends, the staring, the extra touches. All of it made sense. ...Mostly.

“How long?” John asked quietly.

Slowly, Dave uncovered his face and wet his lips, the crooning noises stopping prematurely.

“...Always,” Dave said. “You’re always my most important. Most special. Mine,” he said haltingly.

Dave had been a fully grown crow before becoming a humanoid and growing again, adjusting to his new life. He had new habits to learn, new things to adjust to. John had never set him loose before, there had never been a chance for his familiar to breed if there’d even been an interest. Yet seeing him now, hearing him crooning, watching the displays and making sense of how hard he’d been trying it seemed obvious that Dave had chosen his partner already.

It was just up to John to accept or not.

Easy choice, after so long of being together and closer than close.

John reached his hands up and rested them on Dave’s hips again, waiting till he set his hands on his chest to balance before reaching up to kiss him once, twice, three gentle times, following the morning pattern. Dave pressed forward for the fourth time and held it, eyes closed and head tilted to deepen the gesture. John kneaded at Dave’s hips, keeping him close before humming into the kiss.

Dave’s lips still tasted like cinnamon from the pie and drink earlier, sweet and welcoming. He was a warm, comforting weight on his lap, and when he eventually stiffened and tried to pull away again, John tensed his arms to keep him scooped close. No escape. Dave hesitated… then dipped his hips forward instead of trying to go back, grinding downwards.

The candlelight grew brighter and flickered wildly, while the orbs above whirled around quicker and bounced into each other aimlessly like drunken marbles. Earlier, they’d stopped short of this but now there was no reason not to see where the rabbit hole led. John felt himself stirring down below, but decided well enough was well enough and ignored it. He was satisfied that Dave didn’t pull away when he released his hips, hands drifting up to instead touch softly at his wings, tracing feathers as they spread out. The bird shivered when he felt fingers tracing between his shoulder blades, the sensitive skin around where the wings protruded, then up towards his neck.

They wouldn’t go further than this, deepening kisses and warm touches, the shy press of body on body as stiffness appeared. John knew he’d need to have a conversation with Dave about it after all, probably explain a few other things… including some ground rules for the displays in front of his father, if all of those behaviors were flirting. There had to be limitations on things if everyone was going to keep living happily together, after all.

John felt Dave’s tongue and shyly opened his mouth to the invasion, allowing him even closer. Time swept away and all they focused on was warmth and touching of shoulders, hips, faces, chests. The taste of lip and skin, the sound of heartbeats syncing up as if hearing a song their hearts had long forgotten and falling into line. Safety.

Comfort.

The storm raged outside, but all that Dave and John were focused on was each other, only separating when they had to come up for air, smiling shyly and laughing before falling together again to kiss gentle and sweet. There was hunger there, just under the surface, but tonight? Tonight there was no place for hunger, just the wonder of being alive and together in the same space.

#homestuck #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #my fic #birdboy makeouts

5 notes · View notes

sugar-kisser · 6 years

Text

Hot Coffee « Choi San

You open the black door, the metal icing the palm of your left hand. A tiny bell chimes as the door closes behind you causing the pool of black and red hair to look up from his book. You approach the counter and the gorgeous barista flashes his pearly white smile, his dimples showing off as they usually do as well.

“Y/N! You’re here earlier than usual,” he smiles, leaning down on the counter, now having to look up at you.

“My last class got canceled today,” you lie. In fact, you just ditched your last class to avoid a group of girls who have been harassing you for the past six weeks now. Today you just needed a break from it, so you decided to ditch.

“Would you like your usual?” he asks pulling on a large black cup. You nod your head in a fast little motion, a small chuckle leaving San’s lips as he starts making your coffee. You watch him mix the coffee, creamer, and liquid sugar together before handing it over to you. You reach for wallet but he quickly stops you.

“Y/N, you know you don’t have to pay for your drinks,” he waves his hands slightly back and forth.

“San, you need to stop giving me my drinks for free,” you laugh, slightly groaning. You watch the black and red haired boy scrunched his nose up, smiles, and shakes his head.

“You’re my favorite customer so you don’t need to pay for anything,” San smiles leaning on the counter again flashing his smiles once more. A small almost unnoticeable blush rises to your cheeks and you break into a small soft smile. You slightly shake your head turning around to head to your table by the window, San watching you as you go. You would be lying if you say you didn’t at least have the tiniest crush on San. Actually who are you kidding your crush on San is probably bigger than the moon, you just hope that you aren’t too obvious about it.

You pull out your tablet and stylus and start you working on the new logo designs that are due by the end of the night. You turn up the brightness on your tablet as the sun begins to set and San makes sure to bring you another cup of coffee and look over your designs.

“That one is my favorite,” San points to a small floral design on the screen that you have yet to finish.

“Because it’s a logo for your shop?” You ask looking at him from the side of your eye, then back to the design.

“Not just that but it just looks really pretty. All the little details in the flower and the colors you pick are probably going to make it even better,” San explains. You look at him as he explains his reasonings and points all around the design, pointing out the little details and his favorite part on the design itself. But you’re lost in the fact that he cares so deeply about the deign you were just making for an assignment.

“Y/N, yah?” San waves his hands in your face causing you to blink a couple time and turning you head back towards you tablet, a harsh blush rising to your cheeks, “you’re so cute. I’ll be back in a little bit I’ve got a few customers.” You nod your head but avoid looking at the man. You continue about your design, absentmindedly, your mind more focused on how San just caught you staring at him. You take a deep sigh and pick out your first color to for the design, a soft ballet pink.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have her girls,” a venomous all-too-familiar voice breaks your train of thought. Your eyes slightly widen and you look up at the group of four girls.

“Can I help you?” You ask, voice soft and avoidable of any emotion to start quarrel.

“No,” the front girl, the leader of her so called group, states. She looks around the little shop, her eyes stopping on San who cleans the counter and appliances, not paying attention to what could possibly go down. You don’t want him to know what is happening because you know he would lose it and show up and deal with it himself. You eyes follow the leaders and stop on San. She looks back over at me and I look at San for a moment too long, breaking any cover I try to hide.

“A cute little coffee shop you come to. Barista is really cute too… San was it?” She sadistically smirks.

“Stay away from him,” you warn.

“What’s with the attitude?” Her eyebrows fur together and her grip tightens on the coffee in her hands, “hasn’t anyone taught you to stay in your place and to keep that little trap shut?” Her voice in a low growl. You swallow the saliva building up in your throat, and your heart rate picks up a little.

“Apologize,” the leader demands. You look at her dead in the eyes, then over at San for a brief half second, then back to her.

“No,” You tell her.

“No?” She repeats. You bite down on your teeth and hold your eye contact with her. A burning hot feeling slaps against your skin and a high pitch scream escapes your lungs. From across the coffee shop San’s head snaps up and watches as four girls walking away from your table. San scrambles over the counter tops and rushes over to you hitting more than one chair getting to you.

“Y/N!” He calls. Steam rises from your no longer white, but light brown, shirt. He helps you up and takes you to the back office and scrambles around for the first aid after helping you sit onto of the desk. Tears stream down your face and your breathing uneven.

“It hurts,” you whisper.

“I know, I know,” San answers as he pulls out the first aid kit and sets it on the table. He looks back up at you and two of his fingers gently wipe away the tears staining your cheeks. He looks down at your neck, the skin slowly but surely shriveling up.

“You’re going to have to take your shirt off for me to see the rest of the burns,” San whispers. You look at his for a moment before nodding your head, not wanting to argue with him and to get the hot shirt off your body. As you pull at the end of your shirt, pulling it one your head San goes over to his bag and pulls out a shirt and hands it to you, all without looking.

“Just so you can cover up, don’t put it on until I get the burns cleaned,” San tells you. You take his shirt and wrap the fabric around your chest, without covering the burns, and whisper you’re good. San turns around and fishes out wipes from the first aid and you make a hissing noise when the cold disinfectant touches your irritated skin.

“I know it’s going to hurt. Squeeze my hand when it really hurts,” San holds out his left hand. You take it and San wraps his fingers around yours before starting to clean the burns again. You slightly squeeze his hand, and when he reaches your collar bone you squeeze his hand tightly and he pulls the wipe away, letting you have a moment. San starts back up again, lightly touching your collar bone. He tosses out the wipe and pulls out a bottle tube of a creamy like medicine and the cool touch on your skin feels relaxing and didn’t hurt. You watched as San focuses on getting you taken care of, you almost forget you’re still holding his hand.

“All done,” San lightly smiles putting back everything into the first aid, “you can put that shirt on.” San turns around to place the first aid kit away and you slowly put the shirt on, avoiding rubbing your burns. San’s unmistakeable smell fills your nose and you look down at the lilac sweater with the word “booze” written across in bubble letters. The shirt is already big on San, so it easily swallow your body in it, and your fingertips barely stick out of the sleeves. You push yourself off the desk to stand, your shoes hitting the floor telling San you’re dressed and he turns back around.

“Had I known you looked this cute in my clothes I would of let you wear them sooner,” he teases before he lightly hugs you, his face burying into the crook of you neck. His hair tickles the back of you neck and cheek. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him despite him already having to slightly bend down to hug you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you where having trouble with people?” he asks, his voice in a quiet whisper yet full of concern.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about me so much San,” you answer.

“I will always worry about you,” San declares as he pulls away from you to look at you, “always.” You heart flutters in the thought of it and a blush creeps back to your flushed cheeks. San brushes away the hair that falls in your face and pushes it to the side, a small smile crawling on his lips. You watch him lightly lean in, the palm of hi hand cupping your cheek. You close your eyes and and feel his soft lips touches yours for a brief moment before he pulls away.

“How long have you felt this way?” You ask him.

“After the fourth time you came to the shop. When you drew that small little sketch of me making coffee,” San smiles, his dimples presenting themselves. Your cheeks flush a pink and San giggles at your expression as you remember that day just over a few months ago. San hugs you once more and rests his head onto of yours, his giggles quietly stopping.

“Collect your things and I’ll walk you home. I can close up early today,” San suggests.

“You don’t need to,” you reject.

“I don’t want those girls going after you again. I’ll make sure to take care of it,” San claims, “come on.” San takes your hand and walks back out into the empty coffee shop. He begins locking doors and finishes cleaning up supplies. You grab your tablet and stylus, placing them back in your bag and tossing out your coffee cup. San takes off his apron and puts on his large coat. He pulls his scarf out from his bag and wraps its lightly around you to protect the burns from getting infected. San also grabs your bag, insisting he must carry it because you don’t need any pressure on your shoulders. The two of you leave out into the chilly early evening, venturing back to your apartment where you fall asleep on the couch, your head resting on San’s lap as he writes up and email to your school letting them know the events that happened that day.

#ateez #ateez san #ateez choi san #choi san #san #atiny #ateez x reader #ateez au #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #kpop imagines #coffee shop #hot coffee

605 notes · View notes

dfroza · 1 year

Text

To reveal the significance of our words:

(the heart is the conception place of speech)

“For the mouth simply shapes the heart’s impulses into words. And so the good man (who is filled with goodness) speaks good words, while the evil man (who is filled with evil) speaks evil words. I tell you this: on the day of judgment, people will be called to account for every careless word they have ever said. The righteous will be acquitted by their own words, and you evildoers will be condemned by your own words.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 12th chapter of the book of Matthew:

The Sabbath came, and Jesus walked through a field. His disciples, who were hungry, began to pick some of the grain and eat it.

When the Pharisees saw this, they reacted.

Pharisees: Look! Your disciples are breaking the law of the Sabbath!

Jesus left the field and went to the synagogue, and there He met a man with a shriveled hand. The Pharisees wanted to set up Jesus.

Pharisees: Well, is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath too?

Jesus: Look, imagine that one of you has a sheep that falls into a ditch on the Sabbath—what would you do?

As the man did so, his hand was completely healed, as good as new.

The Pharisees went and mapped out plans to destroy Jesus.

This is My servant, whom I have well chosen;

this is the One I love, the One in whom I delight.

I will place My Spirit upon Him;

He will proclaim justice to all the world.

He will not fight or shout

or talk loudly in the streets.

He will not crush a reed under His heel

or blow out a smoldering candle

until He has led justice and righteousness to final victory.

All the world will find its hope in His name.

Some of the faithful brought Jesus a man who was possessed by a demon, who was blind and mute, and Jesus healed him. The man could see and talk, and demons no longer crawled around in him.

People (astonished): Could this be the Son of David?

Pharisees: It is only through Beelzebul, the prince of demons, that this Jesus can cast out demons.

Jesus knew what the Pharisees were thinking.

Scribes and Pharisees: Teacher, we want to see some miraculous sign from You.

While Jesus was speaking to the crowd, His mother and brothers came up and wanted to speak to Him.

Someone in the Crowd: Your mother and brothers are waiting outside to speak to You.

Jesus: Who is My mother? And who are My brothers? (pointing to His disciples) These are My mother and brothers. Anyone who does the will of My Father in heaven is My mother and brother and sister.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 12 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 8th chapter of the book of Job that compares the destined end of the righteous and the wicked:

Then the second of Job’s three friends, Bildad the Shuhite, addressed Job.

Bildad: How long will you say these things,

your words whipping through air like a powerful wind?

Does God corrupt justice,

or does the Highest One corrupt the good?

If your children sinned against Him,

He merely administered the punishment due them for those sins.

But if you search for God

and make your appeal to the Highest One,

If you are pure and righteous,

I have no doubt He will arise for you and restore you to your righteous place.

From your modest beginnings,

the future will be bright before you.

Ask those who have come and gone!

Explore what their fathers learned and taught them.

For we are not of ages past, nor even of years gone by.

We are ignorant creatures of yesterday,

and our time on earth is only a shadow.

But the ancients are not similarly bound, are they?

Won’t they speak to and instruct you?

Won’t they draw up words from deep within?

Can papyrus grow tall without a marsh?

Can reeds flourish without water?

Even if they are hardy and unbroken,

without water they will dry up before any other plant.

So it goes with any who forget God.

The hope of the godless soon withers and dies.

His confidence breaks,

for he trusts in the tenuous threads of a spider’s web.

When he leans into his house of silken threads for support,

it won’t hold;

Though his arms grab to steady him,

it will break—he will fall and never get back up.

Still the godless appears to be a hardy plant,

thriving in full sun, sending his shoots across the garden.

The roots twine and grip the stone heap

and search for a home among the rocks.

If he is pulled up, the place will disown him saying,

“I have never seen you.”

See, his sole joy consists of this:

knowing that others will spring from the earth to take his place.

Do you see it? God will not reject the innocent;

He will not reject you or support agents of evil.

He will fill your mouth with laughter;

your lips will spill over into cries of delight.

Those who hate you will don the garment of shame,

and the home of the wicked will disappear.

The Book of Job, Chapter 8 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, may 3 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about being “still” and knowing:

During the prophesied “end of days” (אַחֲרִית הַיָּמִים) many people will have an outer "form" (μόρφωσιν) of godliness but will deny its inner power, since their hearts will be turned away from the truth: "And because lawlessness (i.e., ἀνομία, lit. a=without; nomos=Torah) will be increased, the love of many will grow cold" (Matt. 24:12). In this connection we note that the Hebrew word for "falsehood" (or "lie") is sheker (שֶׁקֶר), which can also be read as shekar (שֶׁקַר), meaning "that which" (-שׁ) makes you cold (קַר). The truth of God can't be known apart from His passion, inner fire, desire. Indeed, the Hebrew word for "sin" (חֵטְא) means "missing the mark," though that essentially means missing the revelation of God's glory because lesser fears consume the heart and cool the passion for the truth... Let us ask the LORD to better know His heart by kindling his fire within our hearts!

"Be still and know that I am..." Prayer is a type of listening (shema), a turning back to heed the message of God’s love and hope in Messiah. Indeed, the word “teshuvah” (תְּשׁוּבָה), often translated as “repentance,” also means an answer or response to a question. God’s love is the question, and the heart’s response is the answer. Some of us may find it difficult to trust, to open our heart to receive grace and kindness. For those of us wounded by abandonment, it can be a great struggle to hear the voice of God calling you “beloved,” “worthy,” "valued," and “accepted.” When you find faith to receive God’s word of love, however, your heart comes alive and you begin to heal...

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Psalm 46:10 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm46-10-jjp.mp3

Hebrew reading page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm46-10-lesson.pdf

5.2.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

May 3, 2023

Action Verbs

“Let them praise the name of the LORD: for he commanded, and they were created.” (Psalm 148:5)

The concept of “fiat creation” is opposed by evolutionists and all who believe in the so-called geologic ages. Nevertheless, this is clearly the teaching of the Word of God, and God was there! Psalm 148 exhorts all the stars to praise the Lord, and then notes that, as soon as God spoke, they “were created.” Similarly, “by the word of the LORD were the heavens made; and all the host of them by the breath of his mouth.... For he spake, and it was done; he commanded, and it stood fast” (Psalm 33:6, 9).

It is worth noting that whenever the verbs “create” and “make” are used in reference to God’s work of creation, they are never in the present tense. God is not now creating or making stars or animals or people as theistic evolution requires; at the end of the six-day creation period, in fact, God “rested from all his work which God created and made” (Genesis 2:3).

This is the teaching of the New Testament also. “The worlds [that is, the space/time cosmos, the ‘aeons’] were framed [not ‘are being framed’] by the word of God [not ‘by processes of stellar evolution’], so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear [not ‘out of pre-existing materials,’ as required by theories of chemical and cosmic evolution]” (Hebrews 11:3).

The Lord Jesus Christ Himself confirmed the doctrine of recent creation. “From the beginning of the creation [not, that is, four billion years after the solar system evolved] God made them [Adam and Eve] male and female” (Mark 10:6). Thus, those who believe in the geologic ages are rejecting both the biblical record and the authority of Jesus Christ in order to attain ephemeral acceptance by the ungodly. This is a poor exchange! HMM

0 notes

iratescientist · 5 years

Text

This week, in Rifts!

Lan learns of a military base about 10km north that may sell surplus equipment, as reportedly, the NGR had a bit of a “technology boost” recently

Rick thinks that sounds very familiar to him...

In an attempt to buy holy water from the town's White Witch, Kyra runs into an old nemesis and tries to bully the old lady in lowering the price. The price only climbs higher

Tora offers the team some much needed answers

The team finally ventures into the extremely creepy Mainz Abbey!

With the aid of Tora, the witch/psychic, they bust into the church where they find it cold, musty and definitely hella haunted

As though stricken with a contagious disease, they keep asking her about what she sees and/or referencing her blindness accidentally

Mywa, who's terrified of the whole situation, seeks comfort in his rune sword who only replies: “I'd leave if I could.”. Mywa does not feel better

A definitely not creepy Sword of Rot is plunged through the heart of a statue of Jesus, bleeding fresh blood – Tora says clean hands can't remove it and advises them to ignore it

Tora makes friends with a small votive spirit, as the rest of the team tries to figure out just how cursed the rest of the candles are

Rick, remembering a terrifying mouth opening up in the middle of the floor in his nightmare, keeps jumping up and down on the floor, trying to get it to cave

Upstairs, Kyra finds two interesting books: Yeshua the Bloody and The Great Burn (the latter turned over to Mywa)

Rick tries to summon ghosts with a chalkboard, gets impatient and then cusses them all out

Rick realizes they might speak German, takes it back, tries to summon ghosts in German, gets impatient, and cusses them all out - in German

The team spends a little while admiring the timeless aesthetics and engineering of the big organ, before stealing a gun from a once-suicidal skeleton

A tiny flame leads the way

In the basement, they take turns throwing things into the boiling holy water (???) as Tora eagerly forges ahead

Largely undeterred by the torture chamber, La Cobra finds a few knives and an odd shard of purple crystal with other-worldly implications

Lan finds a shrine behind the wall, built as a last ditch effort to hold the evil at bay and gains a cheesy looking angel figurine

The final room contains a chasm filled with mutated, demonic corpses

Tora stops Kyra from randomly smashing the eerie statue that sits at the altar

SUDDENLY BEES! Haha just kidding. It's a lich prince and several deformed demon corpses

No one really has to go to the bathroom anymore

The lich screams “Amon!” at Tora and she lets out a laugh that creeps out about 60% of the party

Tora's cane turns into a scythe and she finally blows off a little steam from all the blind jokes

Mywa gets into a fight with his rune sword

Lan misses the lich and destroys the eerie statue.....it's probably fine

After kicking a knife into the head one one of the crawling demon corpses, La Cobra is almost impressed that it's still trying to kill him

As most of the party seems to have trouble hitting the broad side of a barn, Tora casts necromantic spells and La Cobra continues his love/hate relationship with his favourite demon

Kyra manages to crack the side of the lich's skull with a hammer as La Cobra brings his baseball bat down on it's crown

Rick, with his new Revolver of Kill, shatteres the eye socket of the lich

In a tale of poetic justice, everyone goes blind except for Lan and his fancy, futuristic vision

La Cobra grounds the lich and manages to grapple it with a kickass wrestling move

Mywa is given a rare pep talk by the sword, and is able to shatter the lower ribcage of the lich

Kyra furiously stabs in the dark – unfortunately missing the lich, fortunately also missing La Cobra's face

Tora banishes the darkness in time to rip the dried and shrivelled heart of the lich out of it's body and crush it in her bare hand

The broken statue, now unrecognizable, is tossed into the pit as the party leaves

As they reach the ground floor again, Mywa and Kyra feel a pulse of nasty energy from the basement, but shrug it off as Tora finally joins them

With what might be “unclean” hands, Tora pulls the now un-cursed Sword of Rot from the statue of Jesus and hands it to Lan with a sly smile

Kyra and La Cobra nearly suffocate her with a surprise group hug, probably turning her effort to leave town from “soon” to “immediately”

Returning to the Inn, the party reconvenes with a dirty, bloody Dahman

He brings them a tale, as usual, of dashing heroics, slow motion explosions and gratuitous violence

Seeing the slave collars Dahman brought back, Mywa realizes that Doge might be a runaway Atlantian slave

Dahman, in a rare moment of truth, tells the party how Dawn saved him and “Proph” from slavery and asks the party for a big ass favour

Next stop? The Great Berlin Prison Break

#rifts #this is a bit belated

3 notes · View notes

theoddcatlady · 6 years

Text

I Lived in the Haven Commune, Part Four

Part Three

The incident happened a few weeks after Beverly’s and Jonas’ marriage. Of course my mother never intended on it happening, but it was her fault.

It was a school outing. We were all out checking out the fields of grown corn while Mr. Whitney explained how we grew all our own crops. It’d just rained the night before so Abigail was jumping from puddle to puddle, trying to splash me and Scotty. She got me at least twice, but I splashed her three times so I won.

It was a little muggy out but nothing too bad and we were all having a great time. We were all getting covered in mud, even Mr. Whitney was playing around with us.

Then I saw a man lying in the ditch next to the field.

At first I thought it was a mannequin, I’d never seen a human look so pale before. I walked away from the group and up to the edge. Only when I got close did I realize that it was a person… and that he was alive. His chest was slowly rising and falling.

I screamed and immediately slid down into the ditch to make sure he was okay. “Hello? Hello, sir?! Help! Mr. Whitney!”

The man gasped and his hand shot up, grabbing my wrist. He managed to lever himself into the sitting position, his bloodshot eyes staring right into mine. “Do you taste the blood?” He slurred.

I screamed again, trying to scramble away as this man slowly leaned in, bloody spittle dripping from his chapped lips.

“What the fu- JANE!”

Mr. Whitney grabbed me by the middle and yanked me out of the ditch, out of the pale man’s grasp. The pale man giggled and flopped back down, eyes staring at the gray sky.

“Everyone, back to the building, right now. Have Mrs. Powell, wait a tic,” Mr. Whitney slid down into the ditch and kicked the man under the chin, knocking him senseless as Mr. Whitney yanked up his pant legs.

I think they were leeches. Leeches from hell, anyway. These pale grubs, with red veins popping out of their swollen bodies were latched all up and down this poor guy’s leg. His leg was shriveled to the point of being not much more than skin and bone. He probably couldn’t even stand.

Mr. Whitney sighed. “… Have Mrs. Powell check you over and fetch Dr. Gardner. Jane, stay with me, I’ll check you myself,” He said.

Everyone ran off as Mr. Whitney crawled out of the ditch, pulling up his own pant leg to check himself over. “Jane, you have to be completely honest with me. Did this man attempt to kiss or bite you?” He said.

I gagged. “No!”

“Pull up your skirt past your knees, check yourself for leeches. Right now, Jane.”

Mr. Whitney was dead serious. I nodded and sat down on the ground, pulling up my skirt. My finger brushed something behind my knee and I felt my heart stop. I flipped my leg around and there it was. It wasn’t bigger than my pinky finger, but it was a leech, just like the ones all over that man.

“Shit.” Mr. Whitney picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, bolting out of the fields.

He took me into the main building and past the curtains to the infirmary. He practically dropped me on the table before digging through the first aid kit.

He pulled out a small little package, I didn’t realize what it was at first until he dumped it onto the leech.

Salt.

The leech detached and flopped onto the cot. Mr. Whitney slammed his elbow onto it, squashing it into a splotch of bright red and black goo. He sighed as he poured the rest of the salt onto the leech corpse.

“It’s gonna be all right, Jane, it’s going to be all right. This is going to hurt a lot, but you’re going to be all right.”

Mr. Whitney pulled an orange lighter out from his pocket and flicked it on. Without so much as a warning he pressed that flame right against the leech bite. I howled and my fingers dug into the cot as Mr. Whitney continued to burn the wound.

“What are you doing to my baby?!”

My mom burst past the curtains and was about to tackle Mr. Whitney when my dad pulled her back. My mom clawed at the air, fire in her eyes and about frothing at the mouth in her rage. Father Holmes and Dr. Gardner came in next.

“Are you cleansing the bite?” Dr. Gardner said, heading for the medicine cabinet and digging through it.

“Trying. Someone hold her hand, please, she’s going to bolt,” Mr. Whitney said through gritted teeth.

I don’t know how he knew I was going to run before I did, but Father Holmes took my hand in his and let me squeeze as tight as I could. I was crying, tears flooding down my cheeks as I garbled pure nonsense about how badly this hurt.

Dr. Gardner bumped Mr. Whitney to the side and she uncapped a jar of pale green cream. “Pull back the flame,” She ordered before spreading the cream over the bite.

If I’d thought the fire hurt, it had nothing compared to the cream. Although it was cool to the touch, every nerve lit up on my leg like needles were stabbing into my skin. I sobbed and squeezed Father Holmes’ hand.

“What is going on?!” My mom demanded, my dad still having to hold her back.

Dr. Gardner spread more cream onto the wound. “Your daughter was bitten by a Beleven leech. This doesn’t make sense, Father, they don’t come this close to our homes, not ever,” She said.

“Something drew them here then, maybe the rain?” Father Holmes wiped my forehead off with a cloth and I remembered when he did this for Mrs. Powell. “Usually it’s a larger storm that helps them travel so far, but it could’ve been a fluke.”

Mr. Whitney shook his head. “No. There were no less than seven leeches on Augustus, and now there’s one on Jane. This isn’t a fluke. Something else drew them,” He said.

My mom shook her head. “What… what is a Beleven leech? Why are you hurting my daughter?!” I saw she was crying.

Father Holmes wiped my tears away. “It’s better she hurts now then be dead later,” He said quietly. I passed out after that. The pain was just too much.

When I woke up, I was in my own bed. Nutmeg tucked under my arm and I was redressed into my pajamas. My mom was sitting on her bed, flipping through her Bible. My leg still felt like something was pressing spikes into it and I quietly cried out.

“Shhh, shhh…” My mom ran up to me and brought a bottle of water, pressing it to my lips. “The doctor dosed this with something. It’ll help with the pain.”

The water had a bitter aftertaste but I drunk as much as I could. I could barely even lift my head up. “… Where’s dad?” I asked.

My mom glanced at the door. “They’re having a meeting right now, about the leeches. Don’t worry about it, my sweet girl, they’re going to make sure no one else is hurt,” She said.

I stared out the window out the front of my bed, where something squatted outside. It stared at me a moment longer before it turned around and hopped away like a frog.

I didn’t say anything.

I drifted off a few times, always waking up with my mom sitting next to me. I heard her humming lullabies a few times the few times I was awake.

I woke with a start when the door banged open. My dad walked in with Father Holmes, Frank, and Dr. Gardner. All of them were somber.

“Where is the Bible, Deborah?” Father Holmes asked quietly.

My mom pressed her lips together in a firm line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” She responded.

Dr. Gardner glanced at my dad, who sighed and pointed to my mom’s pillow. “She keeps it there,” He said.

My mom sputtered. “Wha- Carson! How could you!? You promised \-”

Frank walked over to the bed and flipped over the pillow, pulling up the book. “Here it is,” He said.

Father Holmes stared at my mother, he looked so sad. “… We do not have many rules, Deborah. Why?” He asked.

My mom crossed her arms. “That Bible belonged to my mother, it’s my Reminder. I’m allowed to have a Reminder, you said I could!” She said.

Frank squeezed the Bible in his hand, shaking with rage. “Reminders do not include anything involving religion, including jewelry, symbols, or books. Do you know what you’ve done?!” He swept an arm out. “You got a man killed today! A good man, who had a wife and two daughters! You could’ve gotten your daughter killed! If Augustus bit her, she would’ve gotten sick a lot faster and there’s no guarantee treatment would’ve worked. And before she died, she would have suffered because you thought you were above the rules!” He shouted, his face turning bright red.

Frank pulled out a lighter then and my mom’s face went white. “Wait- no! Don’t, please!” She begged.

He flicked it on and turned to Father Holmes. The man sighed before turning to my mother. “Deborah, you have a choice right now. Either you let Frank burn it or you pack up your things right now and leave. What is your choice?”

My mom looked at the Bible before looking at me and my dad. She looked back at the Bible before she walked forward and snatched the Bible from Frank’s hand. Already the pages had been singed. “… We’re leaving,” She said before turning to my dad. “Carson, carry Jane to the car.”

“No. Jane is staying right here.” My father got between me and my mother. “She’s not the one who couldn’t follow a simple rule, Deborah. We’re staying here.”

My mom gasped and for a moment I thought she might have changed her mind. But she just shook her head and said, “Damn you, Carson. Damn you!”

She threw what little things she had left into her suitcase and was marched out by Dr. Gardner and Frank. I just watched the whole thing with numbness. I didn’t let it sink in until the next morning when I realized my mom just left us.

I’ve never forgiven her for that.

Part Five

#horror stories #scary stories #nosleep #creepypasta #creative writing #my stories

66 notes · View notes

archangelgabriellives · 7 years

Text

Lurking behind the trees

I finally finished my fic for the Gabriel monthly challange for January. Cutting it a little close, yeah?

Word count-4800 (yeesh)

warnings ~ snarky language, mild fight scene

A/N ~ As I was reading through and proofreading this, I got the feeling it was a little Sam heavy.Gabriel is still what I would consider a main character, though. I really wanted to get that BAMF Sam in this fic, but maybe it detracts a little bit? Eh, I’m not sure. I’m going to post it as it is and still tag it for the GMC, but, Admins, feel free to make a judgement call.

Let me know if you like it! Or if I was way off base.

***

It feels like they had been here forever.

Dean reminds Sam of this many times. And every time Dean brings it up again, Sam has to remind him that it had only been a day. But after each rise and fall of the distressingly unfamiliar sun in the sky, Sam is starting to feel the same way as Dean.

But they were surviving in this weird jungle universe. Priority number one, obviously, was to find a way to get back to their own world. They walked as far as their legs would take them, searching for anything out of the ordinary, something that may be a doorway, something that would connect them with Jack, as he may be the only one who could retrieve them from this place.

After four days, Sams' hope was wearing thin.

Surviving was easy. The Winchesters were hunters. Finding food, water, shelter, that was no problem. Although, eating anything that first day was a litany of "You eat it." "No, you eat it first." After Dean lost the rock paper scissors game, the brothers learned not to eat the berries on the strange pine/willow tree. Not unless they wanted to spend half the day expelling all the bodily fluids from their person.

After a week, Sam wasn't sure they could ever find their way out.

Danger here was a constant. They were never seen, but at night, Sam would be woken up with the jungle whispering in a foreign tongue, sticks and debris shuffling around without care. Whatever was out there didn't care if they were known. Sam would sit up from his makeshift bed by the dim fire, Dean already awake and ready for a fight.

“What the hell is out there?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean responded while throwing more wood into the fire pit. "Whatever they are, they never come too close. I think the fire scares them."

After a quick scan of the forest surrounding them, Sam looks over to his older brother, notices the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you even sleeping, Dean?" Was it just the shadows of the fire on Deans lean face?

Dean smiled at Sam, the kind of smile he uses when he wants to change the subject. "I'm fine, Sammy." He goes back to sharpening some sticks with a jagged rock.

That, of course, means Just drop it.

The things in the forest never came closer, just out of range of the fire light. Sam's grateful, but he wished they would just show themselves so he knew what was lurking in the dark.

Dean was going stir crazy, Sam could tell.

"I need some flesh to eat, Sam, or I might shrivel up and die! No more fruit!" Dean was pacing along a giant fallen tree that was their makeshift shelter.

"Dude, you could phrase that better. You sound like a cannibal or something" Sam said as he poked at the fire with a stick.

"Whatever, bitch. I'm gonna take my pointy stick and bring back a steak."

"Just be careful, jerk,” Sam said with a smile. “I'll start peeling potatoes."

Dean groaned at his brothers teasing him with delicious food. His mouth was watering at remembering anything cooked in lots of fat and grease, as he called back "I hate you right now. I'll be back later."

It was a little late in the day to go out, alone, in an unknown landscape, but Sam thinks Dean knows what he's doing. So he doesn't voice the small concern and continues to prod the fire.

As the sun started to set and Dean still hadn't returned, Sam is considerably more worried. He thinks he should go out in search of his brother, but it's dark now, and running off into the woods is a seriously bad idea. All he can do is keep the fire lit as a beacon and not panic too much.

Easier said than done.

Sam startles awake the next morning.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he needed to keep his eyes and ears open for signs of Dean.

"Dean?" he called.

No answer.

"Dean!" Sam scrambled to his feet, the dread bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

"DEAN!" Any common sense Sam had flew right out of his body when he realized Dean still wasn't back. He ran off the way his brother left the night before, leaving behind his knife on the ground next to his makeshift bed. Sam weaved through the dense trees, vaulted over fallen branches calling his brothers name.

"Dean! Where are you?!"

He should have known better that to call attention to himself. Even back home he understood the necessity of stealth. A hunter needs to be able to sneak up on his prey, not call the monster to you. But when the only family you have left, and the only person stuck with you in a jungle wasteland, goes missing, the brain acts in mysterious ways. So when he circled around a massive tree trunk and had to skid to a stop he knew that he had made a huge mistake.

Three hooded figures, each brandishing some type of long wooden club, were blocking Sams path. And, although he couldn't see their faces, Sam knew he was in for a fight. They were shouting in a language Sam couldn’t begin to identify, but furious and enraged sounded the same on any tongue.

Sam got the message.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re going to attack one at a time is there?” Sam asked snidely, balling his fists and digging his feet into the ground.

No sooner than the words left his mouth, all three figures charged forward, brandishing their staffs viciously. Sam backpedaled a little, surprised at the sudden ambush. The quickest of the three, unfortunately the largest, drew his weapon back and with a deafening screech, swung at Sam with all its strength.

There was barely enough time for Sam to block the impact with a raised forearm, cursing through gritted teeth at the sharp pain. The hunter pulled his right fist back, and threw his entire weight and power into connecting with the face buried under the dirty fabric, his own cry echoing through the trees. He could feel bones cracking under his knuckles, and as he sent the monster tumbling into the leafy debris, Sam knew he wasn’t getting back up.

Chest huffing, Sam turned to the other two figures, head tilted and eyeing them angrily through his bangs. Their speed had decreased significantly, clearly not expecting for this seemingly easy fight to take this turn. Sam lurched forward, ready to take them both on, adrenaline pumping fast in his veins. He smoothly bent down and scooped up the discarded staff from his first victim, he needed it if he wanted to stand a chance against the last two. The few seconds of distraction allowed one of the beasts a swing of his own staff that connected with Sams side, knocking him to his knees. He saw the foot racing at him out of the corner of his eye, a swift kick to the face that knocked Sam on his back, blood starting to flow down his face. His vision cleared just in time to see two twin clubs raised over heads, ready to deal the death blow, and there was barely enough time to raise his own before they came down.

After blocking the double blow,the hunter brought his legs up, curled his knees to his chest, and kicked out at the closest attacker. Feet connected with the torso, sending it flailing to the ground. Sam assumed he must've winded it, because it didn't get up right away. Just kind if thrashed a little while it clutched at its chest.

Sam didn't see the fist coming down, smashing into his jaw. He cried out sharply as the pain rippled through his face, and he instinctively rolled away from the source of the attack. The last hooded figure was roaring what Sam could only assume was obscenities at him as he spit an unnerving amount of blood onto the ground. He tongued along his gums and groaned when he comes across a painful empty space in his teeth.

While the thing was still howling at him, Sam quickly rolled back over to his back, hoped his plan would work, and brought the heel of his boot straight into where Sam assumed it would do the most damage, right between the legs of his attacker.

Thankfully for Sam, it had the desired effect, because the unintelligible screaming quieted suddenly. With a painful grunt, the monster dropped to its knees, and one more well placed kick to the face had it spinning back into the ground, out cold.

Sam lay in the dirt trying to catch his breath. “I guess a kick to the dick is pretty universal,” he said to himself. As he pulled himself up and raked the leaves from his hair, he came eye to eye with one more opponent, the one he only winded.

“Great,” he grumbled. “Thought I took care of you.”

Sam leaned down to retrieve the staff he had abandoned, and wound up like it was a baseball bat.

“Let’s go, then.”

Sam must’ve had a particular glint in his eyes, or the smirk on his face was a distinct sort of evil, because that beast took one last look at Sam, ditched his weapon, and bolted in the opposite direction.

He almost let it go, he really did. But as his muscles relaxed and he tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes, Sams thoughts flitted back to Dean, and how his only lead was quickly getting away. If Dean had been captured, attacked or even…no, Sam couldn’t think that…

If these things hunted in groups, there must be a larger pack somewhere. And if they had Dean, Sam needed to move his ass to catch up to the fleeing beast.

Sam took off like a rabbit, trying to make up the lost ground between them. His long legs had no trouble closing the gap, but as he got closer to his target Sam had to slow down so he could advance with stealth. And soon he could hear other beings yelling in the unknown language he heard during his fight.

He slowed his steps to a cautious crawl, the name of the game now was recon. How many are there, do they have Dean, can he do this on his own.

Up ahead, there was a large clearing that the monsters had set up their sizable camp. Ducking into a large thicket of low trees and bushes, Sam took stock of what he was up against. Makeshift shelters made from fallen logs and leaves formed a circle at least one hundred feet wide, with a few groups of monsters sporadically lounging by a few of the throwaway huts.

And tied to a tree outside of the camp was Dean, a bit bloody but alive, surrounded by five or six guards that looked a little spooked.

Sam quietly let out a shaky sigh of relief that Dean was alive. But he kept his emotions in check. Right now, Sam needed a plan. It looked like the monster that Sam had chased back to the camp had alerted the group about the prey that had fought back, and more armed defenders scrambled to the edge of the clearing seemingly waiting for Sam to burst out of the trees.

Like he was that stupid.

Racking his brain for an idea of how he was supposed to fight what seemed like dozens of baddies and get Dean and himself out of there alive, Sam missed the first heavy foot fall off in the distance. He did notice the eerie quiet that had suddenly settled around him.

The frantic yelling from the camp fell silent. If there were any animals in the area, they had all skittered off and knowingly kept quiet.

As the second foot step echoed in the distance, Sam couldn’t keep the surprised gasp from escaping his mouth. His grip on the stolen staff tightened as he watched the small army keeping him from his brother raise their weapons and nervously shift in the clearing.

Another foot step came down, closer this time. The ground started to shake under Sams crouched legs.

“What the hell is that?!” Dean questions to no one as he doubled his efforts to escape his binds, clearly aware that something extremely bad was coming.

As the next booming foot step fell, a sharp, high pitched ringing echoed through the air. It started quiet at first, muted enough that Sam almost missed it. The unnerving footsteps were louder, closer, and the ground was rumbling so badly that Deans captors were stumbling and falling all over. A few had already run off, not willing to stay and find out who or what was coming.

The shrill noise slowly gained volume, increasing as the steps came closer. To Sam, yes, it was getting louder, but the way that the bodies in the clearing were dropping to their knees and clutching at their heads seemed like a bit much. Even Dean was trying to protect his ears by awkwardly lifting his shoulders, still tied to the tree, his face contorted into the familiar grimace of pain.

Sam was still unaffected. He watched the monsters rolling on the ground, howling in pain. He was plotting a course around the mass of crumpled bodies to retrieve Dean and run as far and fast as they could, then, all of a sudden, the writhing and the screeching stopped. In fact, as Sam looked out over the clearing, it looked like every being had gone stock-still, bodies arranged in the position of agony. The entire forest seemed petrified.

It seemed that everything but Sam had stopped.

Everything but Sam and the lumbering footsteps that boomed threateningly behind him.

Sam swallowed in fear. It sounded like something the size of a mountain was slowly stalking towards him. And only him. But he couldn’t run. Wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t leave Dean.

Through ragged breaths, Sam turned his head to see what horrors lay through the forest. Straight behind him, the trees seemed normal. But as his eyes traveled up the thick trunks, up past the high canopy, past a few birds frozen in flight, was a thing that Sam couldn't even begin to describe.

It was incredibly tall. The thing seemed to stretch on forever. Its head was high enough in the sky to touch the low clouds.

There were wings. Dozens of sets of technicolor wings, glowing blindingly ethereal light that surround the entire body. And they didn't just come out of it back. They seemed to come out of everywhere, yet they didn't look like any were attached to the body. The largest set was massive, the bulk of them pushing past the clouds, unviewable to Sam down on the ground. The rest of the wings were smaller, sporadically jutting out over the creatures body.

Spindly appendages hung loosely down the sides of the torso. They were probably thick as tree trunks but looked as delicate and fragile as glass. All along the length were offshoots of the glassy skin that spread out in all direction. As the tendrils flowed up past the shoulders, they surrounded the head, creating amazing patterns and encircling it like a crown.

The face was unnerving, to say the least. There were no distinct features that Sam could identify. The only part that looked in any way familiar was the sunken pockets where he assumed eyes should go. Everything else was more coils of sleek membrane that sloped back and up to the sky, mingling with the others from the body.

Inside its chest, the silhouette of what might have been described as organs were swirling wildly. Everything slowly undulated as it walked, yet the entirety of it felt sharp, like it could rip apart anything in its wake with barely a touch.

And Sam was right in its path.

He knew he should be silent. Stay hidden, let this thing pass by. He could figure out why he was unaffected by whatever powers of time it apparently had after he and Dean had gotten far away from it.

That's what the sensible part of Sams brain should have thought. Unfortunately, that bit of Sams brain wasn’t working right now.

As the gigantic being trudged through the clouds, Sam clumsily backtracked out of his hiding place, tripping over a fallen branch. The unexpected movement caused a sharp cry to escape him as soon as he hit the ground, a little sound of pain diluted in a shriek of horror.

He clamped a hand over his mouth as soon as the sound slipped out. His breath coming in harsh shallow gasps, Sam scrambled back into the thick brush and hoped that he was out of earshot of the being. He hid himself among the leaves and cursed quietly as he saw this giant thing slow to a stop and its head tilt to the side, like it was listening.

He watched as it stretched all of its wings out in every direction, its back straightening making it even taller. The feathers started shifting, spreading. Sams eyes grew wide as behind the feathers, eyes appeared to open all over the wings. Thousands of eyes of varied sizes, sprinkled randomly, looking out in every direction. They resembled human eyes, but the colorings were all different. Sclera, irises and pupils shifted through every color in the spectrum, pulled patterns out of nature into them and glinted playfully in the light.

Sam made the mistake of one loud shocked gasp, and fell back out of his hiding spot when every single eye suddenly trained themselves onto him.

The long arms moved slowly from where they hung at its side. They reached out to Sam as the being lazily began to crouch down, and the trees seemed to part of their own accord. Massive hands settled on either side of Sam, the featureless face coming closer and closer. Sam could only stare as a narrow slit opened along the face. He expected a mouth, with teeth and a tongue. But inside was the universe, swirling blacks and blues, neverending.

It spoke. A thousand voices rang from the open fissure, but no movement was needed. The sound was deafening, yet restrained. Melodious. It echoed with wisdom and brassy vibrations and the age of the world buried within its depths.

“What the hell are you doing here, Winchester?!”

Confusion colored Sams face, and his fear receded a bit at the odd outburst. “What?” he whispered to himself. “How do you know who…”

“Close your eyes you idiot!” the voice yelled at Sam, its wings twitching as it scrunched a little closer. “You’re gonna burn them right out of your skull!” Sam only looked up bewildered. “HEY! Close ‘em!”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbled as he quickly did as he was told, covering his eyes with his hands. “Um, what-” Sam paused, tried to gain a little control over his quivering voice. “Who are you?”

A noise Sam would describe as terrifying laughter reverberated around him, but the sound was good natured. It almost tickled. “Has it been so long that everyone’s forgotten me? I think you can move your hand. If you haven’t dissolved into a puddle of primordial goo or spewed fire hotter than a thousand suns out of your many orifices yet, I think you’re safe to look at me.”

“Yeah,I’d rather not just take you at your word and keep my organs in a solid form, thank you. Are you going to tell me who you are?”

The thing above him chuckled again, “Still so sassy, even in the face of mortal danger.” Sam could hear a quiet rustling around him, and then shivered when he felt something softly brush up his arm. It was warm, velvety. Safe flashed across Sams mind.

“What was that?” Sam asked apprehensively, although he didn't turn away from the touch.

“One of my feathers,” it answered softly. “Come on, open your eyes, kiddo.”

At the nickname, realization flashed in Sams mind.

“Gabriel,” he whispered as his hands dropped into his lap.

“Ding ding ding! Correct, Sam a lam! Here’s your prize.” The wing that had touched him earlier drifted up and touched his forehead gently. The broad tip of the feather trailed across then down Sam's blood stained cheek and jaw. The warm tingle of Gabriels Grace chased the soft path of the radiant plume, healing the cuts and cleaning his skin.

Sam closed his eyes at the pleasant feeling snaking under his skin. As the sense of the healing Grace faded, Sams hands skimmed along his freshly healed face, fingers prodding his jaw where he no longer had a painful gap of a missing tooth. His eyes slowly traveled up, confusion written in his features, and he stared blankly at the giant archangel. Gabriels mouth turned up at the corners, still gaping open in front of Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Really, Sam? I look like this and that’s the first thing you think to ask?” Gabriel sank his body down gracefully to curl up on the ground. “Not ‘How are you not dead?’, ‘Why do you look like that?’ or ‘Why has timed stopped around me like I’m the narrator in a Twilight Zone episode?’”

Sam would have sent a top notch bitch face towards Gabriel, but he didn’t know where to look at the archangel. Were there a set of eyes that were the main set?

“Or maybe a better question for yourself,” Gabriel slid closer to Sam, causing the hunter to shuffle backwards, “‘How is it possible for me to look upon the true form of an archangel and still find him so damn attractive?’”

“Okay,” Sam huffed, climbing to his feet, raking his hands through his hair and standing as tall as he could. Not that his six foot four frame would be able to intimidate a being who was topping out at two thousand feet. “I have no idea what's going on anymore. First you were dead and now you're not, everything is frozen-,”

A sudden thought crashed into Sam, and he froze.

“Am I… am I dead? That's it, isn't it. Oh, well, that’s just great.”

“You’re not dead, Sam.” Gabriel chuckled at the tiny humans’ snit. “You’re just...unique. I mean, it’s not everyday I come across someone I can really stretch out in front of. I knew there was a reason that I liked you.”

“Well, if i’m not dead, I need to save Dean. So, if you don’t mind, you can either help or stay out of my way.”

Sam ignored the lighthearted laughter around him as he turned to collect his frozen brother, on guard in case the world decided to spring back to life at a wave of Gabriels hand.

As he reached the edge of the forest, a small hand grabbed Sams shoulder before he could step into the clearing. He turned to see the all too familiar vessel of the archangel.

“I told you, Sam, I like you. I’ll take care of this.”

Sam wondered when Gabriel had tucked himself back into his vessel. Where was he keeping that? he thought to himself.

As Gabriel sauntered confidently into the clearing, he lifted the veil of stillness on the world. To Dean and the monsters, it just seemed as though the sharp ringing noise simply had stopped. Bodies dragged themselves off the ground, looking at the others in confusion and bewilderment. Dean was the first to see the formerly dead archangel strutting towards him with a smug smile.

“Gabriel?” Dean yelled. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Wow, bucko. Do you and your brother telepathically share stupid questions?”

“Sam?” Dean furrowed his brows in anger. “What did you do to him, you dick with wings?! I’m gonna kill you with your angel blade all over again!”

“How are you going to do that tied to a tree?” Gabriel asked as he rolled his eyes. His smile morphed into a smirk when Deans anger turned to embarrassment. Gabriel turned his attention to the crowd of monsters. “Okay, listen up you knock off jawas. This sack of meat,” he pointed fervently at Dean, who pursed his lips at the moniker, “is coming with me. I would say don’t bother stopping me, but please, do try. I could use the exercise.”

A murmur grumbled through the horde of monsters that had gathered at Gabriels appearance. It got louder and louder, practically screaming at Gabriel, brandishing their weapons at him.

“I don’t think their going to give me up that easy!” Dean called over the noise.

You may want to shut your eyes, Dean-o

Dean’s seen enough burnt out eye sockets to follow the order that wisps through his mind.

As the mob surged suddenly forward, battle cries screeching and ready to kill this new intruder, Gabriel raised his arms smoothly. With his palms facing out, he reached down deep into himself, dragging out his Grace in a blinding flare of golden light. The entire clearing was lost in the brilliant glow, and the angry yelling of his enemies became anguished cries before they were silenced all together.

The bright light slowly drew back, retreating into Gabriels vessel. The only sign left of the hooded figures were the large scorch marks in the ground, lightly smoking holes where bodies had fallen.

Sam rushed forward into the clearing to get to his brother, gently grasping Gabriels shoulder in a silent thank you as he passed by the smaller man.

“Dean. Hey, you can open your eyes now,” Sam said as he untied the rope at Deans wrists. As the bindings fell to the ground, Sam pulled Dean into a quick hug. “I’m glad you're safe, Dee.”

“Gosh, this is just a wonderful brotherly moment. Hits me right here.” Gabriel walked over, hand tapping on his heart. The brothers sheepishly detached from one another and shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “So I rescued your bro, killed the bad guys, saved the day all around, what do you guys wanna do now?”

“Uh, how about go home?” Dean suggested, a little venom in his voice left over from when Gabriel was still the Trickster. “We’ve been stuck here for too long and I’m sure people are looking for us.”

“Go home?! That’s boring.” Gabriel replied. “You’re in a different universe, Dean. You don’t want to explore it at all?”

“If I still had my gun, I would shoot you,” Dean deadpanned at the archangel.

“”Dean, please. Just calm down a second. Gabriel, can you actually get us back home?”

“Of course I can. Jumping universes is easy peasy. But, seriously Sam, why?”

“Don’t whine just because you don’t want to go back,” Dean chimed in. “So snap us back. Let’s go.” He snapped his own fingers hoping it would prompt Gabriel to do the same.

“I know where all the dinos are.” Gabriel said in a sing song voice, nonchalantly looking anywhere but at Dean.

“Where the what are?” Well, that piqued Deans interest.

“Hmm?” Gabriel glanced back at Dean, his arms crossed, seemingly unconcerned with the hunters attention. “Oh, yes. The dinosaurs. I know where they like to hide.”

Deans eyes suddenly lit up, and Sam thought he looked like he might jump out of his skin with excitement.

“Well, why are we standing around here, then? Lead the way, short stack!”

“Hey! I’m an all powerful being. You should show me some respect or I’ll let the bad lizards eat you.”

“So I guess I don’t get a say in this?” Sam called as Dean and Gabriel practically skipped off together.

“Don’t worry, Samster.” Gabriel snapped his fingers as he yelled back over his shoulder. “Use your new cell phone to text your family. I’ll get you home. I’m a time traveling, universe jumping, sexy angel of the Lord, after all.”

Sam pawed at his pockets, confused until his hands discovered the cell phone Gabriels grace had materialized. He trailed behind Gabriel and Dean, jogging a little to keep up as he typed in Jody Mills’ number into the keypad from memory and sent her a message.

Hey Jody. Its Sam. Dean and I are safe. We caught a ride home. See you soon.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Sam thought about what hunting with an archangel would be like, that is if he could convince Gabriel to stay. It was certainly going to be an adventure , because with Gabriel around, life would never be the same.

“Hey Dean, did you know I don’t need to wear the meat condom around your brother?”

“Ah man! Phrasing, Gabriel!”

----

This version of true form Gabriel is kind of a mix between the night walker from Princess Mononoke and an Angel from Neon Genesis Evangelion. Just creepy mixed with absurdity.

some tags

@revwinchester, @lacqueluster @archangel-with-a-shotgun @ashiewesker. @gabriel-monthly-challenge

@azlinh @ourloveisforthelovely

#gabriel monthly challange #gabriel #alternate universe #dino world #true form gabriel #monsters #dinosaurs #bamf sam winchester #kidnapped dean winchester

57 notes · View notes

redditnosleep · 7 years

Text

The Little Melting Girl

by CynicHappy

When I was eight years old, I was badly burnt in a car fire. My single mother had been driving me to school when she lost control of her Toyota Camry on the icy January road and went crashing into a ditch. The car caught fire, and Mum managed to drag me out, but the damage had already been done. I had sustained second to third-degree burns on fifty percent of my body; my limbs had gotten the worst of it. Mum herself was unharmed, save for bruising on her ribs and a cut across her nose.

I spent the next four months in the burn unit at British Columbia Children's Hospital, and the place quickly became a second home. Doctors worked tirelessly to save me. I underwent a total of fifty operations, including skin grafts and the amputation of all five fingers on each hand. I had an endless stream of visitors, but rarely was my mother among them.

One morning, about a week into my hospital stay, my dad stopped by with a bouquet of colourful tulips and a blue balloon. His girlfriend, Jenny, came with him. Dad had been divorced from Mum for two years, but it had been an amicable split, and he was still very much involved in my life.

"Daddy, why doesn't Mummy come see me?" I asked. My words were garbled, given I could barely move my burned lips, but Dad seemed to understand.

"Oh, honey." He sighed, ruffling what was left of my charred hair. "Mummy loves you, more than anyone else in the world. That's why she doesn't come by very often; it hurts her to see you hurt."

"But I miss her."

"She misses you too, honey. But Mummy... well, Mummy has some problems. It's difficult for a girl your age to understand."

"Is she sick?"

"No, no, honey," Jenny piped up. She bent down and kissed my bandaged cheek. "Just... well, like your daddy said, it's hard to explain."

I knew, even back then, that Mum wasn't quite right in the head. I believe that's why Dad left her, but he still cared about her a great deal; not once since the divorce had I heard him say a single negative word about her.

"Will Mummy get better?" I asked.

"She might never be quite 'normal', Julia. But she'll get better. She will always be your mummy."

I never resented my mother for her absence. I guess I was a lot more understanding than most kids my age. Besides, Mum more than made up for it, sending me care packages and letters saying how much she loved me. She promised to throw me a party when I came home, complete with cake and dancing.

I believe it was Mum's love that got me through the pain.

After four long months, I was finally allowed to go home. My burns were still healing, leaving me with tight, warped skin that itched and throbbed every minute of the day. My hands had been reduced to bulbous stumps at the end of each arm, I was stuck in a wheelchair, and had to wear compression garments to reduce scarring. Still, I was home, and that made it all worth it.

As promised, Mum threw me a party. Family, friends, and neighbours all came to celebrate my recovery. I couldn't dance, but I had a great time anyway. Mum kept kissing me and telling me how much she loved me. "Julia, you are a fighter. I am so proud of you."

She smiled, her blue eyes glittering, but I had noticed the blue half-moons beneath them, as well as her hollowed-out cheekbones and threads of silver woven into her shiny auburn hair. She was still so beautiful, but looked older than her thirty-five years.

That night, I woke up in pain, my skin itching as if I had fire ants crawling all over me, a deep phantom ache in my amputated fingers. I opened my mouth to call out for Mum, but the compression mask on my face and the taught skin beneath made moving my lips painful. I tried to sit up, but it hurt too much. A whimper escaped me, and salty tears rolled down my cheeks.

Then I sensed a presence, something watching me from a dark corner. It didn't feel malevolent, but it made my spine tingle. Glancing nervously over my shoulder, I was shocked to see a dark figure standing in a corner, motionless save for the gentle rise and fall of their chest as they breathed.

Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I reached over and switched on my bedside lamp. A weak yellow glow broke through the shadows, and there was a sharp intake of breath as the figure shrank back at the light.

It was a little girl, no older than myself. She wore a yellow T-shirt and flowery pink shorts. She was grotesquely deformed. Her flesh appeared to be melting off her body, hanging in heavy folds and bags. It was blackened in areas, pink and raw in others. She was completely bald, and not only that, but her scalp had been charred away, revealing a pearl-white skull beneath. Her eyes were impossibly large, lacking eyelids, and had such heavy cataracts her pupil were invisible. Her arms were shrivelled and curled up grotesquely at her sides. But the worst part was her mouth. Her lower jaw hung down at an impossible angle, and seemed to have fused to her chest, leaving her face in a permanent scream.

I nearly screamed myself. I had never seen anything so horrible, and it scared me shitless. But before I could make a sound, the girl raised a shrivelled hand and brought it to her gaping mouth, as if trying to shush me. I shrunk back against the headboard, shaking, as this mysterious apparition approached me. It appeared she was trying to speak, but her frozen jaw made that physically impossible. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and when I forced myself to look into her eyes, I saw compassion. I saw love.

"Who are you?" I whimpered.

She gently pushed me back into a reclining position, tucked the covers around my scarred, wounded body, and smoothed back my hair. Then she turned and walked silently out of the room, leaving the door open just a crack.

I was shaken. But the pain was gone, replaced by the pleasant sensation of being bathed in warm water. Somehow, despite my fear, I fell asleep.

I never told Mum what I'd seen. She was already so shaken up over my accident, and I didn't want to give her more to worry about. But I couldn't stop thinking about the little melting girl, and part of me wanted to see her again.

Days later, I returned to school. My friends were all delighted to have me back, but many kids avoided me, and some were downright mean. I was still learning how to perform everyday tasks without fingers, which only added a new layer of challenges to the adjustment. During this time, Mum seemed somewhat out of touch with reality. I often caught her staring into space or humming to herself. Sometimes, she would look at me and cry. Dad and Jenny came over a lot to help, and Dad tried talking Mum into seeing a therapist, but she always refused.

Three years passed, and I made remarkable progress. I began walking again, and my burns healed better than my doctors expected. Mum met a wonderful man named David, and they got married when I was eleven. I now had a stepfather and stepsister, and adored them both. By then, I had mostly forgotten about the little melting girl.

Around that time, I was entering puberty, which can cripple the self-esteem of even the most beautiful girls. As well as my injuries had healed, I still had a lot of scarring, and was missing my left breast. My appearance made me a prime target for bullying. One day, when I was walking home from school, a group of older girls followed me home and threw rocks at me. I ran into the house, crying, and shut myself in my room.

I sobbed for over an hour, feeling like a total freak, hideous and unlovable. As I lay on my bed, face buried in a pillow, I felt a hand smooth back my hair.

Mum and David were still at work, and my sister Ava was at band practice. Alarmed, I rolled over and met her cloudy gaze.

The melting girl. She still wore the same outfit, and hadn't aged a bit. Her appearance wasn't nearly as shocking the second time around, but I couldn't stifle a frightened squeal.

"It's you," I gasped.

She nodded, before reaching into the pocket of her shorts and removing a tissue. I sniffled and blew my nose. "What are you doing here?"

The melting girl walked over to my desk and scribbled something on a sheet of notebook paper. She held it up so that I could read: Kids can be cruel, it said.

"I'm so ugly," I whimpered. "I'm a monster."

She shook her head, then jotted down a second note: A few scars mean nothing. You've got beautiful blue eyes, gorgeous, shiny golden hair, and the perfect bone structure. You are amazing.

I suddenly felt pretty shitty for sobbing over my own deformities to this girl who barely looked human anymore. "Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

She shook her head, then placed her hand over her heart. I didn't know what that meant, but I guessed it must be a sign of her sincerity.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "Are you a ghost?"

Once again, she left my room without a word. I tried chasing after her, but she was gone.

After searching the house top to bottom, I figured she must be a ghost, and that she had died in the fire that warped her appearance. But who was she? What had happened? Why did only I see her?

This time, I told Mum. I left out most details, but stated I believed a little ghost girl was haunting our house. She went whiter than the moon, and her eyes grew shimmery with tears, but she forced a laugh and said, "Oh, Julia. Such an imagination."

She seemed so upset that I didn't dare press the matter. But the following day, after school, I made a surprise visit to Dad and Jenny's place.

"Julia, hi!" Jenny greeted me at the door, her two-year-old baby girl on her hip. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"Is my dad home?"

"Yes, he's in his office. I'll go get him." Dad worked from home as a graphic designer, and often became so engrossed in his work he forgot to eat. But I knew he would want to see me.

After catching up over iced tea, I told Dad I wanted to ask him a question about Mum. I reminded him that I was almost twelve years old and had a right to know, and that he had to be honest with me.

"Okay, Julia. I'll do my best. What is it?"

"What happened in Mum's past?" I asked him. "Why is she so... strange sometimes?"

Dad hesitated, biting his lip, and I lost my temper.

"Tell me, dammit!" I snapped.

"Julia! Calm down." Jenny put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Dad flushed and rubbed his temples. "Baby, I'm sorry," he said. "I'll tell you everything I know, okay?"

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "Okay."

Dad poured himself more iced tea and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Even I don't know a whole lot about it. When I met your mother, she was an orphan at twenty-one, and claimed not to have anyone except her grandmother. It wasn't until a whole year into our relationship that she finally confessed there had been a terrible accident in her childhood. She refused to elaborate."

I sank back against the couch cushion, defeated. "So you don't know either?"

"No. I'm sorry, honey."

"Would she tell me if I asked her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Julia," said Dad. Jenny, sitting next to me on the couch, nodded.

I left their house in a frustrated daze, feeling even more confused than before. The mystery of Mum and the little melting girl was like a constant itch that couldn't be scratched, and the idea that I might never get any answers infuriated me.

This time, five years passed before I saw her again. At sixteen, I my confidence had improved. I had friends, good grades, and a serious boyfriend who accepted me as I was, scars and all. That said, I still had to deal with bullies on a regular basis. But now, I could stand up for myself.

One day, at lunch, my friends and I were discussing the upcoming school dance and what we would wear. Rachel Newton, one of the resident mean girls, sneered at me as she and her friends walked by. "You better not wear anything too short, Crispy. Nobody wants to look at your ugly legs."

"Leave her alone, Rachel." My friend Clara stood up, hands on her hips.

"What? Don't pretend it isn't true."

"You're such a bitch, Rachel," I snapped. "Ever considered seeking professional help?"

She scowled. "Ever considered plastic surgery? It would make looking at you so much easier."

I punched her in the nose. She began screaming as if I'd just gutted her with a butcher knife, alerting a teacher. She sent me to the principal's office, and while Mrs. Radcliffe was sympathetic, she wouldn't let me off the hook.

"Striking another student is against the rules, Julia. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to punish you."

She then told me I would have to clean up the football field every day after school for a week. I understood that I'd been in the wrong to hit Rachel, but I was still pissed. That afternoon, the sky filled with dark grey clouds, matching my mood. As I toiled away, picking up garbage and stuffing it into a large plastic bag, Rachel and her little posse approached me.

"Julia, you bitch!" Rachel's nose was purple and swollen, dried blood crusting her nostrils. "Look what you did to me!"

"Aw, you upset over losing your precious modelling career?" I taunted. Rachel's eyes flashed dangerously, and she lunged at me, knocking me to the soggy grass.

"Rachel!" one of her friends yelled. "Back off!"

I rolled onto my belly and tried to push myself into a kneeling position, but Rachel kicked me in the ribs, knocking me down again.

"I don't think picking up garbage is punishment enough, Crispy." Rachel brought her foot down on my back, pinning me in place. "What do you think, girls?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Get her, Rachel!"

"Stop it! She's had enough."

I began thrashing beneath Rachel's foot, trying to throw off her balance. Dirt filled my mouth. My spine felt seconds away from snapping. I sensed Rachel's fury, her intent on hurting me.

She stooped down and grabbed a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back, and raised her fist, ready to land a punch. I was alone, at this girl's mercy, and I couldn't fight back.

"Help," I whispered.

Rachel's grip suddenly fell away. She staggered back, her eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth hanging open. Her friends looked equally stunned.

"Oh, my God. What is that?"

I followed her appalled gaze to a melted, deformed figure standing twenty feet away. The little melting girl's cloudy eyes were blazing with anger, and her blackened fists kept clenching and unclenching. I was so overjoyed I wanted to cry.

"What the fuck?" Rachel shrieked again. "Who is that?"

The girl let out an enraged scream and charged like a raging bull.

My tormenters took off into the mist, shrieking like banshees. The girl walked over and helped me to my feet.

"Thank you," I breathed.

In her eyes, I saw her words: Let's go home.

She held my hand until we were a block away from the house. Then she hugged me and walked away.

This time, I told Mum everything. When I described the girl's appearance, she burst into tears.

"Oh, God... oh, my God... Julia..." she sobbed.

"Mum! What is it?"

She pulled me into a crushing hug, her chest heaving as she fought for air. "That girl... she's my sister."

I was frozen. "What?"

Mum wiped her eyes. "Oh, honey... I guess I can't hold back any longer."

Finally, after sixteen years, I got to know my mother.

She grew up on a farm in Saskatchewan, with her twin sister, Sarah, and their parents. They lived a happy life until an arsonist set the barn on fire. The girls were inside at the time. In a frantic attempt to escape, Sarah fell and broke her leg. Mum ran to get help, but by then, it was too late. The fire had spread out of control, and Sarah couldn't be saved.

The fire completely broke Mum. She didn't speak for almost a year, and four years later, her parents were killed in a car accident. Mum never recovered emotionally. To this day, I can only imagine what she went through.

"When you got hurt... it brought back so many terrible memories. I couldn't face it. I was a coward, Julia. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." I kissed her cheek. "You're the best mother, and I love you."

She wiped her nose. "I've seen Sarah a few times since she died, but I convinced myself I was dreaming. But it seems she's been watching over you too."

"Like a guardian angel?"

"She is a guardian angel."

That night, I prayed for the first time in years and thanked God for sending down Sarah.

Twenty-one years have passed since that day. I have a successful career; I'm married; I have children. I still see Sarah every now and then, but I don't need her protection so much anymore. I've grown strong and confident. I've come a long way.

I can't explain Sarah's presence in my life, and I guess I don't need to. I'm just so thankful to have her around. She's been there for me during my darkest hours, protected me from a cruel world when I was at my most vulnerable.

My only regret is that Sarah, unlike me, never got a second chance at life.

#creepy #horror story #wholesome nosleep #car wreck #ghosts #author: CynicHappy

103 notes · View notes