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#dark lord dick measuring
pursuitseternal · 1 year
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Dark Lord D*ck Measuring, Episode X: Fresh Blood
*door creaks open*
Loki: Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t help but notice you were looking for some new members.
Dark Lord Collective: *jaw drops*
Darkling: Well, he passes for looks and swagger.
Sauron: Hold on, we have some questions first. Have you ever sought or held dominion over a whole country or better yet, world?
Loki: *sighs for affect* Yes, multiple times. In multiple realms.
Vader *breathes* Holy shit. *breathes*
Voldemort: Have you every sought the full destruction of your enemies no matter the cost?
Loki: *casually glances at nails* Of course.
Darkling: Have you ever made decisions considered morally grey, or slightly redeeming?
Loki: Naturally. I’m not without a heart. *eyes Voldy* but I see full possession of working body parts is not a requirement….
Voldemort: I HAVE a nose! *flares snake nostrils*
Sauron: Oh, I like you. *narrows eyes for matching affect with newbie* Have you ever possessed an object of great power and even greater control?
Loki: Of course. *full on sass mode* If some of you haven’t, then I’m not sure I’m in the right place.
Sauron: That completes your interview. Welcome to the Dark Lord Collective.
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One more for the collective of Dark Lord Drama and I’m pretty sure he will give everyone a run for their money 😏
@thegreatzombieartisan @eowyn7023 @myfavouritelunatic @trinuviel @jurassiclexie @iamstartraveller776 @rosalysaoirse @helenvader @tenebrouswhims @mixingpumpkins @penelopeisshipping @allpowerfulnarrator
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tired-teddybear · 6 months
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batfam as new girl quotes
steph: where are you, tim? this place is fancy and i don’t know which fork to kill myself with.
***
dick (16 y/o): i’ll take you through the whole thing. i’ll be like your guide.
jason (13 y/o): like gandalf through middle-earth?
dick: ok, first of all, let’s take the Lord of the Rings references and put them in a deep, dark cave where no one will ever find them.
jason: except smeagol. he lives in a cave.
***
tim: you text me “happy monday.” what am i supposed to do with that?
damian: oh, i don’t know. maybe have a happy monday?
(he’s trying to be nice)
***
jason: would you consider us adorable?
dick: no! we’re adult men.
dick: we’re cute.
***
cass: you always see the worst in people.
damian: yeah, because people are the worst!
***
steph: i mean, bruce, we love you, but…
steph: but you’re not a man of the people.
bruce: of course i’m not a man of the people. i’m above the people.
***
cass: we’re a family. families talk about things.
jason: no, families ignore things until they go away.
***
new parent bruce: dick, do you want to go to sleep?
9 y/o dick: no way.
bruce: if you do, i’ll write you a check for $6,000.
***
duke: what are you doing in here?
tim: eating cookies and avoiding confrontation.
(in the bathroom at a gala)
***
steph: jason, come on, that’s like the president and the vice president not being best friends.
jason: they’re not best friends.
steph: come on. everybody knows they’re best friends.
***
dick: i’m in love!
damian: titus, clear my schedule. i need a word with our brother.
***
steph: duke, those shoes are not brown! they’re green!
duke: you guys are idiots! they’re as brown as money.
cass: what color is kermit the frog?
duke: brown! he’s a brown frog.
tim: duke! you’re color blind, dude.
***
bruce: darn it! has anyone seen my croquet cleats?
***
tim: hey guys, do you think i’m a good person?
steph: you’re a terrible person. it’s hilarious.
***
dick: i’m very quick on my… uh…
jason: did you just forget the word ‘feet’?
dick: feet, yeah.
(he’s been awake for 72 hours without sleep)
***
duke: i can’t believe i didn’t notice this before but damian, you are legitimately crazy.
damian: i think we’re all a little bit crazy, don’t you, thomas?
duke: no, i mean, you’re like aging ballerina, child chess prodigy, professional magician crazy.
damian: it’s my grandfather’s fault.
duke: yeah okay fair enough
***
tim: if i was doing something stupid, you definitely would be involved.
dick: yeah, you’re damn right i would be. and i would probably be there to make it even stupider.
***
bruce: has anyone seen my good pea coat?
***
steph: i brake for birds. i rock a lot of polka dots. i have touched glitter in the last 24 hours!
steph: and that doesn’t mean i’m not smart and tough and strong.
***
jason: are you insane, bruce? we’re not ready.
jason: that’s like taking a musical from rehearsals straight to broadway. you got to workshop it first.
(pushing the theatre kid jason agenda)
***
dick: you realize i say goodnight to you every night and you never say goodnight back?
dick: what is the problem, jason? do you not want me to have a good night?
jason: oh my god you’re so overdramatic
***
tim: please don’t mistake my measured blank tone for calmness, as i am filled with waters of rage.
(he’s at a gala)
***
bruce: damn it! i can’t find my driving moccasins anywhere!
***
duke: what a dumb idea.
duke: do it.
(he is an enabler)
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belovedgrayson · 24 days
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I sent an ask though idk if it sent so sending twice for good measure! You don’t have to do this at all if you don’t want to, but I was wondering if you could make a post with the differences on canon vs fanon Dick Grayson. Just a request, ofc. I think it’d be a big help to people (totally not me) who are too broke to read comics or also just people who might learn smth from it. Sorry to bother ya, thanks if you reply to this! <3
Hello! I did receive your asks, it just takes me a lot of time to respond because I want to answer people's questions carefully and go through all the panels I have saved. I have a terrible memory and tend to miss a lot of things if I just answer off the top of my head.
Here's a short answer though so I don't keep you waiting for like a week😂 (like I do with my other asks, I'm so sorry guys)
What I've personally noticed (and hated) in fanon Dick:
Was an angry, murderous Robin (he was the light to Bruce's darkness, Bruce himself has said that Dick saved him and continues to do so)
Treated Jason badly before his death (he canonically helped him out on their first meeting, then gave him his old Robin suit and advice on how to handle Bruce's temperament)
Had screaming matches with Bruce because he's unreasonable and "hot-blooded" (I have a lot to say about their arguments in canon but lord knows it's gonna take weeks to write that essay)
Is super huggy and forthcoming with all his emotions (he's positive and affirming and will hug people if they need it, he definitely will not go and drop his baggage on people and cry on their shoulder though)
Is happy-go-lucky all the time (again, he's positive and hopeful and makes the best puns imo, but he has a full range of reactions like any other guy. He gets serious, angry, sad, protective, happy, determined, all that shebang. He's not one-dimensional)
Hates Tim/treated Tim badly (?????????don't even get me started)
There's this take going around where they make Jason say something like "oh you act so perfect now but if only the others knew how terrible and mean you were when I was Robin" and then they make Dick apologize to him and like... Boooooooo. I'm throwing so many tomatoes right now.
Fanon can't decide which stereotype to smother him with: big bad selfish older brother or flamboyant crybaby.
But, if all this hasn't put you off and you're still interested in reading about Dick's characterization, I suggest first understanding how he was as a child!
This post from @celaenaeiln about Robin Dick's characterization is concise and very well-written, with evidence👍🏼 they've put it so perfectly there's no point in me even attempting my own post on this topic.
Hope this helps!
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achaotichuman · 4 months
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Angsty thought but like imagine Rhysand and Tamlin got into one of their fights during a ballroom, Tamlin storming out with rhysand following him.
Both of them angry and sad because of what happened, Rhysand angry at Tamlin's nonchalance and how "stone-faced" he was about the whole debacle. Tamlin angry at Rhys when he made a comment that maybe Tamlin really was like his father.
So Tamlin pissed off and was so hurt by this male who was his first best friend whirls around Rhysand and instead of Tamlin's face, Rhysand was looking directly at His sisters face and Rhysand's sister (Tam who shapeshifted) sneered and said "Maybe you really are like your father, considering you couldn't even save your own mother and sister"
A bit more angsty and dramatic then my usual asks but I was watching Scandal and I thought of this prompt to my two toxic love-birds :3
My first reaction to this was a violent gasp, because yes, this is very good. Very dramatic, very angsty, all things I love. Here's how I think that scene would go.
It was supposed to be a routine get-together, the Courts of Prythian coming together for one night. The Courts were far to separate and to maintain peace two things would take place every decade on a solstice. One, the High lords would gather for a meeting, it was a rare occasion that didn't end in someone storming out, and something getting thrown. Tamlin had to admit he found them amusing. Second, the people of each Court would gather for a large celebration, one Court was chosen each year, there they would open their borders to all who wished to attend, and a large celebration would be thrown.
No one admitted it, but everyone knew, these celebrations had simply turned into a way for the High lords to one up each other. Who had to most money to spend? Who had the most lavish taste?
It was a dick measuring contest, and Tamlin hated it. But had to go anyway, next decade would be his turn to host. That was going to be a nightmare and a half, Andras and Alis were somehow already excited for it, those two loved a good celebration. They especially loved the drama it would cause.
The meeting had gone as smoothly as one could hope for. Poor Nostrus was the one to host this year, the meeting and the celebration were to take place in Adriata. The office Nostrus had led the High lords too once they arrived was perfectly decorated, but quite empty. Only the table and chairs. the edges of the room were gilded with gems and gold, and a large balcony overlooked the sea. Nothing else though. Nostrus had most likely been thinking off the last meeting, that one Tamlin had attended as Prince. Someone had thrown something made of glass, it had shattered all over the floor, a shard nicking Tamlin in the arm.
Even still, the lack of anything to throw did not stop the arguments from pouring out. Tamlin didn't have enough fingers to count how many times he rolled his eyes, or loosened a sigh.
All entertainment from watching six grown men snapping at each other's throats was drowned the second he walked in.
Rhysand was fashionably late, as he always is. He waltzed in, the doors slamming open to reveal his clouds of darkness. His two Illyrian dogs prowling behind him. Rhysand gave some half-assed excuse as to why he was late that everyone had to suppress the urge to roll their eyes at. Rhysand had only been in power a few years, as had Tamlin. Yet he acted as though he had been ruling for centuries.
When they sat down, Rhysand scanned the room, watching everyone like a predator waiting for the perfect time to bite. Finally, he looked over at Tamlin, and that natural predator's glare turned hungry, like he'd spotted a lone deer in a clearing. Tamlin fought the urge to curl into himself, he held Rhysand's gaze with what he hoped was a similar intensity. Those his eyes could only muster hatred, Rhysand's was filled with loathing and lust. When Cassian and Azriel turned their eyes to lock into Tamlin, the Spring Lord slowly and pointedly looked at the Shadowsinger, then the General and back to Rhysand. Tamlin then huffed a laugh and threw them a smirk before turning away.
Tamlin could feel the seething rage coming off of Rhysand in waves even if he was looking away. Tamlin was his chosen target of the night, and damn him to terrors in Hell, but the part of Tamlin that still belonged to his past couldn't wait to see what the Night Lord had in stall for him.
Soon night fell and the Summer Court was in a buzz. Tamlin was led into a large ballroom. Covered in gold and splendor. The sounds of the ocean crashing outside seemed to blend into the music, creating a symphony of nature and man-made creation. The second the notes hit his ears Tamlin closed his eyes for a moment, almost beginning to sway to it. A pinch from Andras had him snapping back to the present. His sentry shot him a look and Tamlin just raised an eyebrow, discreetly flipping him off before striding away from his friend.
Tamlin found a nice corner, where he was away from everybody, and could simply lean against the wall, close his eyes and tap his fingers in time to the music.
His peace lasted for a total of thirty seconds. Then a cold chill spread across his skin, a chill he wanted to forget but his body remembered. Tamlin didn't have to open his eyes to know Rhysand was standing close to him. Rhysand didn't need to speak to know Tamlin knew he was there. Still, Tamlin refused to be the first to talk.
They stayed standing there for a half hour, some secret challenge between them. Who would break the silence first? Tamlin tried to ignore Rhysand's lingering presence, but he couldn't enjoy the music knowing that darkness was swirling so close to him.
Tamlin had never been made to play these games. Finally, he opened his eyes and turned to face Rhysand, lip pulled back into a snarl, "What do you want?"
Rhysand's face split into a grin. Ecstatic that Tamlin had been the first to break.
"I wanted to know why the High lord of Spring, is not enjoying the festivities with his people, I thought you of all people would not consider yourself above the commoners?" Rhysand emphasized 'High lord' he knew Tamlin did not want this crown. He loved picking at that, making him feel even more unworthy than what he already was, but never letting him forget that he could never be normal like he so desperately wanted to be.
Tamlin didn't entertain his outright ridiculas question. He simply looked back towards the people of Prythian, mingling, dancing and talking to one another.
Rhysand hated when Tamlin could be more carefree and silent than him. It showed when Rhysand stepped closer, invading his space, crowding around him that forced Tamlin to remember how Rhysand, despite only being a few inches taller than Tamlin, could seem like he was twice his size.
"I've heard the little fox has been prancing around your Court, have you found another so quickly my love?" Rhysand snarled in his ear. Tamlin hated those even more than the comment before it. He hated thinking about what they were. What had happened.
"Answer me, darling." Rhysand hissed.
"Lucien is my friend, Rhysand." Tamlin said, his voice calm and level, unlike Rhysand's.
The bat opened and closed his mouth, face confused, then turning to anger. Hatred reeling in his eyes, Rhysand had always hated when Tamlin could be level and cool. Hated when his venomous words didn't drive him up the wall.
"Friend, lover, whore, who draws the lines." Rhysand shrugged, those damning smirk adorning his face.
"I do, and we have no relations beyond friendship." He was friends with Lucien, had been for a long time now. Since taking on the crown, Lucien along with Jesminda had shown up for him more than ever. He was his friend, a better friend than Rhysand had ever been, it had taken Tamlin far too long to realize that.
"The bounds of friendship stretch, Little Lord of Spring, we would know that wouldn't we?" Rhysand trailed a finger down Tamlin's arm. If Tamlin didn't know Rhysand as well as he did, he would've snapped, perhaps hurt the male horribly. But as it were, Tamlin could have laughed, Rhysand was getting desperate for a reaction.
"We wouldn't know that." Tamlin murmured.
Rhysand went predatorially still, a wolf sitting back on its hunches, preparing to strike. Tamlin remembered the power that had filled Rosehall as two High lords came into power. And the way Rhysand had gone so still. Tamlin couldn't help the fear that leapt up into his throat.
"We would, our... friendship, it stretched a quite a bit." Rhysand said, a growl pressing into his voice.
Tamlin couldn't help it, he huffed a laugh. Rhysand took a hold of his arm, "Don't deny it Spring."
"Deny what, bat?" Tamlin quipped.
Rhysand just grinned, instead of answering he asked, "Do you think about me when you fuck him?" Rhysand jutted his head towards where a group of Autumn males were socializing. Tamlin didn't doubt Lucien was among them.
Tamlin finally laughed, a full, genuine laugh. He laughed even harder when Rhysand's face fell from smugness to simmering hatred.
"Lucien is happy in his own relationships." Tamlin said, he would never tell Rhysand about Jesminda, but it made him feel good to know how false Rhysand's little theory was.
Tamlin leaned in close, stepping up onto his tiptoes to be Rhysand's level, like he used to do before he kissed him, "And you and your little wings, are the last things I'm thinking about when I'm fucking somebody."
That 'little wings' comment made Rhysand step forward, pressing his body fully against Tamlin. His eyes full of anger, making the violet a deep purple, "Liar." Rhysand hissed. "You are too much like the dogs to be on a throne such as Spring. You deserve less than a feral animal. We used to call you that, you know, Cassian, Az and I. The feral kid from Spring. You were like a dog when we fucked too. A desperate bitch in heat."
Tamlin had heard enough. Here was the male he had been friends with for decades. Who had taught him to wield daggers and swords. Who had taken him in when his brothers left him bloodied, bruised and broken. Who had brought him up so high when he had felt so low. Who had assured him he wasn't the dog, the beast, everyone accused him of being.
His brothers called him a beast, a dog, a feral animal. Rhysand knew all that, because Tamlin had told him. Rhysand had been the one to tell him he was never that. Had told him he was worthy of being treated like person, had told him that was the bare minimum.
Now, he threw it all back in his face like he never meant it. And it hurt. It hurt so much.
If Tamlin stayed any longer, he was going to lose it. So he turned away from Rhysand headed for the exit, people stared at him. Andras tried to wave him down and even Lucien looked over, but Tamlin passed them all.
He practically ran out the entrance. Down the stairs, going and going until he found an empty esplanade, a road that overlooked the glittering sea. The moon hung in the deep night sky, stars stared down at him as if they were accusing him. Accusing him of the same crime Rhysand was. A crime he didn't fucking commit.
It didn't matter though; Rhysand couldn't be swayed. And oh, how Tamlin had tried to sway him. Had sent him letter after letter after letter. Begging and pleading for Rhysand to listen to him. His brothers had drugged him, he didn't even remember telling them. The whole thing had been a haze, a blur of nothing.
But Rhysand didn't care what he had to say. Just wanted someone to blame.
Rhysand now appeared beside him, had followed him from the party.
The darkness curled around Tamlin's wrists like chains. Would he ever be free of the clutches of Night? Or had becoming friends with Rhysand in the first place trapped him in a cage he could never escape?
"You're a coward," Rhysand hissed, "A good for nothing, waste of space. You're a coward and you're nothing."
"I am worth something-," Tamlin tried to argue.
Rhysand laughed, "Oh you think I was serious when I told you that? I lie Tamlin, and I lied to you. Without me, you aren't worth a drop of anything anyone gives you. Give it time, that fox you love so much will leave. In time everyone will leave you."
Tamlin sucked in a breath, and finally chose to turn away from him. Tears were beginning to form in the Spring Lords eyes, and he wouldn't let Rhysand see them.
As Tamlin turned around, Rhysand delivered the final blow, "Going to run away from this too? Going to pretend none of this affects you at all? Why did I expect anything more? You're just like your father. I hope you never have children, hate for what happened to you to happen to them."
Tamlin's entire world came to crashing halt. He stopped walking as everything he had convinced of himself shattered.
Rhysand's footsteps were the only sound he could hear as the Night Lord came closer.
"Hate that its true Tamlin?"
Tamlin felt his shoulders begin to shake, then his heart racing, and finally his face contorting, his skin changing as anger overrode every rational thought in his mind.
"Come now, little Tamlin, tell me how right I am." Rhysand was right behind him now, so close Tamlin could feel his breath on his neck.
Tamlin then whirled around. He stared right up in Rhysand's eyes and watched as those lustful, selfish eyes turned to horror.
Instead of Tamlin's face, it was Rhysand's sister, Branon, who glowered up at him. And it was in Branon's voice that Tamlin said, "Perhaps you are truly like your father, considering you couldn't even save your own mother and sister's lives."
Rhysand paled, his whole body beginning to shake. Tears formed in his eyes, and he stumbled back. Tamlin, still wearing Branon's face, sneered, "You have become exactly what you swore you would never be. Selfish! Vindictive! and cruel! I have never deserved your hatred! You know what happened that night! I needed saving too! You let us all drown! I may have never been worth anything to you, but you were worth something to me and now," Tamlin let out a cold, humorless laugh, "Now I feel nothing for you. Your face, your eyes, your voice and your words, mean absolutely nothing to me."
Tears spilled down Rhysand's cheeks, and true to his words, Tamlin felt nothing for him. No remorse, no anger, no hatred. Just plain nothing. Everything emptied out from his words, words that were a long time coming.
Rhysand looked down to the floor. Tamlin wondered if he was remembering his dear sister. A woman who had loved with fire and passion. Who had smiled through flames. Who had fought with power like no other.
Tamlin only felt a little guilty for using her face to put Rhysand in his place. But the guilt was only for her, never for Rhysand.
Tamlin refused to ever feel guilty for Rhysand, for what the Night Lord had brought upon himself by refusing to move on, by refusing to listen to the true story. Instead making up his own and flaunting it to everyone.
Tamlin would be free of him. That he swore. He was worth something. The people in his life would not leave him. Rhysand was wrong.
************************************
Rhysand had been right.
Tamlin laid in the ruins of his Court. He looked up at the stars. Tears spilling down his cheeks, his whole-body trembling as he struggled to keep his cries contained.
Everyone had left him, like Rhysand had said they would. He had succumbed to his own rage, like his father, like Rhysand had accused him of being.
Rhysand was right.
He wasn't worth anything.
I loved this prompt so much! Thank you so much for sharing, I hope I did this one justice!
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Witcher fanfic recs
By Favorite lines/insults/endearments
@help-help-i-need-an-adult @0dde11eth I'm finally posting this list which is basically a giant fic rec
not complete
It's all under the cut cause it's looooooong
Please let me know if I missed linking a fic. I didnt when I started the list but have been adding the fics once I find them again.
Geralt
asshole (Geralt)
fucking dick (game!geralt about show!geralt)
fucking asshole... bard deserves better (game!geralt about show!geralt)
bad for his health (jaskier)
dead wrong (jaskier)
utter oaf of a man/witcher (jaskier)
giant fopdoodle (jaskier)
obstinate, crotchety oaf (jaskier)
emotional range of a rock! (Jaskier)
only facial expressions are stoic grump and kicked puppy (jaskier)
noble piece of shit prone to fits of martyrdom (jaskier)
Mr. Smartman, my lord Clever Guy, supreme master of joke (jaskier)
you need someone to slap some sense into you, you idiot witcher (jaskier)
tall, dark, and scowly (jaskier)
Stupid witcher (jaskier)
Witcher affectionate (jaskier)
Witcher derogatory (jaskier)
White wolf (jaskier)
White Wolf, Witcher of Kaer Morhen, Geralt of Rivia! (Jaskier)
my witcher (jaskier)
my dear muse (jaskier)
My wolf (jaskier)
Dear/darling/dear heart (jaskier) be still my tad heart
Flower (Jaskier)
eyes like sunshine, hair like falling snow (jaskier)
Like your voice...Sounds like what a mountain would sound like if a mountain could voice (jaskier)
voice, smooth as pebbles on the river bank (jaskier)
"You're the worst! I so fucking wish I could hate you but we don't want a second djinn incident so you better have a good excuse for your behavior! And no, I won't grant you your life blessing because Eskel said you didn't mean that and were being an insecure mess of a witcher." (Jaskier)
“This man is more to me than you can dream. He’s the air I breathe and the earth I stand on. His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of, his soul shines as golden as his eyes.”...“I love this man beyond measure and reason" (Jaskier)
Once there a witcher, built solid like a rock, and let me tell you ladies dear about his massive co- (jaskier)
Great tits...they're sublime (jaskier)
Sculptors should study your ass for when they make statues of gods! (Jaskier)
beautiful masochist (Jaskier)
only facial expressions are stoic grump and kicked puppy (jaskier)
Puppy (Jaskier)
stupidly attractive (jaskier)
Muscle man (jaskier)
Bloated biceps (jaskier)
Teddy bear hidden behind a grumpy exterior/hidden softy (Jaskier)
Horse mom (Jaskier)
spoil your horse more than most people spoil their children (jaskier)
Adonis (Jaskier)
Strong silent type (Jaskier)
My hero (Jaskier)
Daddy (jaskier)
Daddy (ciri)
Dad/papa (ciri)
Papa knight (ciri)
stupidly protective (ciri)
never seen such a lovesick fool (ciri)
Gentle one (roach)
My witcher (roach)
"considering renaming him sullen one....Maybe that should be his name-broody one." (roach)
"glad gentle one isn’t raising his pointy sticks; they always cause such a mess." (Roach)
Silly human (roach)
Awfully good at fucking up your life (Yennefer)
self-sacrificing asshole with self-esteem issued the size of the Continent (Yennefer)
overprotective nightmare (Yennefer)
Overprotective idiot (Yennefer)
Witcher, Wolf, Warlord, and Pillow? (Eskel)
Possessive [of jaskier] (eskel)
It suddenly made sense why his brother's hair had become so much nicer all of a sudden, though it did make him want to laugh realising that Geralt kept it up all through the winter until the last three weeks when he let it get messy and knotted. He had no doubt that it was so that the Bard could look after it when they met back up. (Eskel)
pretty boy (lambert)
"I thought the Bard was made up...Apparently I am so antisocial I could not possibly have a friend," (lambert/ geralt)
with the right motivator (read: jaskier in danger), he could be truly dangerous to another witcher (vesemir)
Use that brain cell you have (vesemir)
Entranced like a sailor to a siren (Calanthe)
Idiot (various sources)
He looks at him like he doesn't know whether to eat him or protect him[jaskier] (Jaskier’s family)
Jaskier
Indulgence (Geralt)
Luxury (Geralt)
Beloved (Geralt)
Little Bird/Little Lark/My lark (Geralt)
Songbird (Geralt)
my bard (Geralt)
dearest friend (Geralt)
Mine (Geralt)
Home (Geralt)
My heart (Geralt)
my siren (Geralt)
Julek (geralt)
Kitten (Geralt)
Crust is the best part (Geralt)
You are what pleases me (Geralt)
the one thing that’s ever been mine (Geralt)
"I would make a fine husband, if I may say so myself.”... Geralt huffs a laugh and turns away to stride towards the alderman’s house, quietly agreeing to Jaskier’s words. A fine husband, indeed. (Jaskier/geralt)
"his head in Jaskier’s lap...sinking into that soft space he sometimes goes to after a hunt, when he’s safe and warm" (Geralt)
You fixed me (Geralt)
“I didn't need words with you” (Geralt)
pretty and squishy and beautiful (Geralt)
eyes looked like the ocean, deep and blue and shifting with the light (Geralt)
"eyes look like blueberries...Good blueberries...The good firm ones. Not the squishy sour ones." (Geralt)
"Your hair is like dirt... Like dirt that things grow in. Flowers and carrots and things. It’s a good color. A life color.” (geralt)
laughter feels like sunlight (Geralt)
"You smell familiar. Like Roach." (Geralt)
Life's Blessing (Geralt)
"Picture it; me, the sun to your moon, the day to your night, the…" "You already are that." (Show!jaskier/game!geralt)
equal parts stubborn and optimistic (Geralt)
"You’re an idiot. I’m not letting you out of my sight again unsupervised" (Geralt)
flirt without a single bone of propriety in his body (Geralt)
"He gets a little worked up about the way people see us and the stupid assumptions that they make about us. The amount of tavern fights that I have had to pull him out of because someone has said something is ridiculous," (Geralt)
grouchy without food and it isn't fair on your students inflicting that monster on them (Geralt)
most trusted companion after Roach (Geralt)
"I used your heart beat to lull me to sleep and when you hum in your sleep I know you're well." (Geralt)
You saved me. When everything was dark and angry and lonely. You showed up like a sunrise to show me the way out. (Geralt)
“I love your voice. Being with you, on the Path… It was my only respite. I looked forward to seeing you again every spring, and was disappointed when our paths did not cross soon in the year. It was always a relief to see you again.” (Geralt)
The Law of Surprise bound Ciri to me, and the djinn bound Yennefer to me, but we are just bound, Jaskier... I choose to bind myself to you, all the time. I don’t have a choice with anything else... I choose you. (Geralt)
"I fucking love you. Your damn voice haunts my thoughts, each time I look at something, what you would think pops in my mind. I can hear you scolding me even when we are apart and I have to rethink my plans. Your laugh lingers and I can't concentrate. And I keep dreaming of you! Dreaming of finding you so you would be by my side forever. Of your stupid grin, and sparkling blue eyes. The way you would run your fingers through my hair and braid it. The whispers and sugar's cube you gave Roach. The brawls I had to rescue you from. I miss everything you do!" (Geralt)
annoying brat with no sense of self-preservation (Geralt)
so hopeful it hurts (geralt)
Jaskier always found trouble. Or when he couldn’t find it he made it himself. (Geralt)
"When do I ever get into trouble?" "Whenever you can? And then sometimes when one would think you can't, but you still find trouble anyway?" (Jaskier/Geralt)
has the same self-preservation instincts as a toddler, and just like a toddler, he needs constant supervision
hop beds more than a flea (Geralt)
holy terror affectionate (Geralt)
“Did you just call me something as plebeian as a whore?! Listen here, witcher! I would be a courtesan at the very least." (Jaskier)
colorful boy (Roach)
Loud/noisy one (roach)
brought joy into their life, music, and color into their rather black and white routine (roach)
Such a lovely voice, and he was so in love with life and everything in it. (Roach)
blue eyes (roach)
vulnerable, non-warrior, squishy human, who could also meet his fate at any moment. (Roach)
most famous bard on the Continent (Yennefer)
fucking drama queen (Yennefer)
poor pup nipping at his heels for scraps of affection (Yennefer)
"You’re his. You’ve always been his...And he’s yours" (Yennefer)
Little flower(Yennefer)
husband (Yennefer)
Pest affectionate (Yennefer)
Blue jay (Yennefer)
Catmint (eskel)
Bloody fool worse than ivy (Eskel)
"a menace… Beauty, intellect and bravery, with a penchant for trouble" (eskel)
"sighs and pinches the bridge of his noise. That's a headache coming." (Eskel)
the bard that wrote that damn catchy song (lambert)
Son (vesemir)
"...we trust you. You have been helping us along the Path for years now." (vesemir)
bardling (various sources)
dangerous with words (various sources)
Yennefer
scariest sorceress on the Continent (jaskier)
Yenna, my darling, my beautiful sorceress (jaskier)
gods-damned goat-witch affectionate? (Jaskier)
Yenna is a woman, a very beautiful one, dark hair and violet eyes, skilled in chaos and smart. She is elegant. (Jaskier)
mad, cryptic woman (jaskier)
resident hex artist (jaskier)
a lying liar who lies (jaskier)
comely, psychotic witch (jaskier)
Wife (jaskier)
dear friend (Geralt)
Angry one (roach)
"She wants everything and when she can't have something, she wants that especially." (Triss)
Ciri
"has no trouble finding mischief...When she can't find it, she creates it." (Geralt)
Roach
Darling Girl (Jaskier)
Roachie (Jaskier)
Beautiful lady (jaskier)
my most noble and beautiful steed (Jaskier)
more loyal than most dogs (jaskier)
Roach is a traitor... Geralt blames Jaskier. Jaskier, who sneaks her crispy apples and sugar cubes when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking... Jaskier’s hand comes up then, petting the underside of the horse’s head....she settles and leans into the touch like a kitten. “Patience, patience my friend. There now, who’s a good war machine? Uh? Who’s a good war machine? You are, yes, that’s right, that’s right, you are.” (Geralt)
Eskel
sexy ox (jaskier)
As much of a menace as his brothers. He just hides it better. (Jaskier)
My dragon Wolf! My darling Amber-Eyed witcher, my beautiful and perfect sunlit Wolf, most trusted Right-Hand (jaskier)
great muscley moocher (jaskier)
"...nice, and kind. He loves poetry and is the best at signs" (Geralt)
The one that is kind (geralt)
Lambert
Lamb (jaskier)
Baby Fox (jaskier)
"You’d make a fine kitchen maid...Dress wouldn’t suit him...I’ll have you know I look fucking fantastic in a dress." (jaskier/aiden/lambert)
temper like a tavern full of sailors and whores (Geralt)
“See? Where’d I have that knife?” (lambert) “I never know where you have knives, I assumed you manifested them from thin air through sheer force of love of stabbing.” (Geralt)
Harmless (eskel)
Lambskin (aiden)
could wake an army with his snoring (aiden)
all bark and no bite (coën)
Good guard dog affectionate (witchers)
Good guard dog derogatory (various sources)
Puppy (various sources)
pizza cutter. All edge and no point (lol that ones mine)
Vesemir
Grandmaster, his own sword master, his father in everything but blood (jaskier)
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existingtm · 1 year
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Dumbledore and House Favoritism (Or Lack Thereof)
Contrary to popular belief, Dumbledore doesn’t actually seem to have much bias for Gryffindor over Slytherin and the other two houses. At least not to the point of affecting his major decisions regarding students. Let me give some examples of why popular arguments to the contrary are flawed.
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House Cup: “Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row!” - Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, pg. 99
In all the years Harry attended Hogwarts, we only know of Gryffindor winning the cup in books one, two, and three. That means that in the text, Slytherin is confirmed to have won the house cup more times than Gryffindor has been confirmed to (in recent years). Before Harry came along, Slytherin was having the time of its life.
And while Dumbledore’s decision to change the winner so abruptly at the end of book one is a dick move, it was one more for the benefit of story payoff than serious character development, and it wasn’t because of house favoritism. I mean, if a group of kids got through a dangerous set of security measures, and one of them ended up having to kill their evil teacher who was hosting a dark lord, I too would give them a lot of points regardless of house. Especially if I knew that one of them, currently eleven, was going to die soon. Also, Neville deserved the recognition he got.
The largest number of points Dumbledore awards to Gryffindor are 200 points each to Harry and Ron after they rescue Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets. I mean seriously, that amount of points has nothing to do with house affiliation. If a couple of twelve-year-olds took out a gross con artist teacher, saved an eleven-year-old’s life, killed a basilisk, destroyed a dark object, and nearly DIED, I would also have given them a lot of points.
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Sirius Black’s “Prank” Involving Lupin and Snape: All the text says about Dumbledore’s handling of it is, “[Snape] was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody,” - Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, pg. 229.
There’s no mention of house favoritism playing into this. The most likely reason for why Snape was forbidden from telling anyone, was to protect Lupin. Lupin had no voluntary part in this situation. He should not have had to fear being exposed as a werewolf because Sirius decided to do something fucked up as a joke.
The text never says if/how Sirius was disciplined for his behavior, so I can’t make any judgements on Dumbledore’s actions in that regard.
It feels weird that this incident is used as an example of house favoritism since it seems to be more about the individuals in question. There’s not really enough information about the Marauders Era to determine what kind of biases Dumbledore did or did not have back then.
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Gryffindor Characters Getting Away with Stuff in General: They do. However, other houses, including Slytherin, get away with stuff they shouldn’t as well. It’s less of a house problem and more of a this-school-is-under-regulated problem. I mean, think of all the shit Malfoy gets away with for one. The Wizarding World has ridiculous safety standards. It’s good for plot reasons, just not for practical reasons, lol.
In addition, most of the examples of letting Gryffindor students get away with things center around Harry. It’s kind of necessary to let him get away with some stuff considering the role he has to play in the story and in defeating Voldemort. These instances are personal issues rather than house issues.
We don’t see Dumbledore dish out punishments to students very often; that’s more the role of McGonagall and Snape when it comes to their respective houses. So, again, it’s hard to tell if Dumbledore has a general house bias in this area.
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Influencing Harry to have House Bias: I would like to remind everyone that Hagrid is the first to impart a biased perspective about Hogwarts houses and the Weasleys continue to reinforce these beliefs. Dumbledore, on the other hand, encourages the houses to stand together against evil. He advocates for house unity. He shows compassion to Slytherin students, most notably wanting to save Malfoy from a terrible fate, regardless of any wrong he’s done, because he recognizes that Malfoy is a child who should have the chance to turn away from evil.
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Tom Riddle: I can’t recall Dumbledore acting out of any malicious intent toward Slytherin students either. Even with Tom Riddle, their beef is about each other, and Dumbledore doesn't act out of cruelty.
Dumbledore made honest mistakes with handling Tom’s mentality, which a lot of people would have made, and dare I say, he was more patient than a lot of people would be when someone displays the traits that Tom did. Regarding not letting Tom stay over the summer, there are two main things: 1) Dumbledore wasn’t headmaster and wouldn’t have been able to make that choice. 2) We don’t know whether or not he approached Dippet regarding the matter. Again, there’s not enough information to make a call on this.
Tom’s parseltongue unsettling Dumbledore isn’t because of the Slytherin house, it’s because of the Slytherin family lineage and their history. That’s more of a personal bias, and yes, Dumbledore did have some bias toward Tom. Again, I would say that he was remarkably patient with Tom, though, and he let his bias influence him far less negatively than it would influence other people. Sadly, we know how that patience paid off (it didn’t). The main thing is that Dumbledore didn’t let that bias carry over to the entire house of Slytherin.
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The only bits of Gryffindor favoritism I can think of are regarding competitions such as quidditch, which Dumbledore isn’t involved in regulating or scheduling, nor does he allow those biases to influence any decisions. It’s all friendly competition to him because he has no serious stake in it.
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In summary, Dumbledore seems to have slight biases for specific characters rather than houses as a whole. The magical world is horribly underregulated (for fun plot reasons rather than anything realistic). And Dumbledore is all for house unity rather than tearing one house down when it comes to anything important.
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wellpresseddaisy · 1 year
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Long Ago (and far away) pt.20
Because @greens-your-color asked what Dare might be getting up to.
Monday morning, Snape's quarters
Dare saw Severus safely to his office (unaccosted by well-wishers and the merely curious alike) and headed back to their quarters to start his own work. Bringing a House back from its mothballed state took considerable doing, he'd found. The accounts alone were enough to give a soul the heebie-jeebies. The property, the farms, the sheer weight of a millennia of responsibility and expectation added to the headache. It was a rather good thing he'd given himself nicer shoulders than he'd actually possessed in his first go-round with forty. He'd have to be careful to exercise this time. No going out clutching his chest for him, thank you very much.
Once was enough.
He could bear up under any amount of responsibility, though. He liked it. He liked being busy and in charge. It really was the kind of life that suited him down to the ground.
What had first-Severus called him? An overbearing, domineering sack of dicks? That was it. He wondered if his Severus had the same knack for rudeness.
He knew his own faults. Part of his time in India had been spent soul-searching and getting to know all aspects of himself. He was overbearing and domineering and he wasn't likely to change. Thankfully, between his aunt and uncle and his teachers in India (and the Indian government, which was incredibly generous by way of visas with those who wished to learn), he'd learned to channel his natural inclinations to the rather more petty dictatorship of a House Headship. Otherwise, as this world had learned, he might just try to arrange said world into a form that suited him better.
Not a good idea. The Rise and Fall of The Dark Lord was illuminating. He'd never been more thankful for Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro than he was while reading that book. Their patience and their love taught him to transmute a domineering nature into something with a price beyond riches.
He let himself into his study and just breathed for a moment. The file boxes and folders could wait. He didn’t yet have enough shelving or other furniture, for one. Seeing how close he'd come…well, it just reinforced every hard lesson he'd learned in life. Patience, kindness, honor…they were worth fighting for, even when the battlefield was his own soul. He hadn't been raised gently, not for the first many years of his life. He'd learned to cultivate a gentler spirit in a house where he was loved, just for being himself. To be forthright and faithful, to show he cared, to be a refuge in a difficult world, well, it was old fashioned, perhaps, but then again so was he.
Would Severus allow himself refuge? His Severus seemed to ache, almost, for a kind word and a soft hand. Could he get Severus to accept him, to accept care and concern? To allow him to give the full measure of his own devotion?
He had hope.
He hadn't wound up with a very expensive apothecary's embossed logo imprinted into his forehead, in any case.
The look on Severus's face when he saw what he'd been given made his heart twist. Such a small gift, clutched so close. It was a start.
Perhaps one day…but today he really had to stop wool-gathering about his husband and actually get some work done. Before the goblins came looking for him. He'd missed Hogwarts more than he thought he would. Somehow, in the years he'd spent tempering another Severus's more vicious tendencies, it became home.
To share it with a Severus who didn't want him dead and buried, to have precious years given back, really was a gift from magic. He'd only intended to stay with Severus for a night, thinking the younger man would want him gone, and instead he was given a lifetime. The responsibility of it (to Severus and for Severus) didn't bother him; he was well-used to responsibility.
What bothered him, intensely, was what may have been done to Severus to make him so…unsure. So hesitant to accept attention or care. So…appallingly awful at caring for himself. The Severus he knew cloaked himself in incandescent rage at the world and seethed from inside his self-imposed prison. This Severus gave far more of himself to everyone.
The phrase 'the full measure of his devotion' tumbled through his head as he stared unblinking at parchment. That was precisely what Severus gave of himself. No rest, no respite until all others were cared for. No thought that he might need the same care he extended to others. No thought that he might deserve the same level of care and consideration.
Acting on impulse, he called out, "would a house elf of Slytherin be available?" and waited.
In a moment, an elderly elf popped into the room.
"Thank you. I hope I'm not interrupting your day."
"Betsy is a Founder's Elf and waits upon Slytherin's Head. Betsy has waited many, many years." She spoke raspily, as if she hadn’t used her voice in a long time, and whether she meant Severus or himself he didn't think he had the courage to ask. Or the impertinence.
"You were here at the start?" He couldn't help the question. He didn’t think there was a soul alive who could resist.
"From the moment they sank the foundation stone, Betsy has served faithfully. Roderick and Delphine and Amaryllis were with Betsy at the Founding."
"Thank you for attending me, Betsy. I…would it be rude to ask what the founders were like?" He couldn't help himself.
"Dreamers." Betsy answered definitely. "Elves needed to be the common sense. They dreamed of this, what they would never see. Terrible Latin, they had, too."
"Weren't they scholars?" Betsy was his favorite, he decided. Terrible Latin, indeed.
"Self-taught, they said. Picked it up here and there. They managed, and managed well, but Betsy was with the Church before she was a Founder's Elf."
"So you would know…"
"Elves do.” She cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Their Greek was worse. Betsy became used to it."
He wouldn’t laugh. "Is it indelicate to ask if that's why some of the spells don't quite make, well, sense?"
Betsy nodded, looking as if she wanted to laugh. "They did their best with a hard thing. They created a system out of nothing. Before, children learned from their parents or maybe the Church. With a school, they needed to…to standardize what was taught."
"It must have been difficult." He agreed. "Leaving aside how to teach. Just getting children here…convincing parents to let their children be taken to a different…well, they weren't even countries the way we know them now."
"Betsy helped. All the elves helped, especially when a child couldn't go back."
"And in the morning, the door stood open and the bed was empty and on the breeze she heard her children's laughter drifting back to her." Dare quoted.
"The elves helped and that was the story they told." Betsy grumbled. “Some children weren’t safe. Home was no refuge.”
“But Hogwarts was?”
“In those days, she was a hill fort. She…updates with the times.” Betsy’s brow furrowed. “Since Mr. Riddle-Sinclair is of the line, Betsy may answer his questions.” She added the last in a murmur.
“I understand. I didn’t think you would tell just anyone all of this. I thank you for your trust, Elf of the Founders.” He said the words without input from his brain. “I will keep my counsel over what you have shared.”
“Is there something Mr. Riddle-Sinclair needs?” Betsy asked. “Master Sev—” she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Master Severus, hmm?” Dare asked. “Does he know what the elves call him?”
“Potions Master Snape is accorded all the respect of his attainments, Betsy is sure.” Betsy answered stiffly. “Master Severus does not call the elves for help. Or Betsy would have been active again, sooner.”
“Have you been…please tell me you haven’t been…” how did he even ask the question.
“Until Mr. Riddle-Sinclair called, Betsy was in stasis, awaiting the call. Mr. Riddle-Sinclair should not grieve himself. Betsy and the others are content to wait until they are called to service. Elves know how to wait. We find it restful, in the Between. Betsy watched over Master Severus…in a way that was not creepy.” She spoke firmly.
“But you’re here now.” He couldn’t help the revulsion at thinking of an elf in stasis. “You could watch?”
“A gift.” Betsy said proudly. “A gift from the Founders. Each house head is given the name when they take on the headship. Roderick and Delphine and Amaryllis were called a long time ago. Betsy is very lucky that Mr. Riddle-Sinclair found Master Severus. Betsy has found Master Severus…stubborn.”
Dare’s mouth twitched despite his attempt to remain serious. Oh yes, Severus was stubborn. Stubborn and determined not to be in anyone’s debt.
“Will of iron, that one.” He murmured.
“Betsy has had to watch pneumonia. Twice.” She sounded at the end of her tether. “Betsy did not enjoy it.”
“That sounds unpleasant, Betsy. Master Severus is likely to have a difficult day today. When he’s done with all he needs to do, is there something he enjoys? Something you’ve seen him do for himself at the end of a long and difficult day?” He hoped like hell he wasn’t overstepping.
“A bath, then his warming robe and hot chocolate before the fire. He likes music – quiet and orchestral on a difficult day.” Betsy nodded more to herself than him. “Now, can Betsy do anything for Mr. Riddle-Sinclair?”
“Would you be able to wrap the room in bookcases? I’m likely to need the space. And perhaps a window to the grounds?” He liked the dungeons, but he also enjoyed sunlight.
Betsy smiled at him. “Betsy is happy to help.”
She snapped and bookcases circled the walls, leaving only the door on one side of the room and a new, wide window on the other side uncovered. She frowned for a moment and snapped again. The bookcases under the window morphed into a sideboard. Sturdy leather periodical files ranked along several of the shelves, each bearing an empty tag. The lower shelving behind his desk twisted for a moment and then turned into a long row of lateral file drawers. A tea set popped into existence on the sideboard and a combination victrola and wireless cabinet popped up in one corner of the room. Finally, the bare flagstone floor sprouted thick, plushy carpet.
“Betsy, thank you.” Hogwarts made the room for him, but Betsy made it feel like his space.
“Betsy is overjoyed to have Mr. Riddle-Sinclair in residence.” And she did seem to radiate contentment and joy. “Betsy has purpose again!”
“Why don’t you reacquaint yourself with the other elves?” Dare suggested.
“Oh, oh, yes. Betsy will do just that!” She’d grown younger as she used her magic, now looking much as she had when she first came to Hogwarts. “Betsy will always come when called, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair.”
She popped out. Dare shook his head, bemused. No matter how much he thought he understood about magic and the world he inhabited, it always surprised him. At least Betsy no longer waited, watching impotently as Severus ran himself ragged. If she was as protective as she seemed, poor Severus wouldn’t know what hit him.
Dare put aside his musings and bent back to work. He summoned several periodical files off the shelf and began the tedious task of labeling and filling them. Auntie Ro always reminded him that a stitch in time saved nine when he balked at the tedium of any task.
It might save him time later when all he needed was right to hand, but the filing process remained a loathsome, foul occupation. 
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Attack at the Tower:
The Band of Boobs are caught between the Winter Wolves and an army of Giants! Beverly enters the Hill Giant psyche, Hardwon gets caught up in a dick-measuring contest, and Moonshine goes 1 v 2 against some big nasties.
The Dark Lord of Ember Heaven:
The Band of Boobs attend a gathering of the Grave Robbers and confront Galad! Moonshine gets creative with Rosaline, Bev develops yet another crush, and Hardwon visits his own personal Hell.
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yhwhrulz · 7 months
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Today's Dailly Encounter Thursday, September 14, 2023
The Source of Our Hope
" I will exalt you, my God and King, and praise your name forever and ever. 2 I will praise you every day; yes, I will praise you forever. 3 Great is the Lord! He is most worthy of praise! No one can measure his greatness.
4 Let each generation tell its children of your mighty acts; let them proclaim your power. 5 I will meditate on your majestic, glorious splendor and your wonderful miracles. 6 Your awe-inspiring deeds will be on every tongue; I will proclaim your greatness. 7 Everyone will share the story of your wonderful goodness; they will sing with joy about your righteousness.
8 The Lord is merciful and compassionate, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love. 9 The Lord is good to everyone. He showers compassion on all his creation. 10 All of your works will thank you, Lord, and your faithful followers will praise you. 11 They will speak of the glory of your kingdom; they will give examples of your power. 12 They will tell about your mighty deeds and about the majesty and glory of your reign. 13 For your kingdom is an everlasting kingdom. You rule throughout all generations. The Lord always keeps his promises; he is gracious in all he does.b]">
14 The Lord helps the fallen and lifts those bent beneath their loads. 15 The eyes of all look to you in hope; you give them their food as they need it. 16 When you open your hand, you satisfy the hunger and thirst of every living thing. 17 The Lord is righteous in everything he does; he is filled with kindness. 18 The Lord is close to all who call on him, yes, to all who call on him in truth. 19 He grants the desires of those who fear him; he hears their cries for help and rescues them. 20 The Lord protects all those who love him, but he destroys the wicked.
21 I will praise the Lord, and may everyone on earth bless his holy name forever and ever."1
There are days where I look around and feel a bit discouraged by what I see. It is evident that we live in a broken world and are suffering the consequences of sin. A friend of ACTS sent me a prayer request the other day for a family whose one-month old baby boy just passed away. He had health complications at birth, received surgery, but ultimately the Lord decided to take him home. At times like this, it is easy to start questioning the Lord's plan. It is then that he reminds us through His Word of His goodness, compassion, mercy, and faithfulness. King David depicts the nature of God so beautifully in this Psalm. We may not understand the "why" behind many things, but we can be confident that the Lord is righteous in all he does, and he is filled with kindness. He is a protector to all who love Him. It is the Lord who is the source of our hope and we can trust Him always.
Suggested prayer: Dear God, help me trust your faithfulness and goodness even when things hurt. You are the source of my hope. In a world of darkness, pain, and loss, allow me to shine bright for you, and in so doing, help others experience the peace found only in you. Thank you for hearing and answering my prayer. In Jesus' name, amen.
Psalm 145 (NLT ). Today's Encounter was written by: Crystal B.
NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.
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alastormanifest · 1 year
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@isaaclefebvre​ location: Roman outskirts notes: event starter, post plot drop 3
As instructed, Alastor had delivered the members of the Dahlia coven who’d not wanted to fight, safely to the hideout in Tuscany. It was late by the time he returned to Rome, though the fighting was far from finished. As lycans poured out into the streets, Alastor made his way through the city, his conversation with Vivianne still fresh on his mind. As it happened, she hadn’t needed him. Her new best friend the angel dick had flown in and saved the day. Great for him. A clash of aspects and violence brought chaos to every corner of Rome as the buildings and the people paid the price. There were vampires desiccating on every corner, violence at every turn, it reminded him keenly of home. His true home. The Inferno that had forged the demon into what he was today, once a favourite of Sathanas, he’d served at the Great Demon’s right hand, lorded over the City of Dis and fought eternal wars beyond the gates.
While Alastor had fallen out of favour, the familiar had no choice but to make the best of what the city was quietly descending into. His thoughts were fixed on the forest, the creatures within, and those who were looking for refuge there. Big names had come to Rome. Seraphim: Michael, Lycaon, Romulus. There was an itching question at the back of the demon’s mind that knew he had a choice to make, to find a side and make a stand. Some beast lunged at him and with little more than a flick of his dark hues the street was splattered with viscera at the inflection of his telekinetic abilities, decimating the thing. 
“Isaac.” Alastor greeted as he found the demon treating the city in much the same way as the he: like a playground. Perhaps it was petulant but it fed something dark in him to see the streets run red. His grin was ride as his tone was light, scathing and laced with an easy and charismatic measure of sarcasm. “Fun party, right? I missed you at lycan furfest earlier.”
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pursuitseternal · 1 year
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Dark Lord D*ck Measuring, Episode IX: Love Interests
The Darkling: No way, Vader, no way you fathered a child.
Vader: twins, actually. *breathes*
Darkling: their mother must have been blind
Vader: Padme was very comely, and a gifted senator and princess of Naboo. *shows picture from his wallet*
Darkling: *peeved* Yeah, well Alina is the only light summoner in our realm. We are MEANT for each other, Dark and Light. *shows picture*
Vader:*sighs mechanically* Our love was never meant to be, as a Jedi all forms of attachment were banned.
Sauron: *catches glimpses of their pictures* Oh ho, are we comparing love interests that we will never get? *rubs hands together* I finally get to play this game now.
Darkling: what do you mean “now?”
Sauron: Well, remember that eyeball of fire phase? Yeah no one would dare give me a love interest. But *hands placed confidently on hips* that’s all changed.
Darkling: Oh, is this why you have hordes of fans shipping you with that blonde?
Sauron: *reaches into pocket* Not just any blonde… The Lady Galadriel *pulls out full size pin-up*
Vader and Darkling: Woah…
Sauron: what about you, wizard?
Voldemort: Ohhh… ummm… yeah. I have loads of love interests.
Darkling: what are their names, then, snake face?
Voldemort: *noselessly faking it* You wouldn’t know them. They go to a different school.
Sauron: *finally looks up from Gal’s picture* Sorry, did I miss Voldy pretending he has girlfriends again?
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Again, I think we are the winners again! 😆. Or maybe Galadriel is the winner here 🤣.
Thank you to everyone who enjoys these, laughs, reblogs, comments, or just appreciates!
@thegreatzombieartisan @eowyn7023 @myfavouritelunatic @trinuviel @jurassiclexie @iamstartraveller776 @rosalysaoirse @helenvader @tenebrouswhims @mixingpumpkins @penelopeisshipping @allpowerfulnarrator
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diseasedfanfics · 2 years
Text
Word Find Game
OK, so, I was tagged by  @diphthongsfordays. Let’s see if I can do this.
Discover (The Dark Asgard Chronicles: Mangling the Fowls):
Shrill cries of pain filled the chambers, emitting from a door. Loki smirked at Cedalore’s cringing shoulders. The bed chamber belonged to his Best Boy, Geirwyn, who was a sadomasochistic savage beast. At that moment, Geirwyn was disciplining one of Loki’s pleasure girls. Discovered entangled in lust with his brother’s man slave, Loki wanted her punished to ensure she returned her devotion to him and Geirwyn was doing a thorough job.
“That’s right, girl,” Loki spoke in a quiet chiseling tone as he leaned close to Cedalore. “Let those cries of your slave sister be a reminder that your little snatch belongs to me and only me, though yours isn’t worth being used. Plowing around in that hole would be as fun as sticking my dick in a drainage pipe. Would you even know what to do with it? You couldn’t please a man if your life depended on it. I dare say, you’ll always be a virgin.”
As Loki placed her beneath his other slaves, Cedalore distanced herself from them and considered none to be her slave brother or sister.
“Yes, my lord, Prince Loki,” Cedalore replied to Loki’s scalding words in her natural obedient tone though they stung like a poisonous arrow shot through her heart.
“How does that make you feel?” The prince continued his taunts of the girl as he enjoyed causing pain, both physical and emotional.
Cedalore inhaled and measured her words like a smart slave.
Parting her lips, Cedalore said, “It makes me feel like I am not worthy to be in your presence, my lord, Prince Loki. I shall try to please you in all the other ways that I can by being your hand slave.”
“Good girl,” Loki patronized, patting her mousy brown hair.
Leave  (The Dark Asgard Chronicles: Mangling the Fowls):
Hurrying from the dining hall with Cedalore trailing him, Loki raced along the corridor after Valkyrie who vanished around a corner. Rushing around the corner after Valkyrie, he halted as the cool steel of a dagger pressed to his taut throat.
“Perhaps you will die today, my Lord,” Valkyrie threatened, holding the dagger firm.
“Perhaps today you’ll stop your teasing and give into my yearnings to tease your body to the deepest hours of the night,” Loki replied, pushing the dagger from his throat with his index finger.
Cedalore remained calm at the sight of the dagger. She was used to these interactions between her master and Valkyrie.
“You know, they say Thor is the daft one, but why is it that I feel it’s you?” Valkyrie voiced, keeping her dagger pointed at Loki.
Loki lighted in a tickled laugh, saying, “If that came from any other woman’s lips, I’d be offended, but knowing that you mask your true love for me with your disdainful words only make me want you more.”
“Leave me be, weasel,” she dismissed him, sheathing her dagger.
Valkyrie continued along the corridor.
Following, Loki walked alongside Valkyrie, saying, “Please allow me to escort you to my chambers so I can steal your flower. I’m sure it will taste so sweet when it burst with sap.”
Valkyrie kept walking. Loki’s lascivious poetry would stir a weaker Valkyrie from her vows, but she was strong in her faith.
“I promise I’ll be gentle,” Loki continued in his smooth tone. “I assure you I am skilled in deflowering virgins and would ease in gently with tender strokes. Hmmm…well, on the other hand, I think you’re much more of the kinkster and would love to have my big dick rip that tight cunny apart with jagged thrusts.”
As the glorious filth rolled from the silver tongue, Valkyrie closed her eyes and tried to control her anger. Loki plucked her chords like a skilled violinist, and whenever she gave in and clobbered him, it was feeding into his insatiable need to demand her attention. Using swift dexterity, she smashed the palm of her hand into his nose, sending his head back and blood streaming down his lips.
Tiny (The Dark Asgard Chronicles: Mangling the Fowls):
Loki stopped at the slave rings. Female breeders were walking in a single file with their wombs filled with the next generation of slaves. Allowing slaves outdoor exercise and recreation kept them in shape.
Loki detested children, though Frigga was prone to reminding him that he needed to take a wife. The adverseness he had toward children had its roots buried in his birth.
Asgard allowed selling infants into slavery, but there was a law against infanticide. The practice of selling runts into slavery existed on Jotunheim for years, but Asgard intervened when they learned how they dealt with infants left after sales. The idiotic Jotuns thought the birth of smaller infants was a disadvantage instead of an evolutionary event. Any runts left after sales were killed.
Notified of a Jotun market sale, Asgardian warriors stormed Jotunheim, but they arrived at the slave house to find a slaughter of blue infants. Removing their capes, Asgardian warriors swaddled the baby corpses, preparing to take them to Asgard for a proper burial. One warrior lifted a tiny blue baby corpse and a small blue hand thrust from where it had lain. The warrior pulled the baby from among the dead and presented it to Odin. The baby was King Laufey’s son. Odin wanted to sell the baby into slavery, but Frigga grew attached to the child. Casting a spell, Odin hid the baby’s blue skin and red eyes, and Frigga named him Loki.
Discovering the origin of his birth, Loki had a temper tantrum that lasted six years. Learning that he was a thrown-away child, something in him cracked. The opinion that family, love, and children were a waste of time and effort was cemented in him. Why should he love anyone if his birth parents treated him like trash? According to him, procreation needed to cease with all children being eliminated. Once procreation ceased, the universe would be at peace.
Uneasy: not found
----
I’m tagging:
@writerlysilly  @dilemmaontwolegs  @magicmoon65  @reowrites @milkathedudz  @elkatheinkstained
Your words: Decay, Birth, Funny, High
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Note
Could you please write Jason and Y/N (Father of Mine Universe) with prompts 48, 31, and maybe 30? could go either way.
Even if you choose not to write this, thanks for creating Father of Mine, it's one of my favorite fics!
Father of Mine
48. Using your body to shield them from attack.
31. Hurriedly checking for their pulse.
30. Performing CPR when they stop breathing.
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Jason and Y/N were walking along the water after getting dinner.
Most of the harbors in Gotham were run by one crime lord or another. Which meant that there were very few areas on the water for civilians to enjoy – or feel safe. 
But Jason knew of a strip that was under the radar.
There were a few other couples with the same idea. And random groups of kids and teenagers hanging out and messing around.
Jason was relaxed.
That was his first mistake.
Jason had immediately clocked a random middle-aged man who was covered in sweat and was visibly trembling.
Being far too familiar with the sight, Jason assumed the guy was another unfortunate addict. 
But then he noticed the man was carrying a backpack.
Jason had all of 5 seconds to realize what was about to happen.
He shielded Y/N with his body while screaming as loud as he could, “Get down!”
Jason knew he couldn’t save everyone, and Y/N would always be his number one priority.
The next second, the bomb exploded.
The impact knocked Jason unconscious.
For how long, he had no idea.
He was disoriented from the explosion, his ears ringing from tinnitus and his vision struggling to focus from the vertigo. Yet, somehow he could still hear the beating of his heart in his eardrums. 
People were screaming in pain around him and others were crying as they looked down at their loved ones. Half the harbor was on fire from the explosion. Cement and debris was everywhere. Jason’s hair was grey from it.
He blinked and then panicked.
“Y/N!” Jason screamed when he realized she wasn’t anywhere near him.
He jumped to his feet and whipped around in every direction looking for her.
“Y/N!” He screamed even louder, his throat burning from the effort.
Then he realized when the explosion when off they had been standing next to the railing that blocked off the water. The railing that had now been blasted away and into the harbor.
Jason sprinted to the edge and looked down at the black water below.
Without hesitation, he dove into the depths.
It was almost impossible to see anything.
But just seconds later, he found Y/N unconscious and completely submerged.
Jason had never swam faster in his life.
But when they breached, Y/N didn’t gasp for air.
She was completely unconscious.
Jason’s eyes darted around, trying to find their escape.
By some miracle, there was a rusty ladder that led back up to the pier from the water.
Jason put Y/N’s body over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder, silently praying that the metal didn’t break under their combined weight.
When they reached the top, he gently laid her down and his fingers shot to the pulse point at her neck.
Nothing.
“No, no, no,” Jason mumbled. “Y/N. Come on, baby. You’re not doing this to me.”
He found his Red Hood comm in the pocket of his jacket, and put it to his hear.
“Contact Bruce,” he commanded the AI as he started performing CPR on Y/N.
“What is it?” Bruce answered with slight panic. 
Jason had never called him like this before. And therefore Bruce knew immediately something terrible happened.
“Get the fucking jet here right now,” Jason growled.
“What’s happened?” Bruce asked, but it was obvious he was moving around already to leave.
“There was an explosion. She doesn’t have a pulse and she’s not breathing,” it was all Jason was capable of giving him. “Just get the fucking jet here now!”
He didn’t have time to explain more and hung up. And he didn’t have to say Y/N’s name for Bruce know who he was talking about. There was only one woman in Jason’s life that would have him sounding so panicked and desperate.
Jason continued his CPR, fully focused now that he knew Bruce was on the way.
Still nothing.
He did another round of compressions.
Jason’s eyes started watery as his mind began to believe that Y/N wasn’t going to make it.
He wouldn’t survive.
Y/N had changed his life. She made him better, made him good, made him want to worker harder – do literally anything to become the man she deserved and to continue to be deserving of her love.
“Please,” Jason whimpered. “Please don’t leave me.”
But then Y/N’s eyes shot open and she immediately turned over and started coughing up water.
“Holy fuck,” Jason gasped in relief at the sight.
Y/N continued coughing until her throat was scratched and dry.
Jason rubbed her back, trying to comfort her without preventing her body from getting all the water out of her lungs.
After she finished, she was shaking from being freezing cold and from the shock.
Despite him also being wet, Jason put his coat over her shoulders.
“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again,” Jason begged Y/N as he pulled her into his arms. 
He kissed the crown of her head and hoped his body heat would be enough to warm her up.
“What happened?” Her voice had never been raspier and it was now quivering.
“A bomb went off. I thought I shielded you from it, but the impact must’ve thrown you into the harbor.”
“I’m OK,” she tried to tell him. But her shaking voice was unconvincing. 
Jason wasn’t letting go of her anytime soon.
It was only 5 minutes later that the batplane touched down on what remained of the pier.
Jason looked up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian jump out and immediately start helping the injured.
But Bruce, dressed in his Batman uniform, was walking straight to Jason and Y/N.
“She needs to go to a hospital,” Jason called out when Bruce was a few yards away. “Her heart stopped beating and her lungs took in too much water.”
Jason knew Bruce wouldn’t argue with taking Y/N there immediately.
Bruce was clearly relieved at seeing his daughter alive and conscious. But that didn’t mean she was in the clear. Nearly drowning still had its risks. If her heart stopped beating, she was in danger of brain damage or pneumonia.
“I’ll take her. You help the others,” Bruce ordered as he stepped forward to take Y/N from Jason’s arms.
“Like fucking hell I am,” Jason growled as he stood up with Y/N in his arms.
Bruce was about to fight him on it, but then he met Y/N’s eyes. Her skin was pale and almost had a blue tint to it. She looked so small and vulnerable in Jason’s arms. Not like the strong and grown woman that had first strutted into Wayne Manor.
“I’m not leaving her,” Jason added for good measure.
Bruce finally sighed and nodded. “Take the jet. You know where to go. I’ll meet you there.”
Before Jason could carry her away, Y/N whispered, “What about the others?” 
Her eyes tried to look around her boyfriend’s broad shoulders to see the other victims.
“B is going to help them,” Jason gently told her. He even angled his body to block her line of sight. She didn’t need to see any of it. 
“We already have ambulance and firemen on the way,” Bruce added, hoping it would convince her further not to worry herself. 
There was nothing she could do for them anyway. 
Then Bruce locked eyes with Jason. “Go. Get out of here. Take care of her.”
“Always,” Jason muttered quickly before hurrying Y/N to the jet.
————————
Y/N woke up to two low voices clearly having a serious discussion, but trying to keep their voices down.
When she opened her eyes, Y/N realized she was in a hospital room. But it wasn’t just any room. It seemed like a five-star hotel with how fancy it was. It didn’t have that sterile smell or those harsh fluorescent lights that caused headaches.
“It was a turf war,” Bruce told Jason quietly. “Carmine has jurisdiction over the harbor the two of you were at tonight. But Farrelli wanted it for himself. He forced his latest victim to bring the bomb.”
Jason crossed his arms. “So, the guy was dead either way, Farrelli just thought he’d put him to some use before he murdered him.”
Bruce nodded. “And kill five more people with him.”
“Five people died?” Y/N burst out without realizing it.
Both men’s heads whipped in her direction.
“You’re awake,” Jason sighed and immediately rushed to her side.
“What hospital am I at?” She mumbled, looking around again.
“Gotham General,” he told her as he sat on the edge of the bed to face her.
Jason gently grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. But he had no intention of letting it go, keeping a tight hold and rubbing his thumb back and forth across her skin.
Bruce was slower to join them as he walked with his hands in his pant pockets.
“This isn’t Gotham General,” she commented with a suspicious gaze. 
Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Well, as soon as Bruce arrived, they realized that you’re Gotham royalty by blood, and brought you to a special suite.”
Then Y/N’s eyes slowly moved to her father. “Five people died from the explosion?”
She needed to know. But she also knew that both men would try to protect her from possible survivor’s guilt.
So Bruce just nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Jason asked, trying to distract her by changing the subject.
“Tired. And my throat is sore,” she admitted with a light shrug.
Then she looked up at Jason and really took him in.
There were dark shadows under his eyes – the eyes that were still a bit bloodshot. 
Had he been crying? She hadn’t registered that. 
His hair was a mess, probably from drying haphazardly after jumping into the water to save her.
“Are you OK?” She asked.
It would be right on brand for Jason to risk his life saving her, but ignore any and all injures that he’d received from the same life-threatening travesty.
“I’m fine. Always am,” Jason reassured her too quickly.
Bruce chimed in,“We were all just worried about you, Y/N.”
Both men knew her next question was going to be about the well-being of Damian, Dick, and Tim.
“Can we go home?” She asked softly.
Y/N had always hated hospitals. And once her mother got cancer, Y/N absolutely despised them. Now all she had attached to them was bad memories that constantly threatened to trigger her. 
“They just need to get a scan back, make sure everything’s good,” Jason tried to comfort her. “Once that’s good, I’ll take you home.”
He knew her distaste for hospitals and was prepared for her to want to escape at the earliest opportunity.
“Scan?” Y/N questioned.
“You didn’t have a pulse,” Bruce explained. “You have a concussion. We need to make sure there was no brain damage or any lasting side effects.”
“Right,” she mumbled, trying not to sound worried.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Jason reassured her as he cupped her cheek.
“Perhaps you should stay at the manor for a few days,” Bruce offered. “You can relax and not be bothered.”
“She can not be bothered in our apartment,” Jason interrupted, giving him side eye.
“Jason…” Y/N warned gently.
She knew the signs of Jason getting worked up. The fire in his eyes was always something Y/N could read – more than anyone else.
Bruce wasn’t offended by Jason’s little snipe. He was used to his temper. But his gaze did turn rather serious. 
“Could I talk to you outside for a moment?”
Jason was about to refuse, not wanting to leave Y/N’s side. But he knew that would just most likely lead to an argument. And Y/N didn’t need to hear or see that. She was already exhausted and recovering. The last thing she needed was to witness was her father and boyfriend going at it – especially over her.
So Jason just nodded and stormed out of the room.
The quicker they got this over with, the better.
As soon as the door closed, Jason was sizing Bruce up.
“What exactly is your next move?” Bruce questioned.
“I’m going after Farrelli,” Jason rumbled, as if it was obvious.
No one put Y/N in danger and got away with it. Jason had already come up with a plan on how to seek his revenge. 
It was going to be gruesome and dirty, but nothing less than what the bastards deserved.
Bruce clearly had expected this answer. “So do you plan on doing that while you take care of Y/N?” And he tilted his head as he challenged Jason.
“Are you really trying to stop me?”
Bruce took a step forward. “No, Jason. I’m trying to protect you from yourself. You get blinded by vengeance. And I let you get away with it. But now your actions don’t just effect you…they effect her, too.”
Jason blinked.
“Y/N needs you right now. Even though she will act like she doesn’t.” Bruce inhaled. “If you’re going to put revenge over her wellbeing, she should stay at the manor.”
This was a somewhat of a warning – an opportunity for Jason to do the right thing before he could make his mistake.
Jason’s head hung low now. “I can’t let him get away with it. She almost died, Bruce.”
“And he won’t. But we’ll take care of it,” Bruce promised.
Jason thought it about a moment, before he finally nodded slowly. “I think the manor would be good. But I won’t leave her.”
“I never said you had to,” Bruce corrected.
Jason nodded again and made his way to the door of Y/N’s room again.
“Jason?” Bruce called.
He turned around with an eyebrow quirked.
“Thank you for saving her life.”
Jason tried not to roll his eyes, but took a few steps back to Bruce. 
“You have your opinions about me and her, I’m sure. But I want to make this is clear: I’m always going to protect her. Always. What happened tonight is never going to happen again. I’d die protecting her.”
Jason didn’t wait for Bruce’s response before turning back around. 
But just as he opened Y/N’s door her heard, “I know, Jason. I’ve always known.”
—————
Jason was able to convince Y/N to stay at the manor.
And she surprisingly agreed – as long as he came with her.
Alfred spoiled her rotten with all of her favorite meals. He was constantly bring her tea or coffee. 
Damian ordered all of his pets to keep her company and cuddle with her. To the point where Jason was annoyed because there was literally no space for him.
Tim downloaded a hundred movies for her to watch. 
Dick sent flowers and chocolates. 
Even Clark stopped by when he heard what happened. 
Unbeknownst to Y/N, all the boys and Bruce were working on taking down Farrelli. 
If Jason was the man from just a few years ago, Farrelli’s corpse would already be rotting somewhere in Gotham. But he had changed. Now they had to do things the right way.
Jason stuck to Y/N’s side like glue. He hovered, watched her like a hawk, wouldn’t let her do anything on her own.
After of a few days of this, Y/N finally had enough.
“You gonna talk to me anytime soon?” She asked him in bed on their third night.
Jason broke their eye contact.
“Jason. Please?” She whispered.
Silence filled the room.
“I can’t do it.”
Her brow furrowed. “Can’t do what?”
For a split moment, she thought he was about to try and break up with her. 
“I can’t watch you get hurt again. I just…I can’t.”
She cupped his cheeks. “But I’m right here. And I’m fine, Jason.”
“When I…” He hesitated. “When I died. I knew it was coming. I saw the bomb counting down and I knew there was no escape. I accepted my fate. I knew I was going to die. And I was scared.” 
Jason shook his head and took in a deep breath, “But Y/N…that was nothing compared to what I felt when I was convinced I’d lost you. I’m never been so fucking terrified in my life.”
Y/N smothered him with her embrace. “I’m so sorry for scaring you. But I’m OK. Please just focus on that. Please.”
“I can’t lose you, Y/N.” Jason whispered into her hair. “This place was hell before I met you. And I have no fuckin’ interest in fighting it without you.”
Y/N wished she could promise Jason that she would never leave him. But she was the child of a mother who passed far too soon. She knew life and death could be so cruel, ripping the loved ones away with or without warning.
No, she didn’t die this time. But who was to say something like this wouldn’t happen again? And maybe next time, she wouldn’t be so lucky. They lived in Gotham after all.
“Fate may have other ideas…But I never plan on leaving your side, Jason. I love you too much to do anything else.”
Jason actually laughed. “I can fight fate.”
He’d done it once before.
----------------
I have a few more of these prompts for bonus material. But let me know what you think 🤗
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heli0s-writes · 3 years
Text
pagan poetry*
A/N: Hey-o! After nearly 3 months of being a complete disaster, I ... did a thing. Very much my usual brand of filth. Thanks for sticking around as I continue to navigate this impending sense of oblivion!! 1.6k words of bangin’ Bucky Barnes. Yeeeeeeahhh.
Title is from this song, by Bjork. 🖤
Warnings: Smutty smut and heathen shit, what else is new with Helios?
brooklyn after dark masterlist
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Steve asked if you were religious once.
It was an off the cuff kind of question, prompted by something you can’t remember now—silly banter over drinks and a background party, perhaps. Both grown weary of entertaining a crowd of strangers, etiquette spent nearing the night’s end. You’d shrugged lazily and prefaced that it’s hard to shake an entire childhood of indoctrination but now, by resolute choice, you aren’t.
You lied. You’ve never been more devout.
It was easier than getting into all the semantics, anyway. Where would you start explaining that you now spend more time than ever at worship? Not in the middle of Tony’s so-called “small” get-together of “only” seventy-five people. Certainly not a place to admit to Steve that your knees supplicate more earnestly than the most pious of priests, your throat constantly pouring the sweetest profession of faith—the name of the most divine.
Even if the two of you were somewhere more private, and he was at least half as drunk as you were, it’s a bit blasphemous, Steve, that you fuck Bucky six ways to Sunday and call it religion.
It’s a hard desire to curb when he looks like that. Bucky’s built like a god— his arm the kind of weapon you’d happily split your tongue polishing. Strong, powerful legs. Broad shoulders like lovingly carved marble, worked between the hands of a Renaissance master, tapered sharply down to his wasp’s waist.
His hips. Lord, you could dedicate eternity naming every last inch of his hips.
Such a pretty boy. How he makes you hungry to sin.
“Bucky,” you whisper, enthralled again when he steps out from a quick shower. Smoldering and glorious, and you’re Joan of Arc constantly being descended upon by a burning archangel. Some random night, like any other night, and you’re overtaken again. Hazy with orange glow, the billowing mist makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.
Then, you feel… hm.
Wet.
He cautions the way you chew on your lip, eyes twinkling brightly because what else is new. You? Turned on? Bucky could be brushing his teeth and you’d start climbing him like your personal jungle gym.
“Sweetheart,” he begins warily, adjusting the towel on his hips—those beautiful, beautiful hips. “One more dinner with us swinging in late and they’re gonna stop inviting us.”
You nod along dumbly, deaf now and set on a singular mission. Crawling on your knees, you reach Bucky halfway as he tries to put an end to your pilgrimage. Tries because your palms are fast over the damp fabric, fingers threading through warm fibers before landing flat against his abs, feeling up to his chest, murmuring stupidly, always so shocked at his everything. You graze up his wrists, his forearms, making paths of taut muscle.
“How bout after dinner?” His thumbs gently brush the swell of your breasts before he holds you back, straightening your spine when you arch into him. “Promise I’ll give it to you good later.”
“Give it to me now?”
He laughs. “You really gotta work on your negotiation skills…”
“Huh… Lemme try again: give it to me… right now?”
Bucky groans in equal measures of exasperation and exhilaration when you fall back on your knees. A few more half-hearted baby, quit it, ‘m serious, and then he gives up completely.
“Steve’s gonna get himself in a mood.”
“Steve’s always in a mood.”
Wilted protests quickly disappear into the hollow of your cheeks, licked away by your clever tongue. He grips the back of your neck firmly, tilting your head the way he likes best, eyes flicking down to meet yours before they close. He keeps you there a little longer, his toes curling into the carpet with each bob of your head.
“Yeah, you’re—always in a mood, too—uhhm—“
And you hum in agreeance, but the sound only vibrates into his skin, making him groan louder.
Bucky’s voice is slurred, as if half drunk. “Can’t hear— mm— you, sweetheart…”
So you make something up to give him what he wants, that buzzing of your throat on his cock, and his thighs tighten in response, the hand on the back of your neck reflexively scrabbling to your shoulder with a hard grip.
It’s a bit counterproductive of you to be so sloppy, considering that Bucky’s freshly showered and cleaned up— the scent of his brisk body wash strong and harsh in your nose— but fucking him like it’s your job allows some insight to what he likes, and it’s easily this:
Dirty, filthy, drooling wet blowjobs. The messier the better and the faster it gets him there. Your radiant Right Hand of God, but goddamn is he a little devil himself.
Bucky’s growling by the time he hauls you toward the bed, depositing your thrilled skin on the mattress firmly. Red lips meet yours with force, plush and full, nipping at the corners of your wet mouth like he’s kissing back every trace of him. He presses on across your jaw, up and down your neck. His voice is husky sweet and breathy in your ear.
“You bad, bad girl.” And you start curling yourself into him, nodding for more. One of his hands is working himself, the sound of your spit slippery in his fist. “You got me all messy again.”
Your skin feels blistering and freezing at the same time, chills racing to your fingertips tightly hooked around his biceps. The outfit you put on for a nice, quaint dinner at Steve and Sharon’s too heavy now, too constricting, but he doesn’t let you take it off.
“Every morning and night not enough dick for you, is it?” Bucky brushes your hands away, taking hold of your chin and peeling your head back until you’re looking at him. His pupils are blown wide, the only thing left of his irises are two thin rings of barely there blue as he scans your face. Your brain is short-circuiting, hanging onto every syllable, every purse of his cherry lips.
He switches on and off like a light. Beautiful, soft, thoughtful one minute, all force and darkness the next. You faithfully take it all, every facet of him. Your angel boy. Your wicked soldier.
Joan of Arc was only hallucinating, but she wasn’t half as lucky as you to have conjured something half as astonishing as Bucky. Gorgeous strong jaw, bristles along his chin and cheek scrubbing noisily against your lips as he kisses you. His mouth— open and wet, sloppy against yours— hardly landing right and you’re toeing delirium by the time his fingers slide up your shirt.
Bucky pushes you down into the sheets, rucking up your skirt until it bunches around your waist. “We’re in a rush, remember?” He tucks two fingers into the elastic of your panties and yanks them to one side. Just enough. In a rush. Your thighs meet with a determined shimmy of his hips— those incredible hips— and then you’re full, so full of him.
The blood in your ears crashes against reality and bends it all sideways. Not religious like that, but since the first time you’d touched him, you’ve been cocksure if heaven were real, it’d be this. It’d be him.
“Everyone’s gonna know,” Bucky promises, “You stumbling in there.”
The image flashes through your addled brain, the tell-tale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.
“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of where he’s connected— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time to it like a trained toy.
“Bucky,” you mewl, “Buck.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.
He takes the back of your neck again, lowering his body over yours, faster now. Deliberately reckless and the entire bed is rocking, springs squealing under his pace.
“Oh my god,” you smash your brow into the junction of his shoulder, hanging on by a thread as he drives into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.
“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”
His grip is tourniquet tight, thumb moving to the middle of your throat, pressing ever so slightly until your breath feels trapped under the swirl of his fingerprint. The curtain of his hair hangs over your face, blocking out the room going blindingly white. Your eyes shut tightly, opening only for a second to catch him panting over you, burning hot, his features flickering from utter control to trembling pleasure to something akin to frenzy.
Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards. His hands are everywhere. Eyes devouring every inch of your skin. There’s a million of him taking a million of you to a million more pieces. You shatter then, clawing his back and arms, singing like a fucking choir the infinity of his name.
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. He makes your days holy. The altar of his body. The sacrament of his sweat. He breaks you apart into something luminous.
Religion. Not religion. Your heathen soul—whatever tiny fracture you may have—all his, forever. Now, tomorrow, at the end of the world.
So, when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished dinner, as predicted, over an hour late and in terrible disarray, Steve crosses himself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”
On the couch, Sam clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.” 
All you can do is duck your head and grin.
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Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige
“The thing I love about being an actor is to fully work with someone and try so hard to be at every level with them, chasing whatever it is you need or want from them.”
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  GALLERY LINKS
Studio Photoshoots > 2021 > Session 008 Magazine Scans > 2021 > Backstage (August 19)
Backstage: Elizabeth Olsen grins widely over video chat when recalling many such moments on set with her co-stars. Yet, she can’t bring herself to divorce such a lofty vision of film acting from the technical multitasking it requires. The camera sees all.
“But then you move your hair, and you’re in your brain, like: OK, remember that! Because I don’t want to edit myself out of a shot. I know some actors are like, ‘Continuity, shmontinuity!’ But the good thing about continuity is, if you remember it, you’re actually providing yourself with more options for the edit.”
That need to balance being both inside the scene and outside of it, fully living it and yet constantly visualizing it on a screen, feels particularly apt in light of Olsen’s most recent project, “WandaVision.”
The mysteries at the heart of the show grow with every episode, each fast-forwarding to a different decade: Could this 1950s, black-and-white, “filmed in front of a studio audience” newlyweds bit be a grief-stricken dream? Might this ’70s spoof be a powerful spell gone awry? Could this meta take on mockumentary comedies be proof that the multiverse is finally coming to the Marvel Cinematic Universe?
The series’ structure, which branches out to include government agents intent on finding out why Westview has seemingly disappeared, calls for the entire cast to play with a mix of genres, balancing a shape-shifting tone that culminates in an epic, MCU-style conclusion. What’s key—and why the show struck a chord with audiences during its nine-episode run—is the miniseries’ commitment to grounding its initial kooky setups and its later special effects-driven spectacle in heartbreaking emotional truths. It’s no small feat, though it’s one that can often be taken for granted.
“I was thinking how hard it would have been to have shot the first ‘Lord of the Rings,’ ” Olsen muses. “Like, you’re putting all these actors [into the frame] later and at all these different levels. All the eyelines are completely unnatural. And yet the performances are fantastic! And technically, they are so hard. People forget sometimes that these things are really technically hard to shoot. And if you are moved by their performance, that took a lot of multitasking.”
As someone who has learned plenty about harnesses, wirework, fight choreography, and green screens (she’s starred in four Marvel movies, including the box office megahit “Avengers: Endgame,” after all), Olsen knows how hard it can be to wrap one’s brain around the work needed to pull off those big, splashy scenes.
“​​If you think about it, it’s, like, the biggest stakes in the entire world—every time. And that feels silly to act over and over again, especially when people are in silly costumes and the love of your life is purple and sparkly, and every time you kiss them, you have to worry about getting it on your hands. Those things are ridiculous. You feel ridiculous. So there is a part of your brain that has to shovel that away and just look into someone’s eyeballs—and sometimes, they don’t even have eyeballs!”
The ability to spend so much time with Wanda, albeit in the guise of sitcom parodies, was a welcome opportunity for Olsen. Not only did it allow the actor to really wrestle with the traumatic backstory that has long defined the character in the MCU, but having the chance to calibrate a performance that functions on so many different levels was a thrilling challenge.
“It was such an amazing work experience,” she says. “Kathryn [Hahn] uses the word ‘profound’—which is so sweet, because it is Marvel, and people, you know, don’t think of those experiences as profound when they watch them. But it really was such a special crew that [director] Matt Shakman and [creator] Jac Schaeffer created. It was a really healthy working environment.”
Related‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance ‘WandaVision’ Star Kathryn Hahn’s Secret to Building a Scene-Stealing Performance Considering that the miniseries spans several sitcom iterations, various layers of televisual reality, and a number of character reveals that needed to feel truthful and impactful in equal measure, Shakman’s decision to work closely with his actors ahead of shooting was key.
“We truly had a gorgeous amount of time together before we started filming,” Olsen remembers. “Our goal was—which is controversial in TV land—that if you wanted to change [anything], like dialogue in a scene, you had to give those notes a week before we even got there. Because sometimes you get to set, and someone had a brilliant idea while they were sleeping, and you’re like, ‘We don’t have an hour to talk about this. We have seven pages to shoot.’ And so, we were all on the same page with one another, knowing what we were shooting ahead of time.
“Matt just treated us like a troupe of actors who were about to do some regional theater shit,” she adds with a smile.
That spirit of camaraderie was, not coincidentally, at the heart of Olsen’s breakout project, Sean Durkin’s 2011 indie sensation “Martha Marcy May Marlene.” As an introduction to the process of filmmaking to a young stage-trained actor, Durkin’s quietly devastating drama was a dream—and an invaluable learning opportunity.
“It was truly just a bunch of people who loved the script, who just were doing the work. I didn’t understand lenses, so I just did the same thing all the time. I never knew if the camera would be on me or not. There was just so much purity in that experience, and you only have that once.”
The film announced Olsen as a talent to watch: a keen-eyed performer capable of deploying a stilted physicality and clipped delivery, which she used to conjure up a wounded girl learning how to shake off her time spent in a cult in upstate New York. But Olsen admits that it took her a while to figure out how to navigate her career choices afterward. In the years following “Martha,” she felt compelled to try on everything: a horror flick here, a high-profile remake there, a period piece here, an action movie there. It wasn’t until she starred in neo-Western thriller “Wind River” (alongside fellow Marvel regular Jeremy Renner) and the dark comedy “Ingrid Goes West” (opposite a deliciously deranged Aubrey Plaza) that Olsen found her groove.
“It was at that point, when I was five years into working, where I was like, Ah, I know how I want it. I know what I need from these people—from who’s involved, from producers, from directors, from the character, from the script—in order to trust that it’s going to be a fruitful experience.”
As Olsen looks back on her first decade as a working actor, she points out how far removed she is from that young girl who broke out in “Martha Marcy May Marlene.”
“I feel like a totally different person. I don’t know if everyone who’s in their early 30s feels like their early 20s self is a totally different human. But when I think about that version of myself, it feels like a long time ago; there’s a lot learned in a decade.”
Those early years were marked by a self-effacing humility that often led Olsen to defer to others when it came to key decisions about the characters she was playing. But she now feels emboldened to not only stand up for herself and her choices but for others on her sets as well.
“[Facebook Watch series] ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ I got to produce, and I really found my voice in a collaborative leadership way. And with ‘WandaVision,’ Paul [Bettany] and I really took on that feeling, as well—especially since we were introducing new characters to Marvel and wanted [those actors] to feel protected and helped,” she says. “They could ask questions and make sure they felt like they had all the things they needed because sometimes you don’t even know what you need to ask.”
It’s a lesson she learned working with filmmaker Marc Abraham on the Hank Williams biopic “I Saw the Light,” and she’s carried it with her ever since. “I really want it to feel like we’re all in this together, as a team,” Olsen says. “That was part of ‘Sorry for Your Loss’ and it was part of ‘WandaVision,’ and I hope to continue that kind of energy because those have been some of the healthiest work experiences I’ve had.”
If Olsen sounds particularly zealous about the importance of a comfortable, working set, it is because she’s well aware that therein lies an integral part of the work and the process. As an actor, she wants to feel protected and nurtured by those around her, whether she’s reacting to a telling, quiet line of dialogue about grief or donning her iconic Scarlet Witch outfit during a magic-filled mid-air action sequence.
“Sometimes you’re going to be foolish, you know? And [you need to] feel brave to be foolish. Sometimes people feel embarrassed on set and snap. But if you’re in a place where people feel like they’re allowed to be an idiot,” she says, “you’re going to feel better about being an idiot.”
This story originally appeared in the Aug. 19 issue of Backstage Magazine. Subscribe here.
Press/Gallery: How Elizabeth Olsen Brought Marvel From Mainstream to Prestige was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen
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ill-skillsgard · 3 years
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Faust x Faith - No Looking Back
Warning: 18+ smut, public sex, violence, blood, arson, implied death, mentions of non-consensual touching (nothing explicit and no r-words used,) mentions of stalking, unconsciousness, anti-religious themes, strong language.
Note: Hey, hey. I’ve wanted to write this for a while, but haven’t had much time. This isn’t based on any requests—just something I feel needs to happen to move the universe along. After this, I’ll be basing future FxF stuff off drabble requests instead of going story-heavy for a bit. Likes, comments and reblogs are suuuper ‘ppreciated!
Summary: - Not based on Lords of Chaos. I use Faust!Valter’s likeness only as inspiration - 3.6K words -
Faust makes good on his word to protect Faith, taking drastic measures to assure her assailant never bothers her again.
Read more Faust x Faith here [x]
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Thin raindrops pattered the man's leather jacket as he walked through the streets with his hood drawn up and his eyes low. For two days, the drizzle persisted and melted the black snowbanks into slush. Though the dismal atmosphere kept most inside, Sven had good reason to travel across town on foot. The promise of a girl's company waited at the end of his route, and he put off his regular nightly routine of masturbating to fetish porn for—what he hoped was—the real thing.
He glanced at his cracked phone screen every few minutes to check in with her, making sure she hadn't changed her mind, that she was serious. From the earnestness of her messages and the speed at which she replied to his questions, he determined she meant what she said about wanting to meet. Finally, his luck was turning. He’d show that miserable bastard Faust who was the better man.
- What abt ur bf? Lol
- What about him? Not here, is he?
- Thought u were a good girl.
- Haha, not really. Are you close?
- Ya. Y r we meeting at this random place?
- I need you to promise you won't tell a soul. If you can prove that to me, maybe we can keep meeting up.
- Lol ok. I PROMISE I won't say a word😉
- Thank you. Hurry, please. It's cold out!
- Be there in 5. I'll let u wear my jacket altho idk might not need it😉
- Hehe omgosh. You're making me blush.
- I'll make u do way more then blush baby. Just wait.
Sven lengthened his strides and turned the corner onto a hill leading toward the industrial area of town. Down the slope, he walked past several warehouses and legions of trucks parked inside barbed-wire fencing. It was a peculiar site to meet up, but his rendezvous insisted on a place nobody would think to look.
Betting his night would take an erotic turn, Sven popped a piece of gum in his mouth and chewed away the cigarette taste. He was seconds away from the spot she chose to meet, and his chest constricted with excitement. His boots crunched over gravel and garbage as he walked down a narrow alley between two faceless buildings. There was an open lot at the end of the lane, where he assumed she was waiting. As he made his way through the dimly lit alley, he whistled to make his presence known. The shrill tune reverberated off an overflowing dumpster to his left, and as he stepped to clear the reeking trash receptacle, something hard and blunt swung out at eye-level and flattened him to the ground.
Dazed and blinded from the sudden strike, he tried moving his mouth, but only a bubble of blood popped from his lips. A piercing stream of sound filled his ears as the edges of his vision turned dark. A large black figure came into view above, haloed by the soggy grey sky in the deepening veil. The featureless shadow chuckled deeply before a heavy boot's tread put out his lights.
~*~
Several hours passed before Sven's eyelids shuddered. By then, his assailant had had plenty of time to tie him to a wooden chair and organize his instruments of punishment. A headache blistered through the man's skull, throbbing in his eye sockets until he gained enough consciousness to open them. When he saw the person who had knocked him out, his throat closed and the gasp ripping through came out high-pitched.
"Faust... Please... Don't—" Sven hiccoughed. "Don't do this. I'm sorry. I'm SORRY!"
Faust, who had been facing the doorway at the end of a long red runner, turned toward Sven, holding a hammer's handle in one hand while cradling the head in the other. A malicious smirk peeked out from a curtain of black hair. He took a step forward, the clomp of his leather boots echoing through the church. Each step made a menacing sound that bit down on Sven's nerves and rattled his sensitive skull.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"I know you hate me, but please, don't hurt me. I swear I'll never talk to her again!"
Faust approached, flashing the obsidian hammerhead. He tossed the tool in his grip and stuck his hand into his pocket, producing several five-inch nails.
"No! God, no, please! Faust! Don't do this!"
The black-haired giant stopped to admire the curve of the hammer’s prongs. Sven looked around the empty church and saw a jerrycan taking up space in a nearby pew. He immediately started struggling against the jute rope binding his wrists and ankles to the chair as Faust drew nearer, smile uncoiling.
"I already gave you the chance to never talk to her again. Remember?"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"Sorry means fuck all to me. You should know that. The only reason you left the campsite with your dick intact is because of the witnesses," Faust said, then spun around with his arms out, showcasing their solitude. "Now, it's just you and me."
"Please don't," Sven muttered through swollen lips. "Fuck, I'll do anything!"
"There's nothing you can do. Nothing a sorry sack of human waste can provide this world to make me change my mind."
"SHE LIED!"
Faust jingled the nails in his jacket, reminding Sven who held the weapon.
"Whatever she told you... It's not true! I was at the party, but I didn't do anything to her!" Sven's voice cracked.
"Oh... So you didn't follow her into my bedroom?"
"No! I talked to her for a minute, and that's all. That's all, I swear, Faust. Don't kill me."
The stomp of boots neared the altar where Sven struggled in the chair. He twisted to loosen the rope and slipped one hand out. Faust grabbed his wrist and pinned it to the arm of the chair, readying a nail between his lips as he gripped the hammer. Sven let out a scream, stifled instantly by the hammerhead. Faust wedged the metal between his teeth and hissed.
"Shut the fuck up, or I'll use this to smash your teeth out like a goddamn window. Understand me?"
Sven nodded and quaked as Faust placed the tip of the nail against the soft, flat part of his forearm.
"Stay still. If I fuck up and hit the Radial or Ulnar artery... You could bleed out before I'm done. Gotta get it right between the bones." Faust slapped the pale skin to reveal blue veins. He pressed the nail’s tip in place and rose the hammer above his head, bringing it down and stopping short of the head as Sven shrieked.
Faust cackled. "Jesus Christ, dude. Did you really think I was gonna nail you to a chair?"
Sven groaned, relieved and moist with cold sweat. "Faust, I'm serious. Please, man. You gotta believe me."
His dark laughter continued, bouncing off the high ceilings, the wooden pews and polished floors. As Sven let out his own nervous chuckle, Faust brought the hammer down in one swift pull, then slapped his hand over Sven's gaping mouth to stifle the screams. Howling, Sven rattled his head back and forth as a searing bolt of pain tore through his right arm, crackling in his shoulder where it burned and burned.
Faust tore his phone out of his back pocket and brought up a video, slamming the screen into Sven's face. The video of him grabbing Faith in his room while he was states away watching the live feed from the camera he'd set up on the desk.
"I knew these little cameras would come in handy. See? I know what you did, you stupid fuck. And you know what else? I would have just beat the shit out of you had I not stopped by your place before our little meeting."
Sven whined, tears pouring from his eyes in steady streams.
"Oh, yeah. That's right. I went into your room... Saw some interesting things on your computer. At first, I thought it was just standard fucking creep shit. Snuff porn, torture... Teen girls. None of that surprised me... Until I dug around and found your little stalker file buried in your folders. You didn't even encrypt it. How fucking stupid are you?"
"I'm sorry," Sven shook.
"Why are you apologizing to me?"
"I'm sorry for touching her. I should have left her alone."
"What'd you think was gonna happen? That she wouldn't tell me? Or that I wouldn't believe her? And now I know you've been following Faith around, taking pictures of her, you fucking predator. And what about those other women, huh? You sorry about them, too?"
"Yes! I'm sorry. I know I have problems! I'm trying to get help. Please, Faust. If you let me go, I promise I'll do it. I'll get better. I haven’t hurt anyone!"
Faust shook his head slowly, grunting in refusal. "No. I meant what I said when I told you I'd crucify you if you went near Faith again. I'm doing the world a favour."
Sven hung his head and bled from the grievous wound pinning him to the chair, shuddering weakly from his injuries. Faust would never relent. He'd witnessed the drummer's cold disdain, the malignant hatred living inside that made him turn to the dark with open arms. Faust wasn't an actor. He pledged himself to the darkness with unyielding conviction, never one to take such things lightly. This realization depleted Sven's will to reason with the man.
Faust gripped another thick nail and drove it through Sven's left arm, smiling as blood dripped from the wood onto the church altar. The violent yelps filled Faust with morbid delight as he pressed the bloodied hammer under his victim's chin and raised his face.
"You're gonna die tonight, Sven."
"What makes you better than me? You'll be a murderer," Sven stuttered. "You hurt people, too."
"You and I are not the same. Don't ever compare yourself to me. You're a coward, and I warned you. Tread on what's mine, and I'll destroy you. That's what I said."
"All this over a girl? Are you fucking crazy!?"
Faust stooped to one knee, looking up at Sven as though the insult had cut him. Faust's brows arched, bottom lip jutting outward as he studied Sven, who closed his eyes. Then, Faust rose to his feet, leather stretching from the motion. Faust tapped his chin, smiled, and leaned over to whisper, "yes... Totally fucking crazy."
With a powerful kick to the chest, Faust sent the chair and Sven toppling backward. He then unzipped his pants, pulled out his manhood and giggled as he emptied his bladder on the weeping man. While Sven cried and moaned, Faust closed his zipper, whistling merrily. He left Sven on his back and snatched the jerrycan from the pew, taking slow, calculated steps while twisting off the cap and dousing the altar in gasoline.
As the gas trickled, Sven's desperation mounted. He could not flail, so he screamed. Faust gently reminded him what he'd do to Sven's teeth if he carried on shouting. The pinned man blubbered and begged, but Faust ignored his pleas. Inside his head, all Faust heard was the sound of flames rushing into a circle around Sven, crackling over the carpet and up the old church's wooden beams. By the time the roof caught fire, Faust had planned on being long gone.
"Please, Faust... You'll regret this! I know you're a serious person, but this is too far. You won't be able to live with yourself!"
"Wrong. I couldn't live with myself knowing I let a vulture like you walk this planet freely." Faust poured a trail down the floor runner, far away from the altar. He tossed the can aside and looked up at the Catholic saints' stained-glass portrayals and Jesus at the center of it all, staring down with sad eyes. Faust took a book of matches from his pocket and ripped one from the bunch, running its tip across the ignitor strip until a small flame burst to life. Faust flicked the match to the ground without a second thought, and the flame ate up the gasoline trail swiftly. The church was illuminated, and the colourful glass windows came to life. Faust raised his eyes to the forlorn Jesus and leered while the fire spread.
He did not stay to admire his work or revel in the cries of a man burning alive. Faust fled before the fire consumed the church, not once looking back or wondering if his victim had somehow escaped. He trudged through puddles of slush, hair swinging in the wind, white shadows of breath leaving his mouth.
It was time to get back to finish the tour. But he had one more stop to make.
~*~
Faith left the mall after helping close the book store. She received small smiles and nods from the mall staff as they locked doors and unfolded security gates. Some of the people she had spoken to before, and some she had only seen in passing. Though she returned their pleasantries, inside Faith was fretting. She tried not to worry about her boyfriend or ask where he was under strict orders to go about her day as usual.
She stepped into the evening air as the sun sank, taking the blue from the sky along for the descent. Wisps of white cloud stretched across the pink and violet above. Faith took in a deep breath and walked to the bus stop situated between a movie theatre and a dollar store. She popped her earbuds in and turned on a song that reminded her of Faust; one he wouldn’t like. His music taste had no room for the upbeat indie rock she enjoyed. Still, she smiled when the lyrics reminded her of him.
The scent of cigarette smoke caught her attention, and she looked around, finding no culprit. She wondered where the smell came from if nobody was around but soon forgot when the city bus appeared in the distance. It had to make a long trek around the parking lot before it pulled up at the movie theatre. Faith readied her bus card to scan as another cloud of smoke enveloped her senses.
Faith whirled around, and there he was, all black and leather, white teeth clutching the filter of a cigarette. Faust smiled, his words bolting from his mouth as she clamped her arms around him and crushed her face into his chest. The leather and musk brought tears to her eyes. She ripped out her earbuds and tried not to weep.
He hushed her, lifted her off the ground and retreated into the shadowed alley between the theatre and the store. By the time the bus pulled up, Faust had pressed her against the brick wall behind the building.
"Faust. Oh my gosh, where have you been? I was so worried," Faith gasped.
"Sh, don't ask questions, baby." Faust smothered her mouth, holding her thighs around his waist.
"Mm—I love you. Oh my God. I can’t believe you’re here! I love you so freaking much."
"I know you do," Faust breathed against her lips. "I love you, too, babe."
"Tell me where you've been!"
Faust shook his head and kissed her neck instead. She raked her fingers through his hair, knocking his hood down so she could see him unobstructed.
"Told you... Don't ask... Mmkay?... Stop asking... Just let me... Mm—fuck!"
Faith pulled his pelvis inward with her thighs, rubbing against his crotch and the heavy bullet belt wrapped around his hips. In their cloud of lust, Faust pushed his black jeans down just enough to free his erection.
"Fuck, I love your little skirts. Makes it so easy," Faust murmured.
The thought of Faust showing up disquieted her, but his lips on her skin and his desire thwarted these anxieties for a while. She set aside her questions, happy to have him in her arms again and overcome by arousal. When he stretched her panties aside and pushed into her, they both froze in expressions of excruciating ecstasy. Faust tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Faith clutched his shoulders, already writhing from the intense fulfillment between her legs.
Just as she thought Faust might drop her, he bent his knees and hoisted her higher up on the wall. In his arms, she weighed close to nothing. She missed feeling tiny against him.
"Miss my cock?" He growled in her ear.
"Yes, baby. Oh my gosh, of course, I missed it. I missed my big man."
"Yeah? Fuck, I miss my little pussy," Faust breathed. "Mm, show me those gorgeous tits."
Faith unbuttoned her work polo and stretched the collar down around her breasts for Faust to bury his face. Though there wasn't an abundance of flesh to lose himself in, Faust shivered from the first taste of her nipples. With muted groans of pleasure, he rammed into her until Faith could no longer contain her cries, unaccustomed to his girth. Faust absorbed her whimpers with his mouth, coaxing her tongue until she only hummed.
He felt ferocious from the last twenty-four hours. If he could make Faith scream without drawing attention, Faust would have slammed her into the wall and fucked her until she shredded her vocal cords. He had to keep a low profile. Even visiting Faith was a considerable risk, but one he relished taking as she clamped her thighs and rutted against him.
He supported her ass in both hands and shifted off the wall to fuck her standing up. While he took her this way, she wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered, whispering, "yes, fuck my pussy hard, big boy. Oh, I love that big cock inside me."
Faust unhooked and held her out so he could watch her breasts jiggle with every bounce. "You still taking your birth control? I'm gonna fucking bust so hard inside you, baby."
"Yeah. Yeah, baby, do it. Fill my pussy, please. I want your cum."
Her dirty talk and sweet sobs for his cock pushed him over the edge. He cradled her head as he pushed her against the wall and throbbed between her legs until empty. Faust pulled out and immediately turned her around and bent her over to watch globs of fresh cum dripping from her wet slit. He used one finger to push some of it back inside and had her suck off the rest. Afterward, he pulled up his pants and compressed her against the wall, one hand over her mouth while the other worked her clit in gentle circles. Faust didn't stop until she squealed and shuddered against him, muffled in his jacket and writhing from the manual orgasm.
When Faith calmed down, he released her and stepped away, pulling a cigarette from the squished pack in his jacket pocket. The lighter's flame created an orange halo around his face and promptly died. He smoked like nothing had happened while she fixed her skirt, buttoned her polo and zipped up her coat.
Faith smiled up at her lover, the night blotting out most of his features.
"I'm so glad you're home," she said.
"Not for long," Faust exhaled.
Her heart quivered. "Wait, what?"
"I gotta go back."
"When?"
"Tonight."
"What? No! But... You just got back," said Faith.
Faust shrugged, his leather jacket speaking for him. The evening matured, consuming the details of her hurt expression until the streetlamps along the road came to life.
"Why did you come here?"
Faust took one last long haul off his cigarette and flicked it down the alleyway. "Listen to me, Faith... You need to quit asking questions. I'm serious. The more questions you ask, the worse it'll be. And you and I did not see each other tonight. As far as you know, I'm on tour. Understand?"
"Yes," Faith said to appease him.
"I want to stay, trust me. But I can't. You know why. All the answers you want, you already have. Don't keep bugging, don't mention it ever again."
"I want to go with you," she whispered.
"No. You stay. Go to your classes, go to work, go visit your parents. Everything normal. And I don't want you moping around either. You put on that pretty smile, and you pretend for me. I'll call you in a couple of weeks before the last show and arrange a way for you to get there."
"What do you mean you’ll call in couple of weeks?" Faith whined. “What about goodnights?”
"I don't have a phone anymore."
"Why—? Oh, um... Okay. I understand."
Faust gathered the girl up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. "Good girl. I love you, and I miss you."
"I love you, too."
He tipped her face up and sensed tears forming in her eyes. Faust shook his head. "No crying. We'll see each other very soon. Just a couple more weeks."
"I know," she sighed.
"I love you more than anything, Faith. Now, go catch your bus. Should be here in a few minutes."
"But what about you?"
"Don't worry about me. I'm on tour. I'm not even here," he explained.
Faust kissed her again, smoothed his hands over her shoulders and turned her to face the bus stop. He urged her along. "No looking back. Hop on the bus and go do your schoolwork."
"Okay," she said, determined to make him proud. Faith walked out of the shadows and into the lamplight hovering over the depot. Across the lot, the city bus pulled in, and though she longed to turn around to see Faust watching over her, she kept her eyes forward and waited. When the bus pulled up, and the doors drew back, she stepped onto the platform and smiled at the driver as she scanned her pass. Faith took a seat in the back and put in her earbuds. She searched through a list of bands and selected the only one whose logo was illegible. As she pressed play, she listened to the immediate assault of the drums, their constant and violent beat. Faith smiled—warm in her chest and between her legs.
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