#fist post from the new dash pray for me.

[florbelles]

LYRA FAIRBANKS, fc5 ✤ AOIFE, tesv ✤ LAVINIA MEDE, tesv ✤ SÍLE COSANTOIR, bg3 ✤ AMARA of VALLAKI, d&d ✤ RIONA LONICERA, d&d

tagged by @inafieldofdaisies, @cassietrn & @gwynbleidd to make the fantasy/ambiguously mythical girlies in this picrew, ty beloveds!!

sending tags to the usual suspects (please let me know if you want to be added or removed i live in terror of missing someone) @unholymilf, @adelaidedrubman, @belorage, @henbased, @roofgeese, @corvosattano, @jackiesarch, @shallow-gravy, @shellibisshe, @firstaidspray, @leviiackrman, @risingsh0t, @shadowshearts, @shadowglens, @queennymeria, @chuckhansen, @morvaris, @raphaelsboudoir, @feypacts, @faerune, @mrdekarios, @shegetsburned, @poetikat, @cybilbennettgf, @indorilnerevarine, @ri-a-rose, @minaharkers, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @confidentandgood, @loriane-elmuerto, @strangefable, @purplehairsecretlair, @derelictheretic, @nightbloodbix, @teamhawkeye, @nuclearstorms, @blissfulalchemist, @playstationmademe, @jokermoreau & anyone else who changed their username in my frequent absences as of late. i am Sorry :))))

[rocorambles]

Mending the Cracks

Pairing: Daishou x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Choking, Spitting, DDLG, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Overstimulation

Summary: Daishuo prides himself on his cool and collected facade, his ability to not let anyone see past his polite and put together appearances unless he wishes them to. But Kuroo has always had a special talent for getting under his skin and now it’s your turn to help mend the cracks the messy haired captain has accidentally created.  

OR

Roco once again turns a request that should have been just a rough jealous angry spicy PWP fic into a whole angst/fluff/comfort fic WITH rough jealous angry spice~

Your heart sinks as the referee blows the whistle signifying the end of the game, pride and disappointment swirling in a confusing mixture inside of you as you rush to your feet, already making your way out of the stands and towards the locker rooms. It had been a good game, a great game, one Nohebi should be proud of regardless of the end result, that Daishou should be proud of. Yet, you know that’s the farthest thing from what any of the boys are thinking of as they dejectedly shake hands with Nekoma, another chance of Nationals taken right from underneath their noses, Daishou’s last chance of Nationals gone, just like that. 

You should be paying more attention to your surroundings, especially in such a crowded building with masses of spectators and athletes, but you’re too focused on rushing to your boyfriend as fast as you can, barely dodging the crowds and receiving more than a few dirty looks from people you accidentally bump into in your haste. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is comforting your lover, being there for him and reminding him that he’s still the most amazing person you know regardless of how one game went. And determinedly you quickly hook around the corner of the hall, only to yelp when you crash into something firm, the impact making you stagger back. 

Mortification rushes through you once your body steadies itself and you fumble for words, stuttering out apologies when you realize what, or more specifically who, you’ve run into, practically diving to pick up the knee pads the other has dropped because of your carelessness. You can barely bring yourself to look up at the other person’s face, already cringing at the look of irritation you know you’ll receive (and frankly, deserve). But it’s the polite thing to do and your eyes slowly travel up and up a long, lean frame, only to blink in surprise when you see the amused smile on a handsome cat-like face as he plucks his knee pads from your hands. 

He looks...familiar and you take a second to appraise him, eyes widening in shock when you recognize the Nekoma uniform and, emboldened by his lack of annoyance, you shyly smile, politely congratulate him on his team’s win and earning their ticket to Nationals. 

You’re secretly glad your boyfriend is nowhere in sight, already knowing how childishly competitive he can get, especially where Nekoma is concerned. And you know he’d throw a fit if he saw you “consorting with the enemy”. But it’s the least you can do after running the poor guy over. Plus, Daishou really only has an issue with one person on the team and what are the chances that this athlete is…

“Oya? It’s not everyday someone decides to literally run me over. Nice to meet you. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

Crap. 

You pray to anyone who’s listening that Daishou doesn’t walk in on this scene, can only imagine how bad it would look to be caught chatting with Kuroo Tetsurou of all people only minutes after Nekoma had swiped Nohebi’s chances of Nationals away from them, even before you’ve talked to your own boyfriend. 

But when it rains it pours and unknown to you, narrowed eyes scowl at the both of you from down the hallway. 

If Daishou’s honest, the outcome of the match isn’t surprising. Nekoma has always been a stronger team than Nohebi, as aggravating as it is to admit. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier and he knows he’s just looking for a reason to pick a fight when annoyance curls inside of him at how quietly and respectfully Kuroo shakes his hand, not a hint of the other’s usual provoking or teasing after the match is over. He knows it’s out of sportsmanship, but he can’t help but believe he sees his own self-pity reflected in those feline eyes. And he storms out before he accidentally makes a scene, mustering every last bit of his snake-like charm to plaster a smile on his face and force out some pleasantries and kind words to his team, all the while wanting nothing more than to rush into your arms and lock himself away as he comes to terms with his dreams being dashed. 

So imagine the stomach sinking shock he feels as he rounds the corner in his search of you, only to stare in disbelief as you smile up at literally the only person in this entire building who he’d rather you not ever meet, the person who led the team that had just crushed his team’s hopes, seemingly in no hurry to excuse yourself. 

Shock makes way for hot fiery fury fueled by jealousy and insecurity and before he can fully register what he’s doing, he’s storming towards you, startling both of you when he suddenly cuts in between, rigid and stiff with hostility and anger as he shoves his face mere inches away from Kuroo’s surprised one. 

It’s startling to say the least to have his view of you suddenly replaced by a larger figure and Kuroo instinctively steps back, uncertainty filling him when he sees heavy shadows of pure unadulterated ill-intent in Daishou’s eyes.

Interactions with the Nohebi captain are always playful, even if the stinging words aren’t always exactly lighthearted and Kuroo enjoys their bantering and rivalry underscored by respect for each other that both captains would die before admitting to. But this...this is different and Kuroo can’t help but think that somehow they’ve accidentally crossed the line to a point of no return, that something terrible is on the verge of happening, jaw instinctively tightening and fists clenching in self-defense.  

“Winning wasn’t enough for you, so now you’re trying to rub more salt in my wounds by hitting on my girl?” 

Oh. OH. 

Kuroo KNEW you looked familiar, unsure where to place you, but it all makes sense as his brain quickly puts the pieces together, frantically working under pressure as the snake in front of him rattles his tail and hisses. You’re the new girlfriend he’s seen in all of Daishou’s social media posts recently. And suddenly it’s his turn to fumble over words as he tries to calm the furious athlete in front of him, desperately trying to find a way to de escalate the situation without having to resort to anything physical, trying to reassure the other captain that it’s not what it looks like, wincing at how cliche that phrase sounds. 

You’re frozen as you watch the taller man continue stammering explanations, stunned by the feral aura radiating from your boyfriend, unsure what’s the best way to approach the situation without exacerbating the issue. But when you see Daishou take a step forward, your hands fly to the back of his jersey, harshly tugging at the fabric in a bid to drag him away from Kuroo, to keep him from doing something stupid that he’d regret. 

You wonder if you did the right thing as you cower when he whirls around to face you, pinning you down with a practically murderous gaze. But then you see it, underneath the blazing fires of his eyes, the vulnerable insecurities he keeps so deeply hidden within him, that he’d shared about to you in full confidence, raring back to life and tearing him up inside. 

Am I not good enough?

The question is unspoken, but you hear it clear as day and you want to scream at him, touch him, anything to wipe away the torment in his gaze. No, you're more than good enough. So much more. And despite the way you feel like a tiny mouse about to be swallowed whole, you easily let him drag you away, mindlessly following him and lacing your fingers with his bone crushing grip. 

It's silent as you scramble to keep up with his determined pace, clutching at his arm and pressing against his side in quiet obedient comfort, a reminder that you're with him every step of the way, out of your own desire and love for him. And although his countenance remains stony, your heart swells when he instinctively leans into your touch, the dark fog around him lightening just a bit. 

Not a word is said even as he locks his bedroom door behind the two of you, even as he pulls you onto his bed, wrapping his body tightly around you not unlike the creature he's nicknamed after. 

And you let him, ignoring the discomfort you feel as he constricts your body too tightly to be comforting, murmuring how amazing he was on the court, what a respected captain he is, how you know there's still so many opportunities for him in life, volleyball, anything he wants even if Nationals wasn't his fate. 

But when he remains silent, you nervously take a deep breath, knowing it's time to address the elephant in the room. 

"Suguru, you know I love you, right? I only have eyes for you and no one else. Kuroo-"

You squeal in surprise when you're suddenly pinned to the bed by a toned body, gasping when a hand wraps around your throat rendering you silent, whimpering at the venomous look staring down at you. 

"Don't say his fucking name, especially when you're in bed with me." 

But you need to explain! Need to clear the air! And you desperately claw at his hand digging into your neck, struggling to force words out, only to moan when lips crash down on yours, a tongue slithering inside of your mouth and ravishing you, fangs harshly nipping at your lips in a warning to remain silent and pliant. 

You pant for breath when he finally pulls away, trying to reach up and cradle his face in your hands, keep him still as you explain everything to him. But your efforts are futile and you moan when he promptly spits in your mouth the second you try to open your mouth to speak, body instinctively grinding against his when the hand on your throat tightens once again, mind busy trying to obediently keep his saliva in your mouth while simultaneously breathing through your constricted airway. 

"Not a single word from you unless it's about me and how good I'm making you feel, understood? Swallow." 

Daishou trained you well and you're quick to gulp down the pooled liquid in your mouth, baring your neck in submission as his lips and teeth possessively mark the expanse of your neck, sucking and biting marks you know you'll be proudly wearing for days afterwards, traveling down and down as your clothes are pulled off and haphazardly thrown away. 

The room fills with breathy moans and sighs as you let him have you, let him mark every inch of you, relishing in the slight twinges of pain you feel when teeth sink in too deep, when lips suck too hard all over your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your rib cage. But you wail when he deems you sufficiently marked, a hot wet mouth wrapping around one of your nipples, fingers harshly twisting and pulling the other. 

"DADDY!"

Pride soars inside of Daishou at the nickname, a name he knows only he’s lucky enough to hear from your lips, and he pulls away from your aroused bud just long enough to spit out a few choice words. 

“That’s right, baby girl. I’m your daddy. I’m the one who takes care of you. I’m the one who makes you feel good. So why the fuck did daddy find his precious girl chatting it up with some other man like a dirty little slut? Daddy not good enough for you anymore?”

Your head swirls from the degrading words, thighs clenching at hearing his endearing terms for you, but tears pricking at your eyes when you hear the trickle of doubt that seeps into his last question. Shame floods through you as you frantically shake your head, salty droplets leaking from your eyes as you begin to sob, desperately clutching Daishou’s sides and trying to pull him closer to you. 

“No, Daddy! Never! Only you! You’re my only daddy. I love you. I’m sorry! I’m your good girl. Please let me show you that I’m your good girl?” 

Daishou chuckles, warm fondness beginning to take off the frostiest edges of his insecurities as he watches you flail and fight against his hold in your pursuit of making him feel good, your greedy fingers trying to drag him closer to you, your hips grinding and humping his hardening cock like a bitch in heat as you babble and beg to ride him, suck him off, help him cum. 

It’s heartwarming in the most depraved way how loyal and dedicated you are to him, how easily you’ll let yourself fall into debauchery just to please him. And in his heart of hearts, he knows deep down that you’d never betray him, that you love him just as much as he loves you. But the heart and the mind aren’t always on the same page and he can’t help the way his eyes narrow and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he replays the scene of Kuroo and you in the hall, even though he knows the chance of you being swept away so easily by someone else is close to null, even though he knows Kuroo is a decent enough man to back off once he knows you’re a taken woman. 

“Settle down, little one. I know you’re a desperate slut for daddy, but today you’re going to behave, okay? You’re going to lay there, let daddy thoroughly remind you who you belong to, and thank me for it, understand?” 

It’s a rhetorical question and you barely have time to nod your head before Daishou’s blunt cock head is pressing against your already drenched entrance. You claw at the bedsheets when he suddenly slams in balls deep inside of you, your sopping wet folds easily making way for his cock, and your toes curl at the abrupt stretch, eyes already shamelessly rolling to the back of your head from the sensation of finally being stuffed full. 

“Daddy, so good, daddy, daddy, daddy” becomes your mantra, barely discernible amidst your wanton moans as he hardly gives you time to adjust before he’s starting up a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours, balls slapping your ass with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close to the edge you already are, how you nearly came just from his cock stretching you full, but you can’t help it when Daishou knows your body even better than you, when your pussy is practically molded just for him, trained to be his perfect cock sleeve and you wail as you fall to pieces around his cock, body convulsing and mind shattering from the overwhelming pleasure. 

But he doesn’t let up, continuing his relentless onslaught, smirking down at how broken you already look, drool and tears staining your wrecked face, incoherent babbling and wails slipping past your lips as overstimulation begins to wash over you, body now shaking uncontrollably as pain and pleasure swirl inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby girl. You’re doing so well. Keep on taking it. Fucking take my cock! This is what you were made for. Being daddy’s cock slave that he fucks silly. Going to use you until you can’t even think about anyone or anything else other than daddy’s cock.” 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than in between your legs and he swears he could die happy like this, cock buried deep within your tight pussy, would happily live the rest of his life bottomed out inside of you if he had the chance. But he’s only human after all and he can feel his end approaching, balls tightening and pace becoming wild and erratic when he hungrily devours the sight of your lewd state as you dopily smile, brokenly chanting “I’m daddy’s cock slave”, slurring thank yous over and over again. His hand reaches down to furiously rub your clit and all it takes is your second fall from grace, the sensation of your tight walls clamping and clenching around his cock, milking him of all his cum, to empty his balls inside of you. 

It’s silent again save for both your shaky breaths as you come down from your respective highs and Daishou carefully slumps down to the side of you, pulling you to also lay on your side, wrapping you in his arms as your lower bodies remain connected, hooking his chin on top of your head and letting you burrow into his neck and cuddle up beside him. 

But despite all his earlier bravado, you can feel his scales shift and skin shed as he reveals his softer, more vulnerable side, can feel him slump and his defenses crumble in the way he clings onto you, and you wriggle out of your comfortable position, ignoring the throbbing between your legs and all over you body as you determinedly reposition yourself until the two of you are face to face, forehead and noses pressed against each other. 

“Suguru, I love you. I love you so much. You’ll always be more than enough for me.”

You smile at the love and hope you see reciprocated back at you in your lover’s eyes, giggling when it’s quickly replaced by panic and embarrassment as he holds you at arms length, staring in dismay at all the punishing marks he had left all over your body before frantically nearly crushing you as he pulls you tightly back towards him, apologies spilling from his mouth for being so rough, a stupid stereotypically jealous boyfriend. And you roll your eyes as he suddenly starts raving and ranting about how this is somehow all Kuroo’s fault, shutting him up with a forceful kiss of your own, a playful smirk sitting on your face. 

“You told me not to mention his name and yet here you are, going on and on about him right after we’ve had sex. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little more interested in him than two rival captains should be. Should I be the jealous one?”

You bite back a laugh at the look of pure disgust on Daishou’s face as he stares agape at you, jaw slack and open wide in disbelief at your blasphemous lies, using whatever latent talent you have as an actor to tap a finger to your lips in a parody of an inquisitive thoughtful gesture. 

“I’m pretty open minded, Suguru. We can invite him for a threesome if you want. Ooh! Who do you think would top? Kuroo? You’d look so pretty on bottom for once, don’t you think? Or would you prefer to shut him up-”

You squeal in laughter and surprise when you’re suddenly being suffocated and crushed by a heavy weight on top of you, Daishou flipping the two of you over and laying his whole weight on top of you, shoving your face into his chest and grunting at you to shut up as he nuzzles his face into the top of your head and closes his eyes to rest, dragging you to an exhausted slumber with him as his breathing even outs and lulls your own heavy eyelids into shutting. 

Somewhere else in Tokyo Kuroo sneezes out of the blue, curiously wondering if someone is talking about him.

[mediocrevideopodcast]

Doom Eternal: April O’Neil

Pairing: April O’Neil

Content Warnings: Swearing? References to Doom Eternal? It’s honestly just a lot of fluff, I love April so much <3 

Word Count: 1105

Your feet slap against the pavement as you sprint towards April’s apartment, and you’ve never been so thankful for the impromptu late-night cardio that comes with befriending mutants. Out of all the benefits to receive from making friends with giant mutant turtles, stamina wasn’t one that you were expecting. Then again...you weren’t really expecting the situation to begin with. Nevertheless, you find yourself thankful for the late-night battles in the streets, tearing through the sidewalks of New York with a speed you would have never expected yourself to meet 5 years ago. You breathe steadily as you run, taking in the smell of freshly-ground coffee beans and pumpkin spice as you do so. It’s so distinctly Autumn, and quite frankly, a wonderful step away from the usual scent of New York City. Your feet take you along the bustling streets at a breakneck pace, blending in as just another body in a sea of people. Had you been anywhere else in the world, it may have been a concerning sight. But not here. You leap up her apartment stairs two at a time, weighted backpack slapping against your lower back with a vengeance. Will you be sore tomorrow? Maybe. Do you care? Absolutely not. You take a moment to breathe as you reach her door, composing yourself and regulating your breathing before knocking. Best not to look like an idiot in front of her mom, assuming she answers the door. Once you catch your breath, you raise your fist to the door, knocking gently. 

The door whips open quickly and before you know it, you’re brought into a crushing hug. You laugh, returning the hug quickly. “Good to see you too,” you giggle. 

She pulls away from the embrace, instead choosing to hold your hands to drag you inside. “Happy Halloween month, Sunshine” she chirps, “Did you bring it? Please tell me you brought it, if you forgot it at home we’re marching right back to your place and getting it, deadass.” 

You laugh, taking one hand away from her to slip your backpack off: “Double, triple, quadruple checked to make sure I had it.” You smile even brighter as she pumps a single fist, hissing out a quiet “yes!” She pulls you quickly to her room, flopping on the bed as soon as you both enter. You kick the door shut with your foot before dashing over to her PS4 to slide in your copy of Doom Eternal. You turn to look back at her momentary, only to see her smiling straight back at you. Your heart melts as your girlfriend quietly chants “rip and tear” from her spot on the bed. Her excitement is so contagious, that you can’t help but join in with her. 

 Halloween is truly the best time of year. 

You unhook a controller from the charging stand, tossing it to her before finding your own spot on the bed. You rest your head against her headboard, opening up your arms as a mock-offering. She quickly adjusts her position, finding a spot in your arms as the game loads. Thank god you both installed it last week. You couldn’t take the disappointment, or stand seeing hers. She drops the controller in her lap momentarily, wrapping an arm around your neck to pull you into a quick kiss. You smile, leaning into it happily. Her hands and lips are warm like sunshine in midmorning: a perfect contrast to the chilly, Autumn air outside. Heaven is a place on Earth with her, you muse to yourself. Cheesy, yes, but how else could you describe it? You pull away slowly as the haunting whine of the loading screen claws its way out of the speakers. “Happy?” you ask. 

She hums affirmatively, leaning her head on your chest. “How mad do you think Donnie would be if he knew we were playing Doom without him?” she chuckles. She quickly selects a new campaign slot, setting on the medium-difficulty “Hurt Me Plenty” mode. The TV casts a dark blue glow upon her room as it begins loading all of the necessary assets for the game. Her thumbs nervously caress and tap the buttons of the controller, eager to play. 

“I’m willing to bet, like, 50 cents that he found the cracked copy the day it released and played it without us.” 

“Oh god, yeah,” she laughs, “I completely forgot about that whole DRM situation. Imagine letting that get out, as a multimillion-dollar company with like, one of the most hyped games ever... Couldn’t be me, honestly.” 

King Novic’s voice slithers its way out of the speakers, drawing your attention to the TV. 

"Against all the evil that hell can conjure, all the wickedness that mankind can produce. We’ll send unto them... only you. Rip and Tear until it is done.”

“Holy fucking shit,” she whispers, leaning forward in her excitement. She grips the controller even tighter as the first cutscene loads, never moving her eyes away from the screen. You smile at her excitement, watching her amber eyes dart around the screen. Her eyes trace the outline of the sigil that’s been burned into the Earth, breathing a quiet sigh of awe: “Babe, “ she breathes, “look at the graphics, this is crazy! This probably looks better than like, actual satellite photos of Earth.” 

You chuckle, “You’re adorable, April.” 

She laughs, “Babe, I don’t think that’s the thing to say when I’m playing a game about murdering demons.” The screams of Earth’s last survivors ring out through her speakers, and you silently pray to the universe that her mom isn’t home right now. The introductory riff to Rip and Tear crescendos as The Slayer moves around the ship. April watches with bated breath, occasionally breathing out little sighs of amazement. You can practically see the stars twinkling in her eyes as she watches the cutscene, and her excitement warms your heart. The full force of Rip and Tear hits as The Slayer cocks his shotgun, and April’s eyes shine with unbridled enthusiasm. At this point she leans back into you, gripping the controller tightly. She swings her feet back and forth slightly, too excited to sit still. “Oh my god, this is so fucking badass,” she chimes, “I think that was the best intro scene I’ve ever seen for a game.” 

“What about Skyrim?” You jest. 

“I said best, not most memorable slash memeable,” she returns, waving one hand for emphasis, “Besides, Skyrim didn’t have the awesome metal intro, now did it?” 

 “Alright, fair enough,” you giggle, “I can’t wait to watch you Glory Kill some Revenants.” 

“You better not have played this without me!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(A/N: Look, do I have like 50 requests? Yes. Do I have like 10 different WIPS that I need to finish? Yes. Did I write this as a spur of the moment thing after listening to Doom Crossing: Eternal Horizons too many times and subsequently getting back into the Doom fandom? Yes <3 In this house we play video games and fall head over heels in love with Rise! April.) (For those of you who don't share my undying love for April...I've got a whole bunch of stuff from the turtles to post soon, dw <3 )

[sammysnaughtygirl]

the way you treat me

Fandom: Walker (TV 2021)Rating"R Warnings:adult content Characters: Cordell Walker (Walker TV 2021), Grace& Emily Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Walker Bingo, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Shameless Smut, Crossover Pairings, - Fantasy Summary: cordwell walker uses blackmail against rival Grace

Square Filled"blackmail,Angst cordell walker ,had had a bad day at work ,his face was smeared with redness as he had just bumped into an old friend and found out that she too was now a texas ranger and he couldnt understand what she was up to why she had joined the force why she had come back to town without informing him if made him fume with anger ,G race was cordy,s longtime friend but before she had left town without letting him know she was leaving they had become more than friends so he thought now he just didnt want to see her at all.his mind wondering what had sent her packing had also wanted to know what had brought her home cordell was so upset he just starting throwing things around the room shattering glass and smashing holes into the walls with his fist he was now in a new relationship with emily but if knew if he spent even just one moment with Grace he wouldnt be able to control himself because he knew deep down in his heart he wasnt over her so he made up his mind he just had to prepare himself for their reunion ,Emily had to be first he had to make himself keep her the focus of his agenda but he felt he knew it was gonna take all the power he had to do this. he snatched open the fridge and grabbed a beer before plopping into the chair in front of the tv he drank serval before heading off to bed his dreams were covered with images of Grace dancing thru out the night when he awoke he dressed in a hurry and dashed out for the office praying he was early enough that he wouldnt run into her as cordell was reaching for his assignment the door flung open and in a instant Grace came gliding thru it as if she hadnt a care in the world not even taking notice of cordell standing there glaring at her Grace stumbled into the bosses office and drapped herself in the seat asking what she needed to do for the day,she was handed an assignment the boss making it clear that she need to take charge and get to work immeditaly so she ripped the paper in half and stuck in her pocket ,out the door she went with no hesitation not looking to see her new partner might be as she reached the patrol car cordy stood beside the passenger side door with anger in his eyes omg Grace plurred out not you ,well im not happy about this either cordell shouted back to her its not my cup of tea to have to see you again. me, Grace was stung with his words why are you so mad at me ,cordell couldnt believe she would even ask him such a thing you left not explaining to me why or if you,d come back how was i to know you couldnt handle things what Grace asked she started to laugh at his gesture which made him grow angerier ,Grace could see hurt in him im sorry for not talking to you before i just took off but i didnt know how to deal with what was happening not just between us i had alot going on,so why didnt you come & tell me this did it make it better to shut me out to take the high road and just leave me in the dark? no it wasnt fair for me to leave without explaining to you why i had to im listening cordell said ,we cant do this now she told him we have work to do,oh i get it the old dodge the question routine, no it will just have to wait Grace said work has to come first sure cordell agreed as they both jumped into the patrol car this isnt uncormfortable at all Grace said cordell sneered at her without saying a word back the day grew long but they stayed silent after all they both were just not ready for real talk soon the day had come to end and they parted ways waiting for the right time to open the wounds she had left behind Grace didnt know exactly how much hurt she had caused. the next day she hoped things would look clearer but cordell wasnt going to make it easy for her he wanted answers he pulled her aside after arriving at work the next day ,we have to have to talk about it he said fine Grace followed him into

breakroom i need to know why you left he asked she looked at him her eyes were filled with tears i had to she told him but why ,why i dont understand he looked confused Grace nodded her head i know you dont ,Emily found out and she threatened you what,no way not possible cordell said she threatened me how ? she threatened to have your job she knew how much you meant to me still do actually ,stop it cordell pleaded i dont trust you anymore fine Grace told him ask her yourself she was afraid of the time we were spending togather she knew you had fallen for me too thats why she did it,she wanted to tear us apart and it looks like it worked your the one who walked away not me i would have never left you .i need to talk to Emily still dont believe me huH? cordell turned his back and walked out of the room,he stormed out of the building pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Emilys she picked up after just two rings hello ,Emily i need to see you now can you meet me at the square in an hour sure babe she told him what,s up nothing i just need to see you its important ok ill be there see ya soon bye she said,cordell got into his pickup truck and drove to the square where he waited for Emily to show up he sat in the middle of the square at a table directly facing the road so he could see her before she seen him ,the minutes went by quickly and before he knew it she was pulling into a parking spot he watched her as got out and started to walk over to his table he stood up as she approached him and he kissed the side of her check whats up anything wrong she asked him ,cordell shook his head you tell me he said why did you threaten Grace & me it was blackmail you know that right wait stop she nodded i can explain ,explain what how you took her away from me how this was all your fault?thats not what i meant Emily spoke i need to let you know why i did it i love you,no you just wanted what you couldnt have isnt that right you knew i loved her ,you knew how i felt about her and you didnt say a thing ,you probally knew she loved me as well is that why you did it ? i didnt mean to you didnt mean to what hurt me how did you think i was gonna react did you think i was gonna just fall into bed with you was that it ,Emily grabbed his hand i love you not her,cordell slowly removed her hand from his im sorry i dont feel the same yes you do i know you do she started to become violent and adutanted no i dont cordell tried to be calm with her as she was going off on him he decided it was time to just walk away as she tried holding on to him .you cant just walk away she cried as cordell fled,Grace was alone back at her moms old place and cordell knew he would find her there so he wasted no time after his meeting with Emily he knew now what had happened so he was headed to comfront her once again ,when he reached the porch of her house he started to feel those old feelings surface as he knocked on the door Grace peaked out to see who it was can i come in he asked sure she lead him inside i talked to Emily really Grace said howd that go i know what you told me was true i was just mad and hurt im sorry for the things i said to you apology accepted ,she told him he stood there learing at her what whats wrong she asked how could do that to me ,cordell i told you no i mean really how could you just walk away knowing how i felt about you i didnt want to cause trouble for you i wasnt sure if you felt the way i did ,so i just gave in to her demands it was easier than being rejected by you ,how can you say that you know id never reject you,he took a step foward and placed his hands around to cradle her face im in love with you how could you not see that he leaned down and softly kissed her pink lips she could feel her body clinging to his every word i want to be with you not Emily .Grace was so excited she threw her arms around him and squezed him so tight as if she never wanted to let go the tension was mounting the heat from his touch made her dizzy,maybe we should move this to your bedroom cordell implied catching her breath yes maybe we

should he scoped Grace up his his arms and carried her to the bedroom bringing the door shut with his foot he dropped her on the bed gently and drapped himself over the top of her and leaned in glancing her over before brushing a kiss against her lips ,standing to his feet he lifted Grace and slowly undressed her his hands once again found her mouth tracing the outline of her lips with his fingertips ,moving back on the bed cordell slide his hands down her body tracing her outline it made Grace tingle with every touch the two conitnued on to make sweet love and ended the night falling asleep moments later being at peace with one another embracing their newfound love .Grace dreamed that night the most beautiful dream ever .the way you treat me its the most beautiful thing i could ever imagine she had found what she was searching for cordell .

[s-c-r-i-p-s-i]

Candy is Dandy but Liquor is Quicker

[Dead by Baelight’s Kinktober // Day 8 and 18 : Outfit/Skin, Cornered]

🖤  🖤   🖤 “Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence. “Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair. “Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.” 🖤  🖤   🖤 Pairing: Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn) x F! Reader

Rating: Explicit

CW: non-con/dub-con, bondage, drinking, smut, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4,927

Something… odd had been happening lately.

Not the cankerous growths and sickly orange flowers that were always so abundant this time of year - or whatever passed for a year in this everlasting hell. By no means was that unprecedented.

Ask anyone who’d been there long enough to know and they’d tell you; there was a certain… cyclicity to things. Recurring phenomenon - the red envelopes, the flowers, the mysterious gifts wrapped up like Christmas presents. Always sequential, always in order, like some crude imitation of seasons. (And for what? No one ever aged a day.)

No, this was something new.

And new, in the Entity’s realm, was never a good thing. But… You had to admit, this seemed mostly harmless.

Look - It’s not like you were ever really in control of what you wore here, anyway. Most of the time, you were just stuck with whatever clothes you were wearing when you rolled into the fog. Sometimes She (that omnipotent thing in the sky) threw you in something else. Nobody ever really paid it much mind. The Entity worked in mysterious ways. And people, frankly, had more important shit to worry about.

But then when the flowers started blooming this year, things got a little weird.

She -…

She started putting people in costumes.

Cheap polyester numbers, mostly - the kind you’d buy from a big-box store, straight from one of those awful clear vinyl bags.

…It was starting to look a lot like Halloween. Jack-o’-lanterns even began appearing, scattered around the campfire and adorning the generators.

And nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Hell, not everyone even knew what Halloween was. You had quite the diverse cast; some people weren’t even from the same world as you.

The general vibe around the campfire was just… mild amusement if anything. You had a chuckle, then moved on. That was just the way of things. Everyone had these… survivor blinders on. You guess it was hard to get phased by something so minor when you all got murdered on the daily, but…

But you weren’t content with that.

You always had trouble just accepting things at face value. You wanted to know why.

Like - was the Entity stroking out? Things always did get a little strange around this time. Almost as if She were sick.

It was rare, but there were these little… Well, Feng called them glitches, and it was apt a term as any. Just little things, here and there, like She couldn’t quite enforce the rules of her own game.

Almost everything in this world seemed to be harvested from people’s memories. So… Maybe she was starting to pull things at random. Spiraling.

Was this the synaptic failure of a dying god?

Probably not, but there was nothing to do besides let your mind wander, and it was the only theory you had.

And then….

Then She whisked you away to Frontierland in the gaudiest slutty sheriff costume known to man and pit you against the goddamn cowboy.

Yeah, no - that was about a step too far to have been a happy accident.

Maybe you were thinking too hard. Maybe She just had a fucked up sense of humor.

When the fog cleared, you found yourself in the saloon with the others. You half-heartedly laughed it off (“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Very funny.”) and then moved on. Business as usual.

But not before rolling your eyes and discreetly downing one of the liquor minis from the shitty novelty booze bandolier sewn to your costume behind everyone’s backs.

At least She had the decency to stock it.

You were finishing up cleansing a totem when you heard the telltale crack of a gunshot split the air from all the way across the map. Not anywhere close enough to be dangerous, but a dead giveaway as to who you were up against.

…And cold hard proof that your little outfit was far from coincidence. The literal and proverbial smoking gun.

The moment you heard it you deflated, head falling back.

Seriously? What the fuck was She playing at?

Why you?

It wasn’t much of a conscious decision; you found yourself plucking another bottle from your bandolier and knocking it back without a whole lot of thought. You were obviously going to need it. Staring blankly ahead, you incredulously shook your head as you thumbed the moisture from your lip.

Okay. Alright. That was it, for now, you decided.

The Entity gave you a fully loaded bandolier - seriously, you were armed to the teeth with the little mini bottles, to the point it was actually kind of heavy. But you already felt a little weak in the knees after just two shots. It had been a while, so your tolerance was understandably nil. You didn’t want to be useless to your team. More importantly, it now felt critical you get out of there without running into the killer.

The Deathslinger was one of those ones. Not overly talkative, like a couple of the killers were, but he definitely got a kick out of the whole thing. There was a stark difference between the two camps, so to speak - the ones who only seemed like they killed because they had to, and the ones who were completely in their element. And he was obviously one of the latter.

It was that goddamn laugh. Low and sultry. Chuckling whenever he hooked someone or when a survivor did something exceptionally dumb. Even when you weren’t the target of it, you’d come to associate it with pure humiliation.

And you just knew that he’d take one look at you, in your stupid sheriff costume, and… Oh. You were steaming mad only thinking about it.

So you made it your personal mission to avoid him this trial. And to do that, you had to actually get out. Which meant no more drinks for you!

You should have known She had other plans.

You did your best to keep a low profile, tried to make sure you were on the opposite side of the map from him at all times, while still being useful. A difficult balancing act.

But you couldn’t just leave your friends hanging.

When you saw Meg’s aura flare out in distress as she was lowered onto the hook, you began making your way over, quick and quiet and praying to every god you knew that he would be long gone by the time you got there.

And, lucky you, there was no sight of him. So you crept towards the hook, privately taking solace that at least you weren’t alone in the goof factor; Meg was all dressed up like Wendy - the fast-food icon. The Entity really outdid herself, the braids were right on the nose, and you were almost loosey-goosey enough to make some stupid quip. Almost. Maybe when she wasn’t dangling from a meat hook.

You pulled her off the hook with care, but just as her feet touched the ground, another gunshot rang out, this time much louder. A spear whizzed by so close that you could hear it shear through the air just before it embedded itself in the post, inches away from you both. No sooner had you whipped your head around to find the source than the sound of shoes pounding against the ground filled your ringing ears.

You looked back and Meg was gone. Peeled off like a bandaid.

You decided you better get the hell out of Dodge too.

First things first, you needed to get out of the open; that was just asking to get shot. So you made a mad dash for the saloon. You figured you had a good head start since it should have taken him a hot minute to retrieve the harpoon, dislodge it from the hook, shove it back in the gun… Sounded like a whole ass process.

Except, when you looked back behind you he was hot on your tail. Trail. Hot on your trail.

You made a snap judgment, deciding you’d try and lose him by running up to the second story. Was it cheap? Absolutely. He obviously had some kind of bum leg, unless that brace was some kind of bold fashion statement. Not that it had ever slowed him down, any. But you were desperate. And all’s fair in love and war, right?

Swiftly turning the corner, you galloped up the stairs and dove into the first room you saw, hopping through the window.

By the time your eyes adjusted to the indoors and you realized it was a dead-end, it was too late. The only other exit was boarded up, and you could hear his boots unhurriedly thumping up the creaky steps like he was in no rush at all. Step. Step. You rushed to the boarded-up door and gave it a good open-palmed slam to test its strength - you’d seen killers smash through these like they were cardboard, but it just wouldn’t budge. Shit.

He was getting closer. You could hear his spurs. Hissing, you banged your fist against the boards in frustration. What, impending injury wasn’t bad enough? She had to add insult, too?

The footsteps stopped, and so did everything else, it felt like. Holding your breath, you slowly began to turn around. There he was in the window, backlit and silhouette, dusty sunlight filtering through his ghostly white hair. You had to admit, he cut a striking figure, something cinematic. There was just the trouble of the gun. Aimed right at you.

Didn’t have to climb over the window if he just reeled you to him. Smart man.

Before you could think to dive for cover or something smart like that, he began lowering the gun. It was hard to tell what expression he was wearing, backlit as he was, but you could feel those spectral eyes looking you up and down. From your cheap western style boot covers, all the way up your legs to your fluffy petticoat and layered skirts, the ill-fitted booze bandolier slung around your shoulder… and finally, the gold, plastic 5 point sheriff star nestled between your tits.

Oh God. Here it comes…

He didn’t even have to say a word, hot embarrassment already surging to the surface before he even opened his mouth.

“Well. Pardon me.” You could make out the glint of dirty teeth in the dark as his grin spread. “Didn’t know you were an elected official.”

Why the hell was he exempt from this bullshit, anyway? You’d seen Ghostface in a devil costume, and Myers in a cat ear headband, so you knew they weren’t immune. Maybe the Entity thought he looked stupid and campy enough as is. But… she couldn’t have dressed him up as Woody from Toy Story or something? He probably wouldn’t have gotten it, but you would have found it funny. Maybe then you wouldn’t have felt so small and humiliated.

You hated this. You didn’t even know what to say until he started climbing over the window. Then you had a pretty clear idea.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned shakily, backing up against the boarded-up door as he stalked forward, every step radiating confidence.

“Or you’ll what?” He asked, leaning in. “Arrest me?” Playfully rattling the costume handcuffs on your belt, he set his gun against the door. You stared up at him, eyes wide as saucers, and he just snorted, curling a finger in your hair.

“Darlin’…” Tilting his head, his fingers traveled lower, slowly ghosting over your neck, your collarbone…. You inhaled sharply in frightened anticipation, goosebumps rising, only for him to skim over your chest entirely, plucking one of the mini bottles from your bandolier. “I would love…” Long, bony, but strangely elegant fingers unscrewed the cap, flicking it off where it clattered across the floor somewhere. “To see you try.”

And on that note, he finally tipped it back - you watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it down. Shaking the empty bottle at you, he slipped it back into its holster on your belt. “Bit frivolous, you know.” He commented, curling his finger in and snapping it back. “A flask does just fine. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Right, well,” you huffed, and moved to squeeze past him - he was clearly in good humor, at least, so maybe he’d let you off easy. Wasn’t a little whiskey and a laugh good enough?

Apparently not.

You were immediately met with an arm shooting out, hand landing right beside your head, caging you in.

“Woah there, where d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He smirked down at you, a crooked thing that flashed his teeth, scarred lip snagged over a canine. You’d never noticed before, but one of his incisors had a gold crown. Now that you’d noticed, you couldn’t stop looking at it, the alcohol still floating around in your bloodstream turning you into some sort of easily distracted magpie. He was missing one of his bottom teeth, too. It was… kind of a mess in there, huh? Smelled like whiskey and tobacco.

“You got me all the way up here, I’m not too keen on leaving already.” Sliding his hand from the door, he guided you away by the small of your waist, and you… you just kind of let him, stiltedly trying to follow his direction.

“So how about you…” You reached the bed and he grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you round to face him. “Just sit your pretty ass down.” Just a slight push and you were bouncing on the bedsprings, palms catching your fall.

In the back of your mind you were already fearing the worst, but much to your surprise he just sat down next to you on the edge of the mattress, looking almost comically large and out of place on the twin-size bed. All you could do was blink at him dumbly, unsure what was happening.

He took a long breath through his nose. It felt like forever before he finally released it and said, “Have a drink with me.”

“I…” You drew out the word dubiously, clearly meaning to decline. You were already too tipsy for comfort considering present company was a killer.

“Didn’t ask,” He said gruffly, pulling two bottles from your bandolier and offering you one. “Indulge an old man. Or we’ll do it the hard way.”

Hard to argue with that! You didn’t know what the hard way was, but you didn’t want to find out. So you took the bottle, lips pulling together in a tight, awkward half-smile when he clinked his against yours.

This was weird. Awkward, and in a whole different way than you’d been preparing yourself for.

You actually found yourself glad for the burn that flooded your body as you downed the shot, heat loosening your tense limbs and taking the edge off this… incredibly odd situation, if only slightly.

Besides the obvious threat, it felt like maybe, despite everything… he was really just a lonely old man. In want of someone to drink with. A slice of normality. Isn’t that what you all wanted? You guessed it couldn’t hurt. It was keeping him away from the generators, anyway. Buying you all some extra time.

And… maybe this was what the Entity wanted. The reason she brought you here like this.

“Now, miss,” He spoke, and you turned your gaze up to him, blinking owlishly, your head swimming. There was a lot to take in at this distance. All these different textures. Scars and stubble and pockmarks. You found it all fascinating. “I’ve got to be frank with you.”

You know, you hadn’t really heard him speak at length before, but you were starting to realize that his whole aesthetic, he didn’t really sound straight out of a spaghetti western like you might expect. There was a trace of that, especially in his vocabulary, but his accent was much more reminiscent of… Canada, somehow. With a slightly Irish lilt.

It was ludicrously unexpected, and something about it just made a dopey smile float onto your face. You didn’t even realize you were doing it, until his eyes drifted down, and he huffed with almost fond incredulity.

“Think that’s funny, huh?”

You’re almost positive you missed something he said. You heard it, you just didn’t… process it right. This time when he spoke, you tried to pay attention.

“I don’t usually go taking what ain’t mine, but damn if you don’t look like a present addressed just to me.”

It was your turn to huff, bobbing with amusement. “Okay, cowboy, I know what it looks like, but…” It wasn’t like you chose this outfit.

“Honey,” he interrupted, “I think you’ve mistaken me for the wrong kinda wrangler. It’s not cows I’m after.” He paused, tipping his head as if reconsidering, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “But if a heifer’s in need of a good driving…”

It took you a solid minute for your brain to catch up. He was content to watch the cogs turn until it did.

He just called you a cow!

A cow in need of a good dicking!

Your mouth hung open in shock and he - he just laughed.

“Little slow on the uptake, aren’t cha? Had a few already? How bout one more?” His hand began trailing up your leg, dirty fingers slowly dipping beneath your pure white petticoat.

Suddenly, one thing was very clear.

You had to get out of here.

Shaking your head, you tried to stand, but you were swiftly reeled back as soon as your feet hit the ground, pulled into a hard lap, all bones and brace and knobby knees and God knows what else.

“We’re gonna have one more,” his voice materialized right beside your ear, tone final as he pulled another mini from your belt. You shook your head, whimpering some protest between tightly closed lips as he pressed the bottle to your mouth. Behind you, you heard him sigh through his nose like a beleaguered bull. Then his other hand came round your face, pinching your nose shut.

You didn’t wait around for your lungs to give out. There wasn’t any point in that. You knew he wasn’t going to give in. But you did. Almost immediately. Your lips parted for air and got tequila instead, swallowing sloppily as you tried not to choke, rivulets of amber dripping down your chin while he murmured, “There you go… Nice and easy…”

His hand lowered to your throat to tip your head back, your world spinning as a wet sensation dragged across your chin, the man licking up the tequila in one broad and obscene lick. That rotten chuckle inundated your senses. “Awful cute when ya can’t even keep your eyes straight.” He tapped his fingers along the column of your throat, adding in afterthought. “Awful cute anyway, but I’m not really in the mood to fight just for a little company tonight. You gonna be good for me now, darling?”

“…Uh-huh.” You nearly sobbed out the sound, voice meek and pathetic. But you’d be lying if you weren’t starting to feel… sweaty under your skirts, inner thighs getting embarrassingly slick. That always happened when you were drunk, but never this bad.

And despite all the awfulness churning in your stomach, you still felt heat pool in your gut as he cooed, “Good girl. Not at dumb as you look, are you?”

You didn’t even realize he was actually expecting an answer until he probed again, “Are you?”

You quickly shook your head.

Humming, he seemed to accept that, because he was soon re-adjusting you on his lap and catching your lips with his in a messy kiss. He tasted strong and dry, your tongue prickling like your taste buds were trying to retract at the mere slide of his against yours; like salt on a slug. When his hand crept up your skirt this time, you didn’t try to stop him, even as his middle finger began tracing your sopping panties, dipping into the wet seam. You could scarcely think, devolved into a gooey pile of nerves and feelings that he was amusedly plucking at.

Peeling your panties aside, his fingers parted your folds, a pleased rumble emanating in his throat and vibrating in your mouth when his thumb brushed against your clit and your hips twitched in response.

You were gasping for breath by the time he finally pulled his mouth away, but he gave you no time to recover, already pressing two fingers past your resistance. In some attempt to ground yourself, you grasped at his arm as they began curling and pumping inside you, but your weak, drunk grip made it about as easy as catching clouds.

At some point, your barely-there vision drifted towards the window and you dimly realized you were facing it, completely exposed. That if anyone came up the stairs, they’d be able to see everything.

You’d just have to hope his heartbeat would be enough to keep them far away from the saloon. Eyes fluttering to the ceiling, you pushed the thought from your mind. It wasn’t hard. Not when the feeling in your stomach was reaching a fever pitch, nearing the point of no return.

In some ways, he was a lot gentler than you were expecting. Which was good, because you felt hopelessly vulnerable right now, helpless and disorientated in his lap, his looming over you making your mixed up brain feel protected even though some part of you knew that wasn’t right.

Everything felt numb except where he touched you; the heat of his breath on your neck, the kisses he pressed to your skin, the scrape of his beard, the brush of his long hair against your shoulder. All your wires were crossed, every little sensation going straight to your core.

Gasping out as your climax crashed over you, your hips lurched, thighs trying to snap closed around his hand. Unbothered, he just kept stroking you through it until your hips finally began to sink back down and your cunt stopped desperately trying to milk his fingers. Withdrawing slowly, he pressed them into your open mouth, the tang of your own juices spreading across your tongue. You didn’t know what it said about you that your blind instinct was to obediently suck, but that’s what you did, and he breathed out in a low, steady hiss.

“Careful, now. Fool me too good and I might have to keep you.”

Pulling away, he encouraged you to lay on the bed, settling between your legs. You watched the ceiling drift then snap back to place every time you blinked while he fiddled with something - you weren’t sure what until he was fixing your arms above your head and the apparently not-so-novelty handcuffs from your costume were being snapped around your wrists.

Then his hands were skating over you appreciatively, over your ribcage, the curvature of your waist almost reverently. “Guess the good Lord finally answered my prayers.” He murmured, flicking the plastic sheriff star between your bosom. “Not really how I woulda done it, but beggars can’t be choosers, eh? After all…” The man sighed, fingers curling into the top of your blouse and slowly dragging the gingham fabric down over your breasts until they were revealed to his eerie, quietly covetous eyes. “We don’t exactly have all the time in the world, do we?”

What was that even supposed to mean? It seemed to you as if you had nothing but time. Maybe not in this particular trial - and as if to punctuate that thought, you felt a generator kick to life, the familiar thrum of hope in your bones.

Did he know something you didn’t? Or were you just too foxed to follow?

Exhaling, he rolled his hands over your breasts, admiring the feel of them for just a moment. It seemed like he wanted to take his time with you, but the reminder that you were on a timer was the spur in his side that eventually pushed him to move on.

You heard him audibly fiddling with his belts and wondered if you were getting out of this alive. It was cold comfort, but at least you’d probably managed to save everyone else. Not very heroic when it wasn’t even really your decision. But it was something. Maybe. Something to cling to as you felt the heat of him slide across the mess he’d made of you.

Whimpering, you curled inwards from your core as he entered you, bound hands lifting up and both grasping at his chest at the feeling of being run through. By no means was it violent. It didn’t hurt, exactly. But it had been a long time, and he was unforgivingly long and solid and foreign. An intrusion on your body.

“That’s it. There you go, gorgeous. Hang onto me.”

You did, your hands abandoning his chest to loop over his neck, accidentally knocking the hat off his head in your bound fumbling. He didn’t seem to care, swooping down to take your lips again while you struggled to get used to the feeling of him moving inside you.

With how wet you already were, it didn’t take all that long before pleasure started to win out, every little bump and grind against your sweet spot pulling you closer to the edge again, his mouth muffling the pathetic stream of sounds trying to escape yours.

This time, the fall from the top was a slow one, liquid heat spilling out across your core - though you weren’t quite aware how literally until you felt it physically starting to pool beneath you, a wave of embarrassment flaring when you’d realized what just happened. Okay - you didn’t - that had never happened before, drunk or not.

Your hopes that he didn’t notice were dashed as he pulled away to chuckle heatedly in your ear. He wasn’t far behind though, laughter broken by a groan as his hips snapped against yours, burying himself deep as he could go. You felt the alien jerk of his cock inside you, radiating warmth.

Panting, he nuzzled at your neck as he came down, whiskers scratching at your skin. You felt… suspended in place, not sure what came next. But you guessed it wasn’t up to you. Hesitantly, you let your fingers slip into his sweaty white tresses, the texture thick and rough like the mane of a horse, dusty and… probably unwashed for God knows how long.

There was that awkward feeling again. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit no matter how you turned them, but you weren’t allowed to leave.

Eventually, he took a deep, centering breath and withdrew from you, guiding your hands back to the bed and clicking open the safety release of the handcuffs, setting you free and letting them fall wherever on the floor.

Rubbing your wrists, you groaned in discomfort as he dragged his fingers through the mess, pushing his cum back inside you. No. You just wanted to be done.

But then he pulled your panties back into place. Pulled your shirt back up. Smoothed your skirts down.

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he heaved a big sigh and finally dismounted.

Pulling you up by your arm so that you were sitting up, he grabbed his hat from the bed, and you felt him plop it onto your head and adjust it.

“Suits ya.” He said softly, and it was the first thing he’d said in a while. Part of you was waiting for the other shoe to drop, not sure if he wanted a thank you, or…

He eyed you for another long moment, like there was something more he wanted to say, but… Instead, his gaze flicked down to the bandolier round your chest.

You swallowed hard as he plucked the last two bottles from your belt, the thought of taking another shot making your stomach churn and your gag reflex curl.

Patting your thigh, he bonelessly plopped himself in the nearby chair, rolling his eyes as you just stared at him. “Go on, get.” He snorted, uncapping one of the little bottles. “Don’t fall down the stairs on your way out.”

He was letting you go? Just like that?

You hesitated, something about this seemed… unfinished. You weren’t sure if you wanted to go.

But you didn’t want to wait around until he changed his mind, either.

So you uncertainly began heading towards the window, pausing when you remembered - “Your hat…” You reached for it, intending to give it back, but…

“Keep it, I don’t care.” That sounded unexpectedly crabby, and when you looked back, he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the wall, avoiding your gaze as he tipped back a shot. “Wear it if you want to see me again. Don’t if ya don’t. I can take a hint.”

You blinked, unable to believe he was sulking. Now. After everything.

Your fingers hovered over the brim of the hat. You needed to quash this now, while you still had the chance. Your conscience was screaming at you, leave it, don’t encourage him, don’t even give him hope.

Don’t bring it to the campfire. Don’t anything. Just… leave it on the windowsill, you told yourself. It shouldn’t have even required thought. Nothing about this was okay.

You didn’t even know his goddamn name.

And yet… You found your hand slowly lowering, falling back down to your side. You gave him one last, long look before grabbing the windowsill.

You could always decide later.

🖤  🖤 🖤

Thank you for reading!!!

🖤  🖤 🖤  

Notes:

Thank you Pugge for beta'ing most of this!

I do not know WHY this took me so long to write but I’m fairly happy with it. Sorta wasn’t the direction I originally had planned for this, but what can I say, I’m cursed. I got the Midas touch, except instead of gold, everything I touch turns to non-con.

This piece was written for Day 8 and 18 of the 🔞 Dead by Baelight 🔞 Discord server’s Kinktober. Anyone over 18 is welcome to join here.

[bumbleboarhd]

Couldn't find a good place to post this fanfic so it goes here:

TW// swearing, blood, description of eating, mentions of nazis, death, Aot

The sweet freedom of the fishy whopper

By Bon Miles

Eren jaeger grabbed the greasy fishy whopper. A fog of anticipation poisoned the air. Everyone in the Burger King held their breath to see what the moronic survey scout would do. Armin, in a move of pure dread and desperation broke the silence with his cries, "Y-you don't have to do this Eren! It's not too late to just order a normal whopper! Eren stared blind hatred into his friends eyes. "Stay out of it! If I can't eat a simple fishy whopper, then how will I be able to face the others? If I confine myself to nothing more than one menu choice, then I'm no better than the cattle living inside the walls, praying the titans don't eat them." Eren slammed his fist on the table and began inhaling the fishy whopper, hardly even chewing as he slid it down his poor unprepared slimjim throat. The restaraunt's silence was replaced with the sounds Eren gagging and heaving as he proceeded to vore the fishy whopper for what felt like eons. A sudden crashing thud was heard as Mikasa collapsed to her knees with tears in her eyes. "Why Eren? Why do you always have to eat everything you can fit in your hands? Why do you always run away from me? They didnt even get to fucking debone it!" Eren ignored her cries and kept engorging the fishy whopper when suddenly a stray bone stabbed through his esophagus! Eren could no longer get oxygen through his nose and started choking. This only fueled his passion though, he violently pushed the whole fishy whopper into his throat as his vision started fade out. The last things he heard were Mikasa and Armin's screams, Levi yelled "again?" As he dashed to save the boy. The last thing Eren felt was the taste of blood flooding into his mouth. Far away, unbeknownst to anyone, the beast and armored titan watched the tragic event with tiny binoculars like the ones rich people use. Reiner throws his tiny binoculars at the ground in disgust. "Eren! You dumb bastard! I guess you were all fated to something like this sooner or later" the beast titan squats down smugly, "yes, quite like the devils who ravaged his home town and killed his mother eren was driven by the monstrous urge to devour that which he saw. He died just like the thing he so hated. Such is the fate of an eldian." Reiner looked down sadly, alerting the beast titan to his presence. The beast titans face contorted into anger. "Also, dont throw my fucking tiny binoculars you mongrel! They cost a lot of money! Do I look like I'm made of (INSERT AOT CURRENCY HERE)?" Reiner pisses his pants a bit. "I'm sorry muchacho" the beast titan peers into Reiner's soul "Bitch, I will yeet you like a goddamn horse. Shut your aryan ass mouth the hell up." The cart titan scurries over to them. "Hello, I'm your uber for today... not you assholes again!" The beast titan smiles "let us go Reiner, the new Lindsey Ellis video just dropped and I refuse to be out of the loop." The cart titan cries as she carries reiner and the beast titan. who refused to detitanize because he forgot to shave that morning.

[oscararcane]

Pranks

I wrote this month ago, but never posted it. Today is as good as any to do so, I suppose. So have this indulgent lil’ Maegar Varn/General fic.

Writing diplomatic letters, reading treasury reports, sitting during long hearings in the throne room of his rustic fort… It had been a long and not-so-enjoyable day for Maegar Varn. But that was baroning for you, in the eloquent words of his Treasurer. Therefore taking a relaxing bath was quite welcome in this automnal evening. Not to mention how relieving it was to soak in hot water after a cold day. The season was getting cooler every day and the cold winds tended to squeeze through the wooden plank of his makeshift castle, making every room uncomfortably chilly.

The baron closed his eyes and sighed with content when he heard a tell-tale jingling. His body tensed up and his eyelids shot open.

- Sahira?

Maegar looked intently towards the screen that separated the bathtub from the rest of his bedroom, looking for a familiar shadow. Nothing. Yet he could have sworn it was the sound of the Tiefling’s jewellery he just recognized. Despite her agility, the General was not entirely discreet. Part of it was by design. She was an adept of the “hiding in plain sight” technique. The other part was, of course, because of the ridiculous amount of necklaces, earrings and bracelets she covered herself with. Most people did not pay too much attention to it, but that light tinkling that accompanied Sahira’s every movements had become a familiar signature to Maegar’s ears. A comforting sound that reminded him a very good friend was here with him.

But lately the persisting noise had become a little unnerving.

The Varnling Host commander stood up and grabbed a towel, tying it around his waist. Stepping out of the bath, he walked around the screen in a couple long strides. His eyes darted around, looking for the Tiefling. She was not here. His eyes lingered on the clear, undisturbed sheets of his bed. His clothes were not here either.

- Oh for the love of…

Maegar pushed out a long exasperated sigh and opened the door of the bedroom, walking out in nothing but the immaculate piece of cloth hanging from his waist. He had reached the middle of the main hall when the heavy double doors cracked open, letting Cephal and the cool evening air slide in. When he saw the preoccupied expression on the wizard’s face, Maegar considered turning around and getting some dirty clothes to put on. Part of him wanted to avoid an argument. The other part was always up for a good fight.

Cephal lifted his eyes from some paperwork and stared at Maegar. Annoyance immediatly made his nostrils flare.

- And why, pray tell, are you naked? - I’m wearing a towel, Maegar answered just to contradict him.

Cephal glared.

- Sahira stole my clothes, the Baron yielded.

An all too familiar anger lit up in the wizard’s eyes. But for once it was not directed at Maegar.

- Another one of her pranks? Cephal snapped. This is getting out of hands! - This is nothing new, she always liked joking around to cheer up the crew.

It was a bit of a lie, Maegar was aware of that. Sahira did always like pulling pranks. It sure did cheer up the Varnling Host many times. But she never did them so often as of late and she used to choose a variety of victims. Now Maegar was systematically the butt of the joke. Something was going on and the Baron could not figure out what. This did not escape his perceptive Regent who narrowed his eyes at him.

- Always eager to defend her, aren’t you?

Maegar felt his face flushing despite the cold. He did not let it rattle his confidence and grinned.

- Aren’t we all?

The baron could have sworn the shadow of a smile stretched the wizard’s thin lips.

- Nevertheless, this is getting disruptive. You need to talk some sense into her, Cephal concluded.

He walked past Maegar, the conversation over as far as he was concerned.

The Varnling Host commander took a sharp breath in and walked out the door into the cold fall evening. Nearly naked.

A shiver ran down Maegar’s spine as he walked to the nearest guard. The young man - a new recruit - stared at him, his eyes wide open in shock.

- You! The Baron called out. Have you seen the general?

The guard did his best to not peer at Maegar’s ludicrous get-up.

- Yes, y-your Grace! She ran towards the tavern I think. There was a bundle of… something in her arms and she was huh… cackling? - Cackling, huh? Thank you, boy.

Maegar patted the young man on the shoulder and started to walk briskly towards the small town. As he was stepping in the freezing water of the river, crossing the shallows to reach the other bank, he considered his stupidity. He should really have put something on. But at this point turning back to the fort felt just as stupid. At least Sahira would get a good laugh out of this.

The Baron made his way through town, his wet bare feet amassing mud, ignoring the confused whispers and stares of his subjects. The key was to keep appearing confident, pretending that walking half naked on the streets was perfectly normal. Maegar was sure he was not convincing anyone, but at least his dignity was mostly intact.

Finally he stopped in front of the tavern. A burst of laughter drew his attention upwards. Sahira was standing on the roof of the building, doubling over in a fit of hilarity. Maegar put his fists on his waist in an authoritarian pose, but could not help but smile.

- You didn’t even put any boots on! The Tiefling managed to say in-between two giggles.

Now a couple snickers could be heard among the crowd, even though they did their best to not look like they were making fun of their Baron.

- I would very much appreciate if you gave my clothes back, General, Maegar declared loudly to cover the sound of Sahira’s laughter.

After a couple more chuckles, the Tiefling regained a bit of control. She looked down at the pile of dark cloth she was holding in her arms.

- Why don’t you, huh… come and get them, your Grace?

Maegar could not see the twinkle in her eyes from where he stood but he could imagine it from her mischevious tone. The Baron did not waste a second protesting and rubbing his hands, looked for the best spot to climb the tavern’s walls. His eyes stopped on a stack of barrels. Taking a running start, he climbed the structure and in a few light jumps, he reached the roof of the tavern. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sahira getting ready to flee and jump on the next building. A pretty risky move, but Maegar knew she could do it. Running as fast as he could with a towel barely holding onto his waist, he caught up to her and grabbed her waist before she could jump. Taken by surprise, Sahira dropped Maegar’s clothes which floated in the wind before reaching the muddy ground.

- Oh no, your clothes, she said, not sounding sorry in the least.

Maegar sighed as he released the giggling Tiefling.

- I guess you’ll have to stay half-naked for a while now, she added turning a cheerful glance towards him.

As the setting sun hit her strange yellow eyes, her slit-shaped pupils narrowed. An uncomfortable vision for most people at first, but one Maegar was used to. He grinned back at her.

- If I’m freezing to death, it’ll be on you. - Don’t worry, your Grace, I’ll make sure it won’t happen, Sahira replied while winking at him.

There it was. The flirting. It did not happen constantly, but it kept coming back. The Tiefling did not flirt exclusively with him and it probably did not mean anything. Just a bit of fun. But each time, Maegar felt something twisting in his gut.

The slight pause before his answer was long enough to be noticed but short enough to seem meaningless. Or so he hoped.

- Then let’s go find a nice fireplace to sit nearby, shall we?

Once again he pretended to be oblivious. He knew the game, he knew how to flirt back and joke around. Sahira probably had seen him do it before, with other women. It was unlikely he was fooling her, but if it affected her, she did not show it.

- And for the love of Shelyn, stop calling me your Grace, Maegar added as they climbed down the tavern’s walls. - Yes, sir! Sahira chuckled.

Under the astonished stares of the tavern’s clientele, the Baron retightened his towel around his waist and took a sit at the table nearest to the fireplace. Meanwhile the general grabbed a chair. Not to sit on it, oh no. It was not her style. Instead she stepped on it, settling herself nonchalantly on the table, one foot resting on the seat of the chair while the other sat upon its back. It was well-known among the Varnling Host as “Sahira’s chair problem”. She always found creative ways to never sit properly on one. Planting her hands behind her, she leaned backwards and looked down at Maegar from her elevated vantage point. The Tiefling smiled warmly.

- Better?

Looking up at her, Maegar grinned back at her.

- A lot. Drinks? - You pay. I’m broke. - You keep saying that, but it’s been almost two years since you bought that potion.

Sahira shrugged, looking away.

- I don’t have a reason to save money anymore, so I spend it as soon as I get it.

Maegar smiled softly.

- No settling down for our dashing bard?

He knew he was treading on a dangerous path, so he took care to do it as gently as possible. Sahira darted her eyes towards him for a second. It was enough for him to see her discomfort.

- We’ve already settled down, remember? I have food, I have this room up there. I don’t need anything else.

The baron looked down at his hands. He was not sure what he expected, really. Sahira was an adventurer at heart. Building a home, taking roots, living an ordinary life was not for her. Still, she stayed when Maegar acquired Varnhold and accepted the charge of General. If the Varnling Host commander kept bringing the subject up, it was because he feared Sahira would just get up and leave someday, bored with all this settling down. Deep down, he had a feeling the recent increase in pranks might be related to this problem.

- Nothing money can buy anyway. - What?

Maegar lifted his head suddenly, surprised. Sahira was looking at him again, a soft smile on her lips, something like melancholy shining in her eyes. The expression faded quickly, replaced by her usual mischevious grin.

- Deep in thought, are we? What has the handsome Baron so distracted?

The flirting again. This time Maegar had to clear his throat to prevent his voice from sounding a bit too hoarse, flushing slightly.

- Sahira, we need to talk.

The Tiefling winced.

- I don’t like the sound of that...

Instinctively, the Baron gently grabbed her wrist, as if afraid she would run away. She just might, he thought. It would not have been the first time.

- Listen… You know I love your pranks. But don’t you think you’ve gone a little overboard lately? Not to mention you could pick a few other targets. Cephal might be in need of one...

Sahira scoffed.

- These need to be fun for me too, you know. And Cephal is anything but fun to prank. What are you complaining about? Without me, you would be buried in paperwork all day and never see the sun.

Maegar sighed. Leaning back, his hand slid from her wrist to rest on the top of her hand. Getting the bard to talk was a challenge. She always prefered roundabout ways of communication.

- I have a lot to worry about, Sahira. Running a barony is not going to be fun every day. If on top of that I have to worry about the next thing you’re going to pull on me… This is getting stressful.

Even from the light touch of her hand he could tell her whole body tensed up.

- Maegar… I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to hurt you. I’ll stop the pranks, I promise.

She started leaning forward. She was ready to bolt. Maegar squeezed her hand to stop her.

- I just want to know what’s going on. Why are you doing this?

Sahira slowly settled back into her initial position, looking straight in front of her. Her mouth kept opening and closing. Maegar tried to help.

- Are you… bored? - Gods no!

Ah. Well so much for that intuition.

- Recruiting and training guards, organizing patrols, new problems every day… The Tiefling continued. I have plenty to do. It’s just that… You’ve been busy too.

Sahira glanced carefully at him. He tried to look as encouraging as possible.

- When I try to find you, you’re either receiving people in the throne room or writing letters or reading reports… I never get to just chat with you anymore. When we travelled with the company, we were always together. We didn’t even need to talk that much because we could see each other all day long. Going from that to having a hard time crossing path… I guess I’ve been missing you. The pranks were a way to get you to interact with me, I suppose.

Maegar slowly blinked at her. It was not what he expected and he felt like a fool. Taking a moment to absorb the information, he started mechanically brushing Sahira’s knuckles with his thumb. Stopping as soon as he realized it, he looked up at her.

- I’m sorry… I didn’t realize. But I should have. We can fix this. What do you say we set up a weekly evening just to hang out? No baroning, just enjoying each other’s company.

The Tiefling smiled down at him.

- I’d like that.

[thatdarncatchronicles]

That Darn Cat | Issue No. 4 | Jericho

Warnings | Snek (if you have a phobia, maybe skip this chapter?)

Ratings | K+

Genres | Friendship, Snark, Action, Suspense

Guest Stars | Edna (OC), Anaconda Man (OC)

Word Count | 1.5K

Summary: Selina provides unwanted backup when Jim makes the ill-advised, if extremely predictable, decision to hunt down the Anaconda Man all on his lonesome. Cue snek, sarcasm, and stubbornness from both parties.

Selina darted back against the alley wall as Jim Gordon climbed from his vehicle and stepped out into the light rain. He’d parked a couple blocks away from the projects. Smart.

To her surprise, he turned and began walking towards her. She dashed behind a dumpster barely in time to conceal herself before he entered the alley, but he didn't seem to be aware of her presence. Huh. Apparently she wasn't the only one with a working knowledge of Gotham's secret shortcuts. When Jim reached the end of the alley and turned the corner, Selina left the shadows of the dumpster and crept after him. The rational part of her brain whispered that it was just as dumb for her to follow Jim as he tracked a serial killer as it was for him to go after said serial killer alone. She ignored it. About half a block away from the killer's hideout, she closed the distance between them and fell into step beside him. "How ya doin, Detective?" Jim startled for the second time that night. "Selina! What are you doing here??" "Ideally? Keeping you from getting yourself killed." "You shouldn't be here." "Neither should you."

He shook his head in exasperation. "I'm not taking you in there with me." "Nope. I'm going in there with you." "No. No, you go home, Selina." She crossed her arms and planted her feet. "Fine." He raised his hands. "Fine. We'll both go home." Selina snorted. "Yeah, right. You'd drop me off at my place and come right back here. Besides. You got the tip from me." "Selina—" "How bout I shout "police" at the top of my lungs? Then he'll run off, find a new hidey-hole, and you can have fun tracking him down again while his little pet swallows folks like they’re rats." Jim rubbed his eyes. "I can't let you go in there. What if he's armed?" "You mean with more than a giant snake?" "What if he's got a gun?" "How about this—I'll take cover as soon as we're inside, and I'll only come out if you need me to smack him over the head with a booze bottle." Jim was shaking his head again. "You know I'm good in a fight. Come on, Gordon. He killed my cat." Jim sighed. "There's nothing I can say to make you stay back, is there?" "Nope!" She patted him on the back. "C'mon, Detective. It'll be fun!" She started down the alley, leaving Jim no choice but to follow. The apartment complex was eerily still and silent where it loomed over them, casting them in shadow. They stood looking up at it for a moment before Selina crept forward. "I saw the snake go in through a basement window." Jim grabbed her arm. "Selina—" "Don't even start, Gordon." Then she was making her way around the building, searching for a way in. They found a cellar door around the back, one of its doors torn away to reveal a cement staircase that gave in to black shadows after three and a half steps. Jim drew his gun and pulled out his flashlight before turning back to Selina. "You keep your promise. You find cover, and you do not come out unless I call you." Selina nodded. She would keep her word. He eyed her suspiciously until she rolled her eyes and whispered back, "I'll do what I said I’d do." Jim turned away reluctantly, switching on his flashlight and bracing it across his raised gun. Then he descended the stairs and was swallowed in blackness. Selina waited until he was far enough away with the flashlight for her own descent to be obscured, and then she planted a hand on the concrete and sprang into the shadows to the left of the steps. There was an alcove beneath the stairs, and she crept into it, listening intently and watching Jim's silhouette against the beam of his flashlight. She suddenly became aware of how afraid she was—adrenaline was surging through her, and she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Surely even Jim could hear that racket. She took a deep breath, then another. Better. But what if they could hear her breathing?? Then something cool and smooth and very much alive slid over her hand where it was braced on the ground, and her heart seemed to stop altogether. The snake was heavy, and Selina felt something sick in her stomach when its shape abruptly changed against her from smooth and sleek to a series of large, distended bulges. She clenched her jaw and tried not to think about what—who?—the bulges had once been. Not daring to move her hand or call out, she squeezed her eyes closed as the cool scales eased over her hand for what felt like an eternity. Eventually the body thinned into a tail, and then, with a final flick, it was gone. Selina heaved a silent sob of relief, but her elation was short lived.

The snake had slithered into the pool of light from the open doorway, and it was making a beeline for Jim. Selina's heart leapt into her throat as she tried to think of a way to warn the detective without endangering him. The snake was moving faster, now. Jim, still oblivious, took slow, careful steps forward, the beam from his flashlight sweeping to and fro as he searched for evidence of what was right behind him. Wanting nothing more than to scream in frustration and fear, Selina balled her hands into fists against the cold floor. And froze. Her left hand had closed around something small and hard.

A nail. She could work with that. Leaning further from her alcove, she tossed the bit of metal away from her and prayed it would be enough.

It was. The nail made a few tiny clinkclinkclinks against the concrete, and Jim whirled around, backpedaling when he caught sight of the creature now a scant yard from his feet. He shot it. Selina startled violently at the sudden sound and flash of light. The snake writhed and twitched, still advancing, but Jim stepped on its head, all his weight focused on the foot that trapped the creature. She heard a crunch, and Jim stepped back, shoulders slumping, head turning towards her hideout. The shadow came out of nowhere. Selina didn't even have time to call out a warning before the man slammed into Jim, knocking him to the ground and screaming something about Edna. The gun clattered across the floor. Selina was on her feet before she knew she was moving, swiping a pipe from the ground as she ran. She leapt over the still-twitching corpse of Edna and swung with all her might at Jim’s attacker. Her blow struck true against his shoulders, and he fell. Darting around to go for his head, she swung again, but he wrapped his arms around her ankles and she crashed to the ground. She was obliged to discard pipe in favor of defending her eyes as her attacker clawed at her face, still shrieking the name of his dead pet at the top of his lungs. Then Jim dove at him and they rolled a few feet away. There was a brief scuffle, but Jim fought his way on top and pounded the man's face until he went still. He sat there for a moment, panting, before turning the man over and pulling out his cuffs. He looked over to where Selina was picking herself up. “You okay?" "Yeah, I'm—I'm fine. I'm good." She took a deep breath and clenched her fists to squeeze away the trembling.

“I told you not to come out unless I called you.” Jim’s gentle voice didn’t match the reproach in his words as he clicked the cuffs closed and got to his feet.

“Like you were gonna call me. Besides, I said I would keep my word. I didn’t say anything about yours.”

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but a movement behind him snagged her eye and she cut him off. "Jim!" The perp had scrambled to his feet and was barreling towards one of the iron supports, slamming into it full tilt. Dust showered down on them, and before either Jim or Selina could react, he was running again, straight at another brace. This time, chunks of plaster came down. Time slowed as the old building groaned above them and Jim turned towards her with wide eyes. "Run." She did. She saw the killer make it through the cellar door and felt Jim hot on her heels as the rumbling intensified. Then there came the shrieking of metal and Selina was knocked to the ground for the second time as Jim braced himself over her.

The last thing she heard was Jim's pained grunt as a sudden weight took the air from her lungs and the building came down on top of them. A/N: To be continued...

Previous chapters linked below! Thank you for reading, hooman. You is kind. You is smart. You is beautiful. I love you!

Make sure to follow @thatdarncatchronicles​ and #thatdarncat (no spaces!) to never miss an installment! :)

Issue No. 3 | An Unexpected Party:

https://thatdarncatchronicles.tumblr.com/post/621198286498512896/that-darn-cat-issue-no-3-an-unexpected-party

Issue No. 2 | A Hint of Pesto Aioli:

https://thatdarncatchronicles.tumblr.com/post/620559916396052480/that-darn-cat-issue-no-2-a-hint-of-pesto?is_related_post=1

Issue No. 1 | Of Spaghetti and Sneezes:

https://thatdarncatchronicles.tumblr.com/post/620372790294528001/that-darn-cat-issue-no-1-of-spaghetti-and?is_related_post=1

[pb1138]

Apples and Promises

Summary: Liara mourns Shepard after ME3 until a familiar face turns up. 

This was based off of the final picture in this post, posted by @derlaine! Thank you for letting me use it for inspiration!! 

Time seems to move differently here. She’s not entirely sure how long she’s been sitting here, beneath this tree, and she’s not entirely sure she cares. The sun is warm as it shines through the leaves, the ground beneath her soft, the wind breezing around her refreshing and carries upon it the faint smell of wild flowers. And for the first time in what seems an endless eternity, Liara finds herself almost at peace. Almost.

With her eyes closed, she can almost feel the hand sitting upon hers, feel the lightly calloused thumb brushing against the back of her hand, tender and soft. She can almost feel the tickle of the hair that blows across her neck. She can almost smell the shampoo that was used the night before, the chemical apple reminding her distinctly of home. Not of Thessia, not of her favorite dig site, not of her apartment on Illium, but of her.

The tears come as they always do, slipping silently down her cheeks. It is difficult to breathe through the lump in her throat, but she forces the air to persist nonetheless. What would she say, if she were to see her sitting here like this, still mourning after a year? Though, admittedly, it is likely just the realization that it had been almost a year to the day that she was struggling so much today. Regardless, it is not difficult to imagine the hands that would brush her tears away, to recall the feel of her plump lips pressed against hers, to see the warm smile that lightens her war-torn face. “I thought you Asari are supposed to be able to move past this kind of thing,” she would tease in a light tone.

Liara choked out a strained laugh at the thought and rubbed her eyes hard. “The first is always the hardest,” she would reply in a trembling voice, probably bordering on incoherent from the strength of her pain, “especially when it was someone as wonderful as you.”

Her strong arms would envelop her, pull her into the warm core where Liara had spent so many nights, and the smell of apples and faintly of sweat and eezo and something so distinctly her that Liara was sure she would never find its likes again. A fresh sob burst forth from her lips at the realization that the smell was not the only thing she would never experience again. Her booming laugh, the proud way she would sling her arm over Liara’s shoulder as they walked side-by-side, the intensity of her piercing amber gaze, all of it was lost to her forever.

Liara clutched her knees to her chest as she wept, no longer too ashamed to let her agony be heard. Somehow, it hurt worse this time. She’d been dead before, truly and properly dead, and Liara thought she had braced herself for the second time around, though she’d prayed to the Goddess that it would be years from now. They would grow older together, and it would be peaceful, a drifting away in Liara’s arms. They might have children together, three blue daughters with brown eyes and broad grins and swaggering gaits that exuded nothing but confidence. It had been difficult for Liara to allow herself to picture this future. She’d forbidden it, forbidden all hope of happiness until the Shadow Broker had been dealt with and Feron rescued. But when her arms had pulled her close, when her lips brushed gently against hers as if she were made of glass and then deepened with the urgency and desperation that had filled both of them since last they were together, Liara had lost all inhibition and allowed herself to believe. She still smelled like apples.

But that future was gone, now. Dashed away. Even if she was still alive by some divine miracle, there would be no way for her to find them. The crew was doing their best, but the Normandy was badly damaged. A year they’d been on this planet, and they were no closer to leaving than they had when they’d crashed. She wanted so desperately to believe that she was out there, that she was fighting to get to them, to her, but Liara is above all things a scientist. There was no Cerberus this time, no wealthy organization who would reanimate her.

“I need to know you’re always coming back,” she’d begged upon the Normandy, after their business with the Shadow Broker had come to an end.

She’d teased, a playful smirk stretched across her beautiful lips. “I dunno. That’s a pretty big promise to make.” Her thumbs rubbed across Liara’s skin lightly.

“Oh, is it?” Liara’d teased back.

She’d stepped closer, placed a tender kiss to Liara’s neck. “I’d have to have something special to come back to,” she’d purred.

“I guess I wasn’t special enough,” Liara sighed bitterly. She leaned her head back and glared up at the sky, fists clenching in the fabric of her dress. Her teeth grit against the pain, but the tears would not cease. After a time, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I’d give anything to hear your voice again, my love.” The vids were not enough, neither true enough nor what she wanted to hear. The woman in the vids was hard, kind but unwaveringly tough. The woman Liara knew was more than that, gentle, tender, terrified of failure. There were no vids that captured the way she whispered sweet nothings to her, the way she laughed and even giggled when they were alone or among friends, the teasing lilt that almost always graced her tone.

“Liara.”

She shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. Yes, just like that. Thank the Goddess, I’ve finally lost my mind. That one had almost sounded real, almost enough to convince her to open her eyes. But she daren’t. If this was truly insanity, she’d rather revel in it a few moments longer, hold onto her as long as she could.

“Liara.”

I… No, that… What? Liara froze in place, analyzing this. It did sound real. And closer. And… Goddess, I can’t go through this again. She’d woken how many nights now, alone in her bed only to see a phantom sitting in the chair? “I won’t give you the satisfaction of being just another phantom,” she called. “So, if you would kindly leave, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Well, if that’s the way you want it…”

Liara’s eyes shot open, and her head snapped up. She was standing before she’d had time to register what was happening.

It was her. She was here. Standing below her on the hill with that same stupid grin, her hands confidently upon her hips, her chestnut hair waving about her face in the wind a little longer and curlier than Liara remembered. But it was her. “Shepard…” she breathed.

Shepard closed the distance up the hill before they stood only a few feet apart. Liara studied her, unable to believe her eyes. There were new scars along what little skin she could see, and there was a different rank sewn on her military-issued jacket, and she was a little skinnier than when she’d last seen her. Shepard reached up slowly, offering her time to step away, but Liara could not move. It was only when her thumb brushed against Liara’s cheek did she realize she was crying, and the soft warmth of her lightly calloused finger seemed to unglue her from her spot. In an instant, she was in Shepard’s arms, clutching at the fabric of her coat, at her hair, her shoulder, anything she could grasp, and her face buried in the woman’s neck. Liara’s entire body was wracked with violent, ugly sobs, but Shepard didn’t care. Her strong arms enveloped Liara as she had longed for so often, hands gently rubbing her back and her head to calm her. “I got you,” she whispered, and Liara could have died from joy.

Their lips found each other’s, and it was not a particularly beautiful kiss. It was filled with a year’s worth of longing, mourning, pining, loss, anger, ecstasy, and joy, and at some point Shepard had begun to cry, too. They broke apart, breathless, each unable to control their hitched breathing, but Liara found Shepard’s hand and clutched it to her chest. “You’re here,” she choked. “You’re really here.”

Shepard let out a shaking breath and tilted her head back to try her hand at a cocky grin, though it came off a little more genuine than Liara was sure she wanted. “Of course. I had something really special to get back to.”

Liara let out an incredulous laugh and pressed her face back into Shepard’s neck. And as she inhaled, she couldn’t help the harsh sob that burst from her, nor the broad grin that stretched as far as it could across her face, because she was home. Shepard still smelled like apples.

[weaselle]

pay no attention to this collection I just need to post it so I can find it

hit walls and floor... tall inside of my skull; if I never fall at all, clever's awfully dull - so if "push" says the door you'll be watchin' me pull - 'cause I only shop for china when I'm walkin' with bulls

Order me sit? dope, I'm askin' how high; I out right hope my notes are causin' outcry - where do I fit? miles as the cow flies - statistically shit, climbin' slopes to outlie

___________________________________________

I can juggle knives, and proselytize, and wink my eyes in flirth (or mix words like mirth and flirt, like, ask what planet Dirt is wearth) I can lift a person by their soul, or... even let them down; I can fit myself to any role: demon, prophet, clown. I can write like frightened squid, or read a book from any shelf- but a lifeguard out at sea can drown, and I can't save myself

_____________________________________________________

I want an adventurous crew, less than 100 and much more than 2; I've got an idea or four to do and believe that "to lead" isn't "ordering you" - I want be thicker than thieves: if one of us cries, everyone grieves; stacked deck for success, form small companies so that every ace dealt goes up all of our sleeves - I wish I had Boromir's horn; I stand full of arrows, small and forlorn I'd summon an army as sure as you're born and we'd rend every obstacle / mend what is torn

__________________________________________________________

yo when it's late I don't know if debate is a pro that I'm prone to or con I conflate; yawn ok great it's the dawn of new date too soon gone like a pawn in a perilous state - do I wander or wait, keep closed yonder gate or transpose these ten toes 'til exposing my fate? if not off to bed nodding off head berates and refuses to do more than snooze/obfuscate

___________________________________________________________

I don't have time enough to tell the clock to stop its ticking talk, while I'm sublimely sleepy, still ensconced in twos of shoes and socks; I'm staring off in awful need of themes that breed these searing thoughts- I breathe more air when all unfair reality congeals and clots; when sleep is claustrophobic, fear near stoic in its static stay, I ride my nightmares into mounts more suited to the dreams of day

_____________________________________________________________

time for me to be known from home to home, on the campaign trail like when Romans roam, I'mma do the damn thang, prevail and own every twist in this life-line vine I've grown

______________________________________________________________

sick like a little bit with a bad tum and sniffle it's not a badda-boom bat beating but a wiffle hit; sleep like the bleeping sheep gotta wring it outta me, sore like a freaking score that you sing without a "c".

________________________________________________________________

i got nothing to say, i'm all bluff in this play, i mean i'm here to swerve some verse it's clear i'm thumpin' away at the buttons with the letters on whenever it’s day like a cat attacks a sweater, just pretending it’s prey - I need to catch the thing I’m chasing, like, it’s gotta get caught, and so I jot it down a lot to try to capture the thought; but though the plot is often written out in dashes and sketches, i rarely cash in those checks, i need more carry than fetches, so I’m dreamin’ and dumpin’ out all the schemin’ or somethin’ and like, even if it’s meaningless these keys I’ll keep thumpin

__________________________________________________________________

with the internet i’m magic and i’m casting a spell call a song out of the air to here as clear as a bell private playlist from the A-list like i’m famous as hell making music moving quickly so I’m faster as well

_________________________________________________________________

“oh no” I shout “Where’s Trusty my phone?” I don’t know the whereabouts, must be shown- adjusted the tone of the ring to silence now trying to find it brings me to violence; really need to locate as I motivate to go today I throw the flippin’ sofa pillows hopin’ for a stowaway... but oh no way it’s gone I pray this song will make a tiny spell; a lesson less on lost forlorn and more intent on finding cell

______________________________________________________________________

pocket full of humbug, some'll argue/ some shrug but damnit my whole planet's stupid like it's on the Dumb drug will there be a U.S. war? (I mean ANOTHER on our list) maybe something civil: neo-drivel vs. power fist... maybe accidental, mental trump insulting china's boss I fear these pale tears will steer us straight into a giant loss

so many people on the earth are searching for a safe life the rich'll keep their swords but lord they'll take away our steak knife Nothing free for you and me our banking fees are never waved; an act by black or poor is "crime" for white or rich it's "misbehaved" They're pouring us an ethanol and calling it an eggnog - time to run away and trade these reindeer for a sled-dog; the season of the commie christ whose message hasn't landed yet: money only isn't evil if the people's needs are met

______________________________________________________________

no thanks on the news, yo crank up the tunes, don't bank on the crankiness taking a snooze unless I get dressed from neckless to shoes and charge the horizon more wise than confused __________________________________________________________

hear the too late beep, missing two days sleep, and the road to a dream is a two way street; so the mood stays bleak though I do make sweet this coffee with cream and the brew ain't weak

____________________________________________________________________

been a While since I styled out the verbs and tenses, went around the Gates and straight hopped the fences; penUltimately gotta be a sultan of self: master mind, rule body, find my worth-and-my-wealth; if i'm quiet too long I'll have sloth not stealth so I try to move along and get my words off the shelf.

my projects: objects I invent/books writ - that shit won't pay the rent; throw fits, I have, it don't prevent: what's real from feeling devil-sent.

so I must be clever, do each: sum total; whatever needs eating this dead-beat goat'll; ask what is the art in a pace grown sickly? cut to the part where the chase goes quickly

Now hook or crook I must prepare, to tell each truth/take every dare stand hand on hips, and one in air, you can kiss my lips, or my derrière

______________________________________________________________________

got me a hit list, swear i'ma get this done til the sun goes under the business; witness, this is crazy and witless, lazy lately: maybe the wiz kid just hid restless - put to the test his quiz is bested get to the rest it's now or not again, get that got and then kill it til the whole damn lot is a slaughter pen, sweat til the wet drip drops gettin' hotter than the metal that your kettle corn kernel keeps poppin' in; hoppin' and hippin' and readin' what's written i gotta be gettin' to the List no skippin'! slippin like fall, new leaves i'm flippin - givin' my all just to keep on grippin'; breakin' what doesn't bend wrong way through, as i make it to the end of the long To Do

_____________________________________________________________________

i post at the prompt, chew big what i've chomped; grew kid to a ghost haunting most of this pomp; listless within this to do list i'm swamped - spirit in fits, corpse slow to go romp

_____________________________________________________________________

incautious swatches of saying; watch as he washes the playing: switching the swerving and swaying into some terms of conveying wishes conditions occurred in which this envisioned un-blurred digit could get itself heard and flip politicians the bird

______________________________________________________________________

in the trace of the face off you tasted last, is the scent of the sense made fading fast, so your dreams leak sieve-like hiking past a scared nightmare crew of an all-you cast

______________________________________________________________________

got me a pallet of shall get around to, climb out of shallow kie, it's not about you; just look at the play and see where the props ain't, take out a brush but don't rush it you'll drop paint; stop sayin' you're praying for planet like damn saint but get out and do, do it, do, 'til you feel faint; yes do it, true get into some writing, what you must chew is how much off you're biting, i dust off the lightning and plug it right in, if i play hard enough then my bluff just might win, all this tin in my pocket while walking about til the hat-caving camptown will clean me all out- my ten other projects, pretend money fudge it, i'll sell all my objects and end up with budget; i'd love it if some of my ideas ran, but i'll finish the one and be one happy man

_______________________________________________________________________

each piece is news, new peace in reach; tho a few of you choose nude tweets of Preach- but the rest got best bits fittin' here, what tests my pets must sit and hear: forget that past rush last two years going mash-gas fast 'til we're clashing gears, it's clear no room for fear to be, but the info flash is a blast to me- from the crashing sea to the land locked loam, we're lashed to the new word womb to tomb; and it's all fantastic like plastic foam that'll patch like magic a tragic home, or a tech part heart in 3-d print that'll let docs talk too intelligent; it's so elegant, that an elephant could do operations like he hella went: to harvard med my head is full but the school yard's sharp like a shaving tool; i'm a raving fool, but i drink it in, article particles 'til i sink and spin, win wonder i'm under delusions grand- will i sunder illusions and understand? or is it too much fuss will i cuss and worry, will i do what's just 'mid the dust and fury all i know is i go with the flow i find, tryna rein in my brain while i fill my mind

_______________________________________________________________________

so often was the A.M. spent prayin' for mayhem, like seeing riots firing inspired me to 'amen'; i'd hate when the job sucked, my robbed luck, i'd get stuck- attempts at free society my hopes and dreams were all fucked; but lately (don't hate me) the game is less crazy- i bust twice as lustrous if bosses don't make me; So new to the bragging, i catch up from lagging and write down solutions more lucid less nagging

_______________________________________________________________________

no sleep awake i sit and wait until the mill will dim/abate some whim shall take my fancy fate is to be sleeping dreaming state my eyes won't close i'll type i 'spose i'll write a night time rhyming prose those words i've heard but rearranged their meaning seeming weird and strange i've changed but how i could not say i only know no other way yet days gone by then who was i my mind was mine but what i tried to bind untied it flies! it runs! i rue what once i 'knew'; so dumb- untruth undo what time has done i can't so chant of what's to come oh spin oh sing oh show such things oh paint me what the future brings if won't be still then say your fill i pray my brain abstain from frills and spill the beans and give me scenes of things that help divine the means which plan to make which paths to take? i sit and wait no sleep awake

______________________________________________________________________

rework this

i want things to be different, starting with me; like to find me a new mind, with new eyes to see; like to start a new life, with new ways to be; can't be hard to do right, or this dude might flee- but i like the older version, no aversion to he: the kid who up and did lots, and got up from knees; who figured bigger sub-plots, and thought it was neat; who questioned syncopation, by stepping off beat; so i'd like to start a nation, a tribe or a team; one with no reservations just, a vibe and some steam; a group think to shout out 'thou shalt know peace' and to try it they're provided with some elbow grease; what i mean is, i think it's, so nice to be me; and the thing is the scene seems a singularity; but my brain goes, down more roads, than the branches of trees; and with more crew, i might do, more glancing with ease; so for multiples of loyal, one/two/three: i might try it royal, and become true We

___________________________________________________________________

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 6

AO3 link here

They take the train up from Washington. They had driven down the first time - though they hadn’t left Howard’s until Bucky was healthy enough to travel, he was still breaking in some ways, wildly fragile. They needed to have no one else around, needed the time and ability to stop on the roadside so Bucky could gasp in fresh air and scream through clenched teeth because just sitting in a car with people he trusted made him feel closed-in and trapped.

Bucky sits between them at first, all of them pretending that it’s simply the order they entered the row rather than a supportive bracketing. He switches seats with Peggy after about an hour, trying to use the scenery rushing past the window as a distraction. His fingers, both sets, curl and uncurl in his lap. He had planned on leaving the arm behind - the one Howard made for him detaches fairly easily, and he figured that seeing him simply missing a limb would in some ways be easier than the blunt, inhuman metal - but changed his mind at the last minute. This is part of him now, whenever he wanted it to be, and he tries to convince himself it will be better for everyone to face that from that start.

Peggy puts her hand over his balled fists before he even registers exactly how tightly they are clenched.

They had tried at first to get him reacclimated in New York. Howard’s large house had been fine when that just meant finding his memories again, when it was only about having a quiet place where everyone understood nightmares and knew to step loudly and never to touch Bucky when he wasn’t ready for it. It had worked well enough when it was just Steve and Bucky, the quiet and caring Jarvises, Peggy on the weekends and Howard dashing in and out. And they all had thought that the city - large and anonymous, the site of so many remarkable things - would be the perfect place to start when it came time to take on somewhere more public; any scene Bucky caused would be forgotten by the time the witnesses reached the next block. But it was all too newly familiar, too overwhelming with strangers and crowded with memories, too much.

They hadn’t had a chance to visit Brooklyn. (If Steve were a bit more selfish, it would hurt that he still hasn’t seen those ever familiar streets, the place he still goes when he dreams. As it is, he doesn't even have time to think about it as more than a hope for his friend.) On Bucky’s hoarse, wild-eyed orders, they hadn’t even mentioned to his family that he had been found.

Peggy and Steve’s neighborhood in DC was easier. In the type of close-knit environment that they had thought best avoided, where everyone knew their names and no one forgot exactly who they had seen shatter one of the cafe’s mugs into an explosion of porcelain dust just from hearing old Mrs. Eissenmann’s accent, they found compassion. Al noticed the way Bucky flinched away from photos of Korea and East Berlin on the newspaper fronts, and tucked them away so that the covers of Life and The Saturday Evening Post were visible instead. Bucky learned to answer questions about his arm from the innocent, interested ones the kids asked before they were hushed by their parents. The ticket taker at the movie house, Eddy Carroll from two streets over, didn’t say anything as Steve and Bucky left in the middle of Annie Get Your Gun twice because the sound of even comical movie gunfire made Bucky flinch and go cold and grasp for a gun of his own.

There were other people in the neighborhood who had served. There was a look that Bucky recognized when they passed each other in the street, a certain shift to alertness at car horns sounded suddenly, and when they asked him to have a beer with them, he said yes. While Steve and Peggy went out on one of their evenings together, he sat on a barstool with these men who would become his friends and talked about favorite books and movies and radio programs, about the best ballgames they’d seen, about the particular, muffled punch of a bullet entering flesh and the strange, grim, necessary realization that you were the one to put it there.

“Why did you invite me tonight?” he asked, walking home with Charlie Gibbs in the place by his side that was usually Steve’s. “You don’t even know me, but you’ve probably guessed that I’m more of a handful than most.”

Charlie chewed his toothpick thoughtfully for a moment. He took it out and held it between his fingers as he said, “We all have brothers who didn’t come back. We have to be there for the ones that did, even if they left a piece of themselves behind. Code of war doesn’t end just because the treaty’s been signed.”

And when the cold came, not as bad there as in New York or the Alps or Russia or places that he can’t quite and might never remember, when the cold came and made Bucky shiver and wish for a hot drink but didn’t leave him paralyzed with the fear of what might come, he said that he was ready to go home.

They called ahead. Of course they did.

“Can you imagine, someone you love and thought was dead just turning up out of the sky as you’re trying to eat your breakfast?” Peggy asked, eyes wide in pretend shock.

“I thought it was a good surprise,” Steve said defensively.

“Oliver in the kitchen has taken a liking to me, as you well know. I think the extra treat I get with my order is all the surprise I need.” She gave his hand a fond touch on the tabletop, regardless of her words or her arch tone.

“Fine, everyone knows you’re adorable, you can quit showing it off,” Bucky said, and it was the joking eyeroll more than anything that convinced them that he was ready.

They can see Mrs. Barnes from down the block. She is wearing a navy dress with creamy lace trim - her church dress, Steve is sure, even if it is not the gray number with the big silver broach that he remembers from his childhood. She stands on her front steps, solid as a lighthouse. Bucky’s father is most likely inside; he had always gotten emotional easily and never liked to show it in public.

It’s a chilly, overcast Tuesday, the middle of a morning that threatens rain or snow or both. The street is empty of the usual schoolkids or housewives chatting to their neighbors with shopping in hand. It makes it easier: no one to double take and recognize them, catch them up in excited conversation. It makes it harder, the overly noticeable sound of their footsteps seeming a driving echo as they move closer.

“You remember back in ‘26, when I was sick from Halloween until New Year’s?” Steve asks, because Bucky is pulling sharp breaths through his nose and his shoulders are set with a statue’s rigidity.

The beginning of the familiar story seems to ease something. “They had the priest in for last rites twice that time, didn’t they?”

“Three times, I think,” Steve says with a casual shrug, at which Peggy looks vaguely horrified. “You kept trying to play truant, coming up the fire escape when no one was looking.”

“And I started getting escorted to school, but my ma couldn’t stay all day, so she told my cousin Frankie to sit on the street corner and scream if he saw me coming.” Bucky leans over and says conspiratorially to Peggy, “I would give Frankie a penny a week to keep his trap shut. He was a soft touch.”

“But then my mother asked Sister Mary Bernardus to sit with me while she went to work, and that nun almost kicked you out the window when she saw your face coming over the sill while she was just trying to pray the Rosary,” Steve finishes with a muted smile. He bumps Bucky’s shoulder with his. “If you could still face your mother after that, you can face her now.”

And then she is coming down to meet them, slow and careful even in her sensible, square-toed shoes. She holds onto the handrail, although there’s no ice on the steps. Bucky has stopped two houses away - the Green’s place, or it had been fifteen years ago. He seems as if he can’t move forward. Any shimmer of ease has gone out of him again.

Mrs. Barnes walks the rest of the way to him herself. Steve had forgotten how small and solid she looks beside her son. She reaches her hands up and holds his face between them, and doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

When she finally speaks, it is in that husky voice with its second-generation Irish tinge. Somewhere inside himself, Steve still expects to hear his mother’s bright call twining with hers, a harmony of care. “James. My boy, come back to me.”

Bucky stays very still. “Hi, Ma,” he manages, and lets her lead him inside.

Bucky’s family had always seemed enormous to Steve, though anything would have when compared with a pair of Rogerses. Winifred Barnes was the youngest of three sisters, George had four brothers, and most of the extended clan lived close enough to take the streetcar if they couldn’t walk. The Barnes place had always been so full.

Without it being mentioned, they haven’t asked anyone over today. George is sitting in his usual chair. Bucky’s sister Josephine stands over his shoulder, her body taut beneath her neat sweater. Rebecca paces the room, a baby in her arms, and Steve’s first thought is that she’s too young for that, just a baby herself, but that isn’t true anymore. The man who must be Becca’s husband sits looking more awkward than anyone - perhaps because he’s entirely a stranger to Bucky, perhaps because he’s all gangly limbs, too tall for the furniture.

“It looks the same,” Bucky says, taking in the faded wallpaper, once a patterned green now white, the heavy old General Electric wall clock which still has the crack across the face, the good lace cloth dressing up the table. The scent of coffee from the ever-boiling pot fills the place, and it is this that makes Steve remember how long it has truly been since he was last here: growing up, he would never have even noticed it.

Mrs. Barnes has set out a stack of saucers and one of her delectably heavy lemon pound cakes on the tabletop. As she leads Steve, Peggy and Bucky over to sit around it, she still hasn’t let go of her son’s hands.

Becca bursts into tears, which makes the baby start wailing too. George covers his eyes with his palms, the unknown husband looks entirely out of his depth, and Peggy stands again. “Let’s have a seat,” she says, guiding Becca over beside her husband. She gets her settled against the cushions, then passes the baby from his mother’s arms to his startled but silent father. Peggy strokes a soothing hand over the baby’s crown as she completes the transfer; it doesn’t help but does make Becca give a shaky little smile. The radio is over in the corner and Peggy walks over, snaps it on, and tunes it quickly until she finds an afternoon symphony program on WNYC. She adjusts the volume to midlevel and turns back.

“For the neighbors,” she explains as she comes over to rejoin Steve by the table. Once again, as always, Steve is impressed: the Barnes apartment is the entire first floor of the frame house, but that doesn’t entirely mean privacy. He hadn’t even considered that anyone else might be home, but now that he thinks about it, the water rushing through the pipes isn’t coming from anyone in this room.

“How did you get here?” Josie asks suddenly. She hasn’t so much as shifted through the outburst of chaos.

“The subway,” Bucky tells her promptly, and she snaps, “Don’t give me that, James Barnes,” in what must be her schoolteacher voice now. Steve’s already familiar with it: Josie was younger than Bucky by a bit less than a year, but she had always acted the big sister to the both of them. “We got an army notification half a decade ago that you’d been killed. We got a letter from—” She turns on Steve. “And you. What are you doing here looking ten years older than you should instead of dead from saving the world?”

“Josephine,” says Mrs. Barnes, warning in her tone, “they’re back. What does it matter where they’ve been?” But her husband lifts his face and says, mastering himself with clear effort, “No, Winifred, I would also like to know exactly what’s happened.”

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Becca asks, her voice very soft, as if it is being trapped in the needlepoint pillow she has pressed against her chest.

The version they tell is one they've practiced, a snipped and pasted version of the truth, but Steve still isn’t a particularly good liar. It's not that he doesn't trust these people who have been family to him - he knows that they would never go to the police or the press with anything he told them, that they wouldn’t gossip about it in the shops. But they have never seen a person explode in front of them in a blue flash, have known his transformation only as something already completed out of sight. Their lives have been so normal, untouched by direct contact with the strange and wonderful and terrible things with which Steve is familiar.

Unless he misses his guess, the baby Rebecca's husband is currently rocking back to sleep is Jimmy Proctor. Steve has met him as a sixty year old man, a former railroad engineer with a million stories of an entirely typical childhood sparkling with the little memories his mother would recall of her brother. He doesn't want to take that from all of them.

So, knowing his own abilities, he is careful with his contributions, letting Bucky and Peggy tell most of the story: of Steve suspended in the ice, the serum effecting him in unexpected ways, of his being found and coming to Washington, the information slipped to Peggy that made them go looking for Bucky in the first place. Bucky doesn’t remember many of the details of his time in captivity anyway; Peggy glosses over it with quick compassion that brings them past without the rest of the Barnes family asking for more information.

Watching Bucky now, Steve finds himself remembering more than ever his friend as he was. Buck had always been the one to tell the stories, to make excuses and conjure the sweet, sly smiles to get them out of trouble. Bucky now, Bucky as he once would have been, is quieter. Steve doesn't mind it, but it's more noticeable back in this familiar place.

There's a silence when the story has finished.

"And now you're fine?" Josie asks finally. She has begun to lean on the back of her father's chair, not softening as much as weakening when confronted with it all. "Now you're back?"

"For now," Bucky says.

His mother looks up from the hands she has clenched in her lap. "What do you mean by that? We've a room here for you while you get yourself settled. There's no reason to go anywhere. I’m sure your things can be sent up for you."

"Ma," Bucky says gently, "I don't think I'm ready yet."

"And why is that?" She draws herself up straight, some of the strict force coming back into her tone. "You're doing just fine, and what would you do somewhere else anyway?"

Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky says, "One day I might come to stay, but now there's a life I'm trying to make down in Washington. I'd like to see how it turns out."

"So I'm never to see you?" She turns to her husband with a cry. "Listen to this boy of yours, George."

"Mama." Steve knows that it's the way Bucky sighs it that makes the difference, that brings the tension from the room. "Of course you’ll see me. I'm going to come back."

"And when will that be?" George asks.

"It's three weeks until Christmas," Bucky points out. "I think I could use a good Brooklyn Christmas."

"All of you," Winifred commands, standing suddenly and clapping her hands together. She pulls the cake plate toward herself and begins to cut slices. "You'll all come for Christmas. Unless there's some other family I don't know of?" She looks askance at Peggy.

"We shall reserve tickets on our way back," Peggy says with equanimity.

"Home again for Christmas, then," says Winifred, satisfied enough as she begins handing out cake.

Later, Bucky will hold his namesake for the first time and Rebecca will cry again, and so will George. Later, Rebecca’s husband will be introduced and will not wince as his hand is shaken three times with a bit too much force to be strictly comfortable. Later, Mrs. Barnes will try to give her cake recipe to Peggy only to have it intercepted by Steve. Later, Steve will notice Bucky taking himself into the kitchen for a moment alone before they are pressed to stay the night. Later, they will lie in the preserved bedroom with its old Dodgers scorecards peeling from the walls, and Bucky will tease Steve for not daring to mention that there’s really no reason to have him and Peggy in separate rooms based on their sleeping arrangements back home. Later, they will lie awake for a long time before they are finally lulled by the familiar sounds outside the window. But for now:

"Home again," Steve agrees softly, and digs into his piece of cake.

Previous chapters here

[thedarklightwithinus]

For Whom the Wrath Falls. P2

A/N; This book is already on both QuoteV and Fanfiction.net with Forty chapters! Just seeing how well it takes on here, then I’ll be posting more! 

Words; 2.6k

Pairing; Opie Winston x Reader

Fandom; Sons of Anarchy

{FYI; Donna and the kids do not exist... Sorry}

PART ONE Harley sighed deeply as she continued to watch her car with disinterest. She had come to a standstill minutes prior near a picnic bench. Knowing that after the stunt she had pulled a year ago, it would have been unwise to leave the lot and with that in mind, she had taken a seat on top the table, her elbow resting on her knee and her chin in her palm as she continued to lock and unlock her car with the key in her free hand.

The door behind her opened and closed as she heard footsteps growing louder. Harley ignored the sound as she sighed once more, watching her headlights flash as the figure took a seat beside her on the table and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You're gonna’ drain the battery if you carry on like that.” Jax told her, pulling a lighter from his pocket and lighting his cigarette up. 

“Maybe that’s my intention.” Harley told him blankly, lowering her arm as she locked the car one final time and shoved her keys into her pocket. The two siblings sat in silence for the next few minutes, listening to the chatter and noise of power tools being used off to the right of them. “How have you been?” Harley finally spoke up, turning to raise a brow at Jax who grinned finally. 

Jax nodded, releasing a mouthful of smoke before he spoke up. “I’ve been doin’ good...” He trailed off, watching as she nodded and looked towards a flock of birds that flew overhead. Jax knew what he wanted to ask her. Why did you leave? Why were we left in the dark? Where did you go? However, he knew that if he were to ask the questions they had all been wondering, he had to do it in a way that didn’t scare her off or anger her. “How’ve you been?” 

He watched his sister closely, noticing the way her facial expression pained for a split-second before she plastered a smile on her face and turned to smirk at him. “Good. Just can’t believe it's been a year since I saw your ugly mug.” Jax chuckled, shaking his head as Harley’s smile grew slightly. “Things really don’t change round here, do they? Honestly thought dad would’ve made a few tweaks here and there... Swear that wrench was there before I left.” She teased as she pointed to a discarded wrench on the ground. 

“You know Clay.” Jax told her, nudging her in the side with his elbow. “Likes to keep everything in check. He can’t stand not knowing what goes on around here, so I think he just chooses to keep everything the same.” Harley nodded, understanding where he was coming from. If there was one thing Clay Morrow wanted more than anything, it was to know the ins and outs of his club. To know every single detail that went down and then some. “The boys looked excited to see you.” Harley nodded slowly, clearing her throat as did so. “Look, Harls... I’m not gonna beat around the bush here... He want’s answers.” 

“He’s not getting any!” Harley snapped, turning away from him as she glared at her car. Harley understood the relationship Jax had with Opie as it was the same one the two of them had, only slightly deeper due to the pair of them being boys and the same age. Harley tried hard to fight the annoyance that had taken over. Though Jackson Teller was loyal to his little sister, he would always have his brothers back. She finally muttered out, “He was meant to be going nomad..."

Harley jumped when Jax released a barking laugh, turning to scowl at him as he discarded his cigarette, shaking his head in slight humour as he spoke up, “Opie going nomad?” He asked with a snort. “He's SAMCRO all the way, darlin’. Is that why you left? Because you thought he was leaving?”

“No, that’s not why I left.” Harley told him, honestly. “My whole world doesn’t revolve around him... I needed a breath of fresh air and thought the best place to get it was away from Charming. If id’ve told anyone I was going, the lot of you would’ve stopped me.” Jax nodded, knowing that the statement was true. “I went to stay with a friend who I met in school... She moved when her dad was offered a better job.”

“Harley... You don’t have to tell me shit.” Jax told her, standing up as he motioned back towards the clubhouse. “Let’s go back inside, yeah? Tara will be along soon with Abel... You gotta meet your nephew.” Though he ignored it, Jax couldn’t help but frown at the look that filled her eyes. He wasn’t entirely sure on just what it was. “Bit of a belated meeting, I've got to say.” 

Harley pushed herself of the table and followed after him, kicking at a tiny rock that sat on the ground as she did so. Once again, she was filled with the smell of alcohol and smoke when she had followed Jax into the clubhouse, coming to a standstill at the table Gemma and Clay still sat at. Jax patted her back lightly, turning to make his way back over to where some of the boys were playing pool. Harley sent Gemma and Clay an apologetic smile and allowed her mother to pull her down into the booth. 

Gemma wrapped an arm around her daughter's waist as she raised a brow. “You done being angry now, sweetheart?” She asked in a tone full of humour. Harley nodded as she looked up to see Bobby making his way towards the table, holding out a drink for her. 

Harley grinned at him, thanking him softly as she took the drink. “Welcome home, doll.” He replied, nodding at Clay before he turned and made his way back to the bar in order to sit with Piney Winston who raised a glass when he noticed Harley’s eyes on him. Harley raised hers in return, grinning at the old man before she finally turned to talk to her parents. 

The next two hours was spent talking about what had changed and who had left since Harley had been gone. As the time passed, multiple people, both sons and others had come to greet her, welcoming her home with open arms. Harley, however, had made a mental not to thank her brother later for keeping Opie at bay. Though she was happy to see him alive and well, she wasn’t so sure on just how she’d react upon him speaking to her. Even though a whole year had passed, she could still feel the anger and hurt seeping upwards. 

Harley looked up at the sound of the door opening, smiling softly as she saw the dark-haired woman entering the club house. When she had heard the news of Tara’s return from a brief message from her mother three months after she left, she almost couldn’t believe it. Harley had been so sure that Jax would marry the girl when he dated her as teens and hated the moment she had upped and left. 

Gemma was quick to push herself up and make her way towards Tara, greeting her as she grabbed her grandson from her arms and made her way back to Harley. Clay patted her shoulder and moved away towards Bobby, leaving Harley on her own.

Though she tried hard to fight it, Harley couldn’t stop the ache that had taken over her heart when she clapped eyes on the now almost one year old in her mother's arms. She almost prayed silently that Gemma would take a turn and not bring the child to her. However, when she pointed towards her and whispered something to the baby, she knew that she was about to meet her nephew. 

“Who’s this, Abel?” Gemma asked him in a childish voice. “This is your auntie Harley!” She told him with a grin as she took a seat beside Harley with the brightest smile Harley had ever seen her wear. “Harley, meet your nephew Abel.” Harley stared at the blonde-haired baby blankly as he looked back at her, his blue eyes blown curious as he shoved his fist in his mouth. “Here, take him while I go get some more drinks.” Gemma told her daughter, holding the baby out as Harley shook her head frantically. 

“I’ll get the drinks, Ma’.” She told her quickly, keeping her arms away from Abel who began to kick his feet. Gemma scoffed and shook her head, pushing Abel to her daughter's lap and waiting for her to hold him. “Just... Be quick.” She muttered, gripping Abel under the arms and holding him as Gemma stood up and moved to the bar. 

Harley avoided looking at Abel as she stared off towards the door, willing Gemma to hurry back as she felt Abel squirm in her grasp. “Baa, ba, ba.” Abel cooed out, his hand dashing out to grab a handful of Harley’s shirt. Having no choice but to look down, Harley stared at the baby, her heart breaking even more as every second passed. She felt the tears coming before she even had a chance to stop them as Abel leaned forward and rested his head against her chest.

Though she tried harder than she ever had before, Harley felt the first of her tears fall as she moved her arms to hold Abel close to her, resting her head on his own as she sobbed silently, wondering why she couldn’t stop the sadness that had over taken her. Abel continued to kick his legs slightly while his aunt cried silently above him. 

Tara perked up from her spot beside Jax at the bar when she just so happened to catch a glimpse of Harley, her brows furrowing as she nudged Jax. “Jax...” She muttered, feeling the gazes of not only her boyfriends, but that of Opie and Juice’s on her. She nodded towards Harley and watched as the three men followed her gaze. 

Jax watched her for a few moments, wondering why Tara looked so confused before he picked up on just what was happening. Though his sister was looking in the opposite direction, he could see her form shake every few seconds, a sign he had picked up on when Tara had cried the few times in his presence. “Is she... Cryin’?”

“Do you think we should go see what’s up?” Tara asked, biting her lip as she looked towards Gemma at the bar who shook her head when she noticed the younger women's gaze, shrugging as an answer to the question she knew Tara wanted to ask. She didn’t know what was up either. 

“She was fine when I left her.” Jax spoke up, watching as Harley wiped at her face and rubbed a hand over his sons back while she muttered something to him, another wave of tears falling from her eyes. “Hey,” He whispered, nudging Opie in the ribs as he nodded forwards. “This is your chance to talk to her. Just ask if she's alright first.” Opie nodded, jumping at the chance to talk to the woman he was all but ready to marry. He downed his beer and stood up, moving around the other chairs and towards Harley.

[jaykay123456789p]

Saga of Patricia the Ferals. chapter 1

It was a rainy summer evening, when all people in the town of Newdawn had retreated to their cozy homes, too wet and muddy to work. No one wanted or needed to face the heavy rain for some puny bit of silver they could’ve earned on a normal night so they all headed to an early sleep. Even the adventurer’s pub, where singing and fighting can normally be heard from dusk till dawn, remained strangely quiet despite all the loudest member of the town all gather there. However, in a small cabin near the edge of the woods, far from the normally bustling town, light still shone from the small window.

“Come now, Patricia, be a good girl and go to sleep. You can’t expect to train in this kind of weather right?” A middle aged man calmly reminded his daughter. He tried his best to follow the child around the house, but his old wounds kept reminding him of why he retreated to that simple cabin.

“But daddy, it’s too early. Purricia don’t wana sleep yet!” His daughter answered while avoiding his hands reaching out to her. The girl was quite troublesome, running around and even crawling up the walls and cupboard, just like a cat avoiding his owner. In fact, that little girl is a cat, more exactly a Feline Feral, one of the many races that populates this land. With snow white fur and heterochromia eyes, she was of a rare breed, even amongst the Ferals.

With his daughter up on a shelf, crouching and clawing up the furniture, the man gave her an “I gave up” sign: “All right, kid. How about I read you a story before bed?” Patricia’s eyes brightened: “Really dad? We can read a story?” Her father smiled gently: “Yes, now come down here and pick one, would you.” The young Feral climbed down and dashed to her room with excitement in every step. She jumped on her bed, eagerly waited for story time. The man sat down next to her and asked: “So, what shall we read tonight?” “Can you tell me the story of the Four Heroes, dad?” Patricia answered. Her father seemed surprised by this: “But we have read this many times before. Surely you would find something else interesting? How about some fairy tales, you like it right?” Patricia whined: “No dad. That’s boring. I don’t want that silly stuff.” The man smiled: “Served me right for teaching you martial arts this early. All right. Here we go.”

Once upon a time, there was a void with nothing but chaos and darkness in it. There was no space, no time, not even magic. Then one day, a bright light shone down from the heaven and descended the five great spirits: Celcius, the flame of wrath and wisdom, Garcia, the pond of danger and adventures, Natura, the tree of cruelty and life, Adamantus, the armor of coldness and royalty and Terrapagos, the mountain of stubbornness and nurturing. With their great powers combined with the very chaos of the void, they created the vast land, the clear sky, the great sea and all the creatures living in it, giving the land order for the first time. However, other forces hated the spirit’s creation and tried their hardest to plunged them all back into the abyss. Amongst all those horrid creatures, the biggest fiend of all was the one we called Inanitus. Controlling the very emptiness of the void itself, he united all factions of monsters under his rule and destroyed everything in his path. Where ever they went, nothing remained on their tracks, all absorbed back into the void. Eventually, the five spirits created four great weapons and gifted them to warriors of their choosing. The Shield Hero whose stand so sturdy he wouldn’t move an inch under any attacks. The Staff Hero who were gifted the power of the void, to reshape reality to fit his liking. The Axe Hero whose strength so great he moved a mountain on his own. And finally, the Sword Hero who was the most noble, most courageous man in all the lands. Together, the Four Heroes defeated Inanitus, plunging him into the deepest bottom the void where nothing could ever escape. But just before his defeat, Inanitus uttered a curse: “May the land where these weapons rest never know peace, plagued forever by an avatar of my burning hatred for all things there is and will be. Should one be killed, another will take its place, till the end of all time and space.” From then on, every few hundred years, a new Demon would be born amongst all monster races and once again rise up to take over the world. Fortunately, just as the Evil one was born anew, for new Heroes, guided by faith and destiny, will once again take up the Four Weapons and cleanse the land of evil.

“Wow,” Patricia’s eyes brighten up “Do you think I can be a hero like that one day, dad?” Her father smiled: “who knows, sweetie. Maybe you could. After all, most recorded Heroes had a humble beginning.”

“YEAH! I’m gonna grow so strong and fast to fight monsters and save people and…”

Looking at his daughter bouncing around on her bed, he can only pray for her safety should she choose the path of the adventurer. He rubbed her head and gently said: “Yes, you will, my daughter, but to do all that, you should be in bed now. Can’t fight any monster when you’re tired right?” Hearing that, Patricia settled down under her blanket. They shared one last good night before she drifted into her sweet dream, unknowing all the worries in her father’s mind.

12 years later

“COME ON, DAD! We’re gonna be late!” Patricia, now a young woman, ran quickly to the adventurer’s guild in the enter of the nearby town. She’s now 19 years old and, having finished her training with her father, can be registered as an adventurer herself. “Wait, Patricia! My knees, they burn!” her father trailed behind her on his poor legs, wheezing out from all the beating he took back in his youth.

The town is still as lively as the day they moved there. All kinds of people from all races doing business with each other. The dwarves set up their work shop while arguing with the nearby elf selling books and tomes. A few Dragonian and Human adventurers gathered near the center fountain, dividing their rations for another day out in the wilderness. Avian mailmen urgently filled up every post box in town and flew away to who knows where for more mail and packages to deliver.

Eventually, they arrived at the guild, where everyone were being rowdier than usual. “Hey guys, it’s Marcus!” Someone in the back shouted and all the others adventurers followed.

“Welcome back, old man.”

“Hey, how’re you doing?”

“Little Patricia sure have grown.”

“How about some drink later, my treat?”

Amongst all the welcoming voices, Patricia can only imagine her father’s glory day. What kind of man was he before she came into his life? As she was wondering, her father called: “Patty, come here!” and lead her to the register. A beautiful woman greeted them: “Welcome to Newdawn guild, Mr. Marcus. My name is Alice. How can I help you today?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered “I would like to register for my daughter.”

“Of course. Now Patricia, can you tell me something about yourself? More specifically, your race, favorite weapons, fighting style, etc… things like that.”

“OK. First, I’m a Feral, Feline sect.”

Alice quietly asked: “So Mr. Marcus is not your birth father?”

“Yes. Sadly, they were killed by monsters when I was too young to remember. Father happened to pass by and took me in.”

“I’m very sorry about that.”

“Oh, please don’t be. I couldn’t ask for a better dad than him and you can’t live in the past, right?”

“Right. Now, how do you usually fight? With a sword perhaps, or a staff? Did your father teach you how to use weapons?”

Marcus chimed in: “She needs no weapon. I trained her so that she can fight using her claws and bare fists, just like how I did.”

“Yeah. Besides, every time I tried a weapon, I broke it by swinging too hard” His daughter add. Alice’s face brightened up: “So she’s a Monk then. Thank goodness, I don’t think the guild can provide another sword to new recruits. There’s just too many swordsmen out there.”

“Have you tried a club or a mace? Completely unbreakable I promise.” An adventurer, Dragonian Berserker by the looks of it, asked.

“Yes, we did, Harold. And somehow, she broke the handle in half and cracked the spike ball simply by smashing it at a rock.” Hearing what Marcus said, approved murmuring can be heard throughout the guild. Patricia continued: “Also, I have learned many skills from dad, like…” Alice interrupted her: “Don’t say that aloud! An adventurer’s skills are his lifeline. You must never do that, OK? On that note, you mustn’t show this to anyone else also: Your adventurer card!”

With an eager hand, Patricia grabbed the card she was given. On it, everything she had learned and can learn can be seen, inscribed with magic ink that will add things into the list should she learn them. “This is great, but” She asked “Why isn’t cooking on the list? I can cook and that is a skill, right?” Her father gave her a sorry look: “Don’t worry honey. Ferals are not known or their culinary skills. Have you ever noticed that I never let you cooked before?”

“But I have cooked before, it tasted great to me.”

“Your “cooking” means shooting ki blasts into a pond to blow fish up, cook the fish over the resulting molten rocks then almost burn your tongue eating them.”

Laughter busted out in the guild with Patricia furiously trying to stop them. At last, Marcus said goodbye to his daughter and headed home, feeling both proud and worried for her. But by the end of the day, he knew that the little kitten he found in that wreckage years ago was no more. In her place stood a strong, beautiful young woman who snapped bear’s necks on a regular basis. “She’s gonna be fine. There’s nothing around this part that can even touch her anymore.” The man told himself that and headed home.  

With her father gone home, Patricia eagerly checked the bulletin board. So many quests, all with fair rewards and great adventures waiting for her. Eventually, something caught her eyes. The biggest quest on the board, with the best reward: Cleanse the nearby cave. Such an easy job, enemies are just small, weak and stupid goblins. Even though they live in packs, none of them is cooperative enough to get much things done, easy targets for new recruits. She brought the request to the clerk.

“I would like to take this quest please.”

“Ah, yes. You know, we’ve had this for a few months now. Nobody would pay attention to it.”

“Really? But the rewards are so good.”

“And five people had died doing that quest.”

Suddenly, a young man interrupted them. He was in his late teens or early twenties, tall but not lean, with a defined but not bloated form. His short, choppy white hair was so unruly, Patricia imagined he had just got out of bed and didn’t even care about how he looks. Despite of that, both his sturdy looking dark leather pants and the knee long black coat with an alarming amount of pockets are in perfect shape. Under the coat, he wore a red tunic with chainmail lacing underneath. As for weapons, he had a big sword hung behind his back and two strange wooden sticks on the waist.

“Hey look guys, Lenox’s back!”

“Hey Len, got something cool? Bet you stole it somewhere”

“Seriously guys, get a new joke.” The man, Lenox, lightheartedly joked back to the rowdy crowd behind him and continue.

“Listen Feral, it’s not I’m looking down on you, it’s just there’s something wrong about this quest. I’ve just got back from the next town and the same quest is hung there. Four guys there had gone missing doing it. That, along with one of our guys named Marshal who went last month. I seriously think you should party up then go.”

“Thanks for the advice but I got this, Lenox. You may not know this, but I snapped a bear’s neck when I was twelve. Bunch of goblins won’t get me.”

“You’re clearly not listening, so I’m gonna say that again. You ARE NOT going to do this quest.”

Hearing that, Patricia felt underestimated. She was a master martial artist for god’s sake. She can handle herself, especially against a bunch of runty humanoid half her size.

“Oh, I’m doing this quest and YOU. ARE NOT. GOING. TO STOP. ME!” And so, angrily, she took the request and stormed off the guild.

Even long after the Feral left, an awkward silence was still presence in the building. Eventually, Alice inched over and said

“Look, Lenny. Do you think that you overreacted?”

“Me? You are the one who’s not acting right. Just look at her, no weapon, no armor, storming off like that. Oh, I know she’s a Monk but I’m pretty sure that her tunic can’t do much against knives and claws.”

“You worry too much.” An adventurer chimed in “That girl can use her ki now. She’s gonna be fine.”

“Oh, I’m telling you. She’s not gonna be fine. There’s something fishy about that cave and like hell I’m gonna stand here and watch. Anyone with me?”

At that, everyone kept murmuring about, some tried to calm Lennox down, others made dumb excuses and continued on with their business. Some even kept joking about how he would steal their wallets. “Of course it is.” Lennox muttered to himself and went out, heading for the cave. Something must be up with those goblins and he’s gonna prove it.

[sindrafalcone]

Answered Prayers

Fandom: BIGBANG/ Youngbae x reader

Synopsis: Bad jokes with Youngbae

Warnings: Holiday fluff

Author’s Note: And, so... the second name out of the hat was Youngbae. :) I think I’ll dedicate this one to @talonblack... because she “gets it”. <3

Reminder  that there will be one drabble posted each Saturday until Dec. 29. It’ll be in random order, since I’m pulling them from a hat again. lol It’s  fun that way! Also, there will be reposts of last years Christmas Drabbles every Wednesday.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events are true. This is from an American standpoint, so some of the situations may not happen the same way they might in Korea. I make no money from the writing of this fictional work. I do not own the gifs used.

Masterlist

Youngbae stepped into the apartment, closing the door behind him with a foot & brushed the snow from his hair and shoulders with his one free hand. The weather had noticeably declined on the way home and he felt thankful to have gotten out of the YG building when he did. He hadn't even wanted to go in today. After all, it was Christmas Eve... he'd rather have spent the day helping you cook and watching cheesy Christmas movies cuddled on the couch together. But, when the leader had called in one of his perfectionist moods, Youngbae didn't have much of a choice.

He tried not to think about it, after all it was a normal part of his idol lifestyle. But now he was home and he had the rest of the evening to relax with his wife & hopefully even watch a couple of movies with you before you both collapsed into bed together.

He slipped off his coat, being careful not to upend the huge bag of takeaway he'd brought home with him. He hung it on the coat rack beside the door and slid out of his shoes, choosing to just stay in his sock feet for now. The warmth of the house was a huge difference compared to the frigid cold outside and it was already helping him to unwind. But Youngbae knew that there was only one thing that would help him completely shake off his long day... and that was spending some time with the love of his life.  

You weren't in the living room when he walked in and he couldn't hear any sounds coming from anywhere else in the apartment. Youngbae called your name, but there was no answer. He strolled through the living room and headed toward the kitchen, thinking that you might still be in there cooking.

The light was on, but you weren't in there either.

There were cookies and various other baked goodies in festive containers on the kitchen table. The last batch was still spread out all over the counter, left to cool. You had started early this morning before he'd even left, but Youngbae had been hoping to be home early enough to help you out at least a little bit.

He headed for the bedroom next, it was the only other place he could think of that you could possibly be. It was either that or the bathroom at this point.

"________-ah?" he called again, pushing open the door. He kept his voice soft and quiet this time, just in case you were napping.

A feeling of relief flooded him as he caught sight of you sitting there on the bed, messy hair pulled up away from your face and your body wrapped up in one of his many big hoodies. Once he got a closer look though, something about you seemed to be... off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he knew instinctively that something wasn’t right.

Youngbae carefully set down the sack of takeaway that contained dinner on the dresser, feeling guilty about having been away for most of the day & leaving you to do most of the Christmas preparations by yourself.

“________-ah? Um, I’m sorry this isn’t exactly the Christmas Eve that we had planned.” he said anxiously, walking closer to where you sat on the bed.

“It’s all right.” you replied, sounding as if you were on auto-pilot.

You were sitting cross-legged, with your back up against the headboard, deathly still. You hadn't even looked up when Youngbae called your name & opened the door... you just stared blankly at the duvet that covered the bed, your expression one of vacant shock. He noticed that your eyes looked puffy, as if you'd been crying.

Youngbae said your name again as he sat down on the bed across from you, but you still didn't look up at him. "What's wrong?" he asked, tracing a gentle finger down one tear-stained cheek. "Come on, ______-ah..." he took your face in both of his hands and lifted your head so he could see your eyes clearly. "You're scaring me."

Finally you blinked rapidly and shook your head as if snapping out of a trance and actually looked at him. "Youngbae..." you said, voice sounding shaky.

"What happened, yeobo? Are you sick?" one of his hands felt your forehead to see if you were feverish while the other grasped at your tightly clenched fists.

You tried to smile so you could reassure him, but your bottom lip quivered as if you were going to start crying again. "No... I’m not sick. I'm fine. I... "

You suddenly stopped talking and that unnerved your husband.

"You what? What happened?" his voice pitched an octave higher in slight panic.

You still didn't say anything and it looked like you were having a difficult time trying to think of the right words to explain. But before Youngbae could say anything else, you picked something up off the bed and placed a small, light object into his hand.

Youngbae looked down, trying to see what it was that you had given him. He focused intensely on the little plastic stick in his palm, his eyebrows creased adorably in concentration.

"The plus sign means it's positive, Youngbae. We finally..."

He absently realized that your voice sounded like you were getting choked up again, but he couldn't stop staring at the little blue plus sign on the pregnancy test. For over two years, it had wrecked you both emotionally when the only result you’d gotten was a single, lonely line. Negative... over and over again.

Joy swelled in his chest and vaguely he noticed that tears were spilling from his own eyes and down onto his jeans, making little dark splotches on the light colored denim. The two of you had been trying for so long, praying that you would finally succeed in starting a family, but had been left with nothing but dashed hopes. But not this time... this time it was positive and it felt almost too good to be true.

Youngbae looked back up. You were smiling at him so brightly and he suddenly thought that you'd never looked more beautiful... not even on your wedding day. "Are you really...?" he couldn't even finish the sentence, he was feeling so emotional.

You nodded, a little laugh bubbling out of your mouth. "I took three tests. All of them were positive."

Youngbae launched himself at you, but he kept the test clutched safely in one fist. He had no idea what to say because he hadn’t exactly expected getting news like this today. He wasn't even sure if there was anything that he could say that might get everything he was feeling across without making him sound like a sentimental, lovesick fool.

“_________-ah...” he whispered, his face a mere inches from yours.

“Youngbae...” you replied with a wry smile, sighing when your husband fit his torso in the space above your legs.

He caught your lips in a kiss, earning himself a surprised gasp, but he didn't let up. He kissed you long and hard, a little frantic and just perfect in the intense way that he was so very good at. It was exactly the type of kiss that was able to speak everything he was feeling without using actual words.

You practically melted. Your noises of surprise turned into ones of content as you wrapped your arms around Youngbae's back, tugging him closer. Leaning into the solidness of your husband's muscular frame, you seemed on board with his plan of letting all the words fall away in favor of body language. You swiped your tongue playfully along the inside of his mouth before pulling away to nibble little kisses across his jaw. Youngbae's ears were filled with your slow and steady breaths against the sensitive area behind his ear. He turned his head, making it easy for you to place a lingering kiss there.

“Merry Christmas.” you whispered.

“Merry Christmas, darling.” he grinned, pulling back but still staying close in front of you. He reached out and swiped a thumb over your smiling lips and held up the pregnancy test. “Way to out-gift me, by the way.”

“I actually got you three other things.” you teased. “I can't have you outdoing me every year that we're married!”

“Hey... I helped make this one.” he growled playfully while sliding a palm under the hoodie of his you were wearing and resting it against the non-existent swell of your middle.

The feel of his hand against your skin made sudden realization hit you.

“Oh my gosh... I'm pregnant!” you blurted out in shock, as the authenticity of what was happening settled in for the first time since you'd laid eyes on that third positive test.

“Hello, pregnant...” Youngbae chuckled as he lovingly stroked his thumb across your abdomen. “Nice to meet you. I'm Dad!”

[daehwifi]

SUN . | LEE DONGHYUCK

 - admin xion

genre: angst group/member: nct/lee donghyuck word count: 1, 838 requested: if jade’s cries are a request then sure  side notes: she cries a lot @loveleehyuck // posting this draft now because jade is a son of a bitch <3

!!! trigger warning(s) !!! : abuse, mentions of blood

prompt: lee donghyuck became your sun in the dark world

 “you’re quite something you know?” the man with the face you couldn’t look in the eye spoke. he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear being nudging you in your shoulder. you were simply trying to fit in with the other kids until they told you to go to the back of the school to get a soccer ball they lost.

they lied. there was no soccer ball at all.

“c’mon, smile. i bet that smile of yours is pretty,” he persisted. your eye sight remained on the ground. it was a habit of yours. you were never able to look anyone directly into the eyes simply because of this unknown emotion that stopped you. teachers claimed how you were just shy, many other students in your school are shy as well. you claimed how it was just anxiety.

 his fingertips placed at the bottom of your chin, attempting to raise that ‘pretty face of yours’. from time to time, you’d clench your fist and then release. you let out your inner frustration on such things, because you grew up learning that hiding your emotions was the correct way to live. and sadly, you were used to old men doing these sorts of things.

 “excuse me, she’s uncomfortable. can you please leave her alone?” a sudden voice spoke. turning your face around, you noticed it was a boy in the same class as you. his uniform followed the same concept as yours. his posture was straight; he was brave.

 “we’re just having a little bit of fun here kid,” the man persisted, grabbing your shoulder and turning you back towards him.

 “she doesn’t look like she’s having fun,” donghyuck added forcefully. he stormed towards the two of you and quickly grabbed your shaky wrist.

 “please don’t come back to this school again,” he politely added before dragging you off. your eyes gawked, slowly trailing from the floor to the back of donghyuck’s head. you noticed your vision was becoming blurry. a warm coat of tears filled your vision. you couldn’t tell if it was out of thankfulness or it was the wave of tears you’ve been holding back for the past 17 years of your life. maybe it was both if you thought about it hard enough.

 you couldn’t help but let out a soft sob. you quickly covered your mouth, feeling the dropping tears go over your fingers. donghyuck stopped walking and turned around. he still held onto your wrist but his tight grip became loose. his hand was practically holding yours loosely.

 “why are you-” he trailed off his sentence and didn’t say more. you couldn’t read the expression on his face- literally. your vision was filled with a non-stop river of tears that you couldn’t help but cry.

 for that one second he let go of your hand, you felt empty. as though the sun had disappeared and you were walking on cold asphalt. but that all changed just from the sudden action of him dashing towards you to give you a warm hug. you gasped for air at first, feeling his arms wrap around the back of your neck and his chin resting on top of your shoulder. but your sobs became more noticeable afterwards, finally crying a storm of tears you’d been battling.

 your heart was racing quickly from all the previous pain you’ve received. the warmth donghyuck provided turned the cold asphalt into a flower path. the sun was beaming through the bright clouds once again in your mind. finally, in 17 years, you felt at peace from a simple boy you rarely talked to and noticed. but he noticed all the pain you’ve been hiding and enduring all these years.

 in fact, he actually blames himself from time to time. he’s awfully quite shy, especially when it comes to a girl that he likes. he wished he was able to ask you to be his partner during gym and wished he had talked to you sooner so that the pain would finally stop being dragged on.  

 the simply action between two mutual people sparked a friendship. a friendship that lead to a crush. it was like a bogo deal in some sort of way. become friends with lee donghyuck and get a crush on him for free!

 he’d talk to your softly right after escaping your hell hold home as the two of you would lay on the green grass by the park. you two acted as though you were in movies such as the fault in our stars or any cliche romance movie you could think of. there’d be faint lights of the stars twinkling in the sky.

 sometimes there’d also be a band aid on his hands or arms from your parents yelling at your dog to bite him before he was able to escape with you. although your punishment afterwards of leaving the house without permission were quite brutal, the moments you spent with donghyuck over threw it.

 he was your sun. the star that brought light into your world. cold asphalt turned into a never ending road of flower paths with leaves falling onto the ground. and as long as donghyuck was there to bring you smiles everyday, that sun remained high in the sky.

  “donghyuck! i’ll be out in 2 more minutes! i just need to find my backpack,” you spoke out your window, trying to keep as quiet as possible to not wake up your sleeping parents. donghyuck nodded and shoved his hands inside his pockets as you returned to look around your room for your bag. 

 you slowly crept around your room, attempting not to make the hardwood floor creak. you had a feeling someone was watching you, but you claimed you had this feeling before and nothing happened. 

 quietly walking around, you found your bag near your closet. slowing approaching it, the floor creaked, in which was something you didn’t want to happen at all. before you knew it, you jumped at first to your door being slammed open with your mother rushing it. 

 your eyes gawked and your body quickly flew onto your bed with your mother slapping you with her bare hands. the first thing that came to mind when the sudden pain flew your way as not to make it seem like you were hurt. the thought of donghyuck still waiting outside passed your mind. if he were to hear-

 “there’s that goddamn boy outside!” you heard your father in the room beside yours blurt. you prayed in your head that donghyuck heard as well and began running. the endless pain didn’t seem to stop. 

 hearing your fathers rushed steps outside the house and soon defeated sigh to how he was nowhere to be found was loudly heard. you finally cried out loud, feeling one last painful slap across your cheek with your mothers long finger nails cutting into your soft skin.

 the soft skin that donghyuck would smile against and would become too flustered to kiss with his soft lips. he’s attempted before, but then got too shy and retrieved. but that only ended up to you finding out about how adorable that attempt was and pecked him on the lips before running off. 

  your still felt unsatisfied with her work. the torture carried on longer than you expected. and it wasn’t just the physical torture. you were slammed with the news about how your family was going to move simply because of “that boy who brings you happiness when you don’t deserve any” your mothers voice echoed inside your head. literally, she slammed you against your hardwood floor and stomped onto any of your body parts, causing pain while barking those words. 

“you’re going to move?” donghyuck repeated. you nodded, avoiding eye contact once again. his soft brown eyes were now a vision and something you could only recall from memory. he was going to visit you, when your family forced you to tell him the news face to face. you could feel your parent’s eyes on your back as they didn’t feel a single bit of pity for you. 

 he was fumed with anger. he looked like he was about to storm into your house at any moment to give your family a piece of his mind but just as he walked past by you, you tightly held onto his wrist. you’d bite your lower lip to stop your tears from flowing, but you were already quivering. 

 “is this our last goodbye then?” he asked softly. his voice never sound cold before. though the sun was right in front of you, you could feel goosebumps trail up your skin from the cold. 

 donghyuck already had the puzzle pieces together in his head. you were going to leave. there was the moving truck right at the left of him but the words as to why you were moving were left unsaid. 

  maybe your parents were right. you didn’t deserve to be happy. you were a selfish human being who hurt something to beautiful and made him burst out of tears as the car began to move with you inside it. 

 you were able to make the bright light of the sun disappear right in front of your eyes and vanish within a snap. your family thought it was time to move away from the equator, where the sun stayed and moved to the north instead. where snow will fall and the coldness will give your frostbite. 

 as the car drove along the road, the cold asphalt returned. although you were wearing shoes, through your socks the bottom of your bare feet felt cold once again. the sky became a bit gloomier as well. the feeling of a tear running down your cheek nagged you but your eyes were already dried out from crying yourself to sleep and soaking your pillow. 

  a soft sigh escaped your lips. the house was even more smaller than your old one. you took a look outside your window but was only reminded by the fact that donghyuck used to stand outside your window at night before your little ‘dates’. yeah yeah- you called yourself a sentimental person as well, but what could you do about it? 

 the weather here was as you’d expect. it’d greet you with the warm sun, acting friendly but you knew around december the snow would begin falling to the ground. not only would your heart feel cold, now your body would as well.  

 you were forced to set up your room by yourself- but that wasn’t something you were willing to complain about. oddly, you started to hang up your curtains first. afterwards, you did the cliche ‘open the curtains like you were in a movie’. once again, you were only reminded about the little movie scenes donghyuck and you would recreate together. 

 you could feel the heat off the sun against your bare skin. you felt hot, but oddly, you couldn’t help but to feel a bit cold on the inside without your sun being there.

[dfroza]

in this life, we have to choose who our King, or king will be.

either as God our Creator and King, or self, or someone or something else.

worship isn’t a choice. we all worship something, no matter what. the heart was designed this way.

in Today’s reading Paul describes his change of heart, from following what he thought was right in his own eyes, to seeing that he was actually fighting against God.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 22nd chapter of the book of Acts:

Paul: Brothers and fathers, please let me defend myself against these charges.

When they heard him speaking Aramaic, a hush came over the crowd.

Paul: I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia. I was raised here in Jerusalem and was tutored in the great school of Gamaliel. My education trained me in the strict interpretation of the law of our ancestors, and I grew zealous for God, just as all of you are today. I encountered a movement known as the Way, and I considered it a threat to our religion, so I persecuted it violently. I put both men and women in chains, had them imprisoned, and would have killed them— as the high priest and the entire council of elders will tell you. I received documentation from them to go to Damascus and work with the brothers there to arrest followers of the Way and bring them back to Jerusalem in chains so they could be properly punished. I was on my way to Damascus. It was about noon. Suddenly a powerful light shone around me, and I fell to the ground. A voice spoke: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute Me?” I answered, “Who are You, Lord?” The voice replied, “I am Jesus of Nazareth, the One you persecute.”

My companions saw the light, but they didn’t hear the voice. I asked, “What do You want me to do, Lord?” The Lord replied, “Get up and go to Damascus; you will be given your instructions there.” Since the intense light had blinded me, my companions led me by the hand into Damascus. I was visited there by a devout man named Ananias, a law-keeping Jew who was well spoken of by all the Jews living in Damascus. He said, “Brother Saul, regain your sight!” I could immediately see again, beginning with Ananias standing before me. Then he said, “You have been chosen by the God of our ancestors to know His will, to see the Righteous One, and to hear the voice of God. You will tell the story of what you have seen and heard to the whole world. So now, don’t delay. Get up, be ceremonially cleansed through baptism, and have your sins washed away, as you call on His name in prayer.”

I returned to Jerusalem, and I was praying here in the temple one day. I slipped into a trance and had a vision in which Jesus said to me, “Hurry! Get out of Jerusalem fast! The people here will not receive your testimony about Me.” I replied, “But Lord, they all know that I went from synagogue to synagogue imprisoning and beating everyone who believed in You. They know what I was like and how I stood in approval of the execution of Stephen, Your witness, when he was stoned. I even held the coats of those who actually stoned him.” Jesus replied, “Go, for I am going to send you to distant lands to teach the outsiders.”

They were listening quietly up until he mentioned the outsiders.

Crowd (shouting): Away with him! Such a man can’t be allowed to remain here. Kill him! He must die!

Chaos broke out again. People were shouting, slamming their coats down on the ground, and throwing fistfuls of dust up in the air. The commandant ordered the soldiers to bring Paul to the barracks and flog him until he confessed to whatever he had done to stir up this outrage.

Back at the barracks, as they tied him up with leather thongs, Paul spoke to a nearby officer.

Paul: Is this legal—for you to flog a Roman citizen without a trial?

The officer went and spoke to the commandant.

Officer: What can you do about this? Did you know this fellow is a Roman citizen?

Commandant (rushing to Paul’s side): What’s this? Are you really a Roman citizen?

Paul: Yes.

Commandant: I paid a small fortune for my citizenship.

Paul: I was born a citizen.

Hearing this, those who were about to start the flogging pulled back, and the commandant was concerned because he had arrested and bound a citizen without cause. He still needed to conduct an investigation to uncover the Jews’ accusations against Paul. So the next day, he removed the ties on Paul and called a meeting with the chief priests and council of elders. He brought Paul in and had him stand before the group.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 13th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to an act of God’s Judgment against wrongdoing:

The burden of Babylon (Isaiah, Amoz’s son, saw this message):

Eternal One: Raise a signal on a bare mountaintop;

flash the message; broadcast it widely.

Shout out to the nations to assemble an army;

wave them on and welcome them at the gates of the nobles.

I have enlisted them to be the ones to execute My fierce anger.

They are mine—I have commanded and consecrated them—these high and mighty ones.

Listen! There is restlessness and rumbling on the mountains,

as a powerful company assembles.

Listen! There is an uproar among the nations

as they gather their might together.

The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

is mustering an army—thousands, maybe millions—for war.

They come from lands far away,

beyond distant horizons.

That’s where the Eternal calls up His weapons of wrath—

in order to destroy the whole land!

Cry out in terror!—the time is coming;

the day of the Eternal is nearly here,

Violence and destruction as only God-All-Powerful can wreak.

This is why all hands will shake and tremble;

every heart will flutter and melt.

People will be paralyzed with fear, weakened with terror.

Taut and shaking, they’ll be overcome like a woman in labor.

They’ll look to each other dumbfounded,

their faces flushed with fear.

See here! The fury of God has been building and is too great to stop;

the day of the Eternal is nearly here.

It will come down in all its cruelty, fury, and fiery anger,

to make the land a wasteland, to wipe out all who failed God.

For the stars that define the constellations in the heavens

will fail to give their light.

The sun will go dark even when it’s high in the sky;

the moon will not shine.

Eternal One: I will turn the world’s wrongdoings back on itself.

I will punish those who act wickedly.

I will stop the arrogant musings of the proud and pompous,

and make them puny and weak.

People will be a rarity in the land,

like great chunks of gold from Ophir.

Like nothing you’ve ever dreamed,

the heavens will tremble and the earth itself will rock out of place,

When the fury of the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, is unleashed

and the power of God’s anger is loosed.

Then, in their confusion and distress,

like a hunted gazelle or a neglected stray sheep,

They will turn to their own people and run for whatever seems safe;

they’ll try to escape to their own land.

The terror rages on. Anyone who’s found will be run through with a sword.

Those who are caught will die by its cruel edge.

Their babies will be dashed to pieces on the rocks as they look on in horror;

their houses will be ransacked, and their wives will be raped.

See, I’m rousing up the Medes against them; they are a people

who kill indiscriminately and can’t be bribed off with silver or gold.

The young warriors will fall before their arrows;

not even infants or toddlers will receive mercy at their hands.

But afterward, the awesome and mighty city Babylon, pride of the Chaldeans,

will be razed to the ground like Sodom and Gomorrah, which God destroyed.

It’ll never be inhabited again, and future generations will never call it home;

there Arab nomads won’t pitch their tents; shepherds won’t rest their flocks.

Only desert animals will occupy the deserted city;

owls will nest in their formerly swept-clean houses.

Mangy jackals and wild goats will roam among the rubble

and romp among the ruins.

Hyenas will prowl around and howl among its towers;

jackals will haunt its formerly palatial palaces;

Babylon’s time of destruction is coming; her days are numbered.

The Book of Isaiah, Chapter 13 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, june 21 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about God’s Justice:

Shalom friends! Our Torah reading for this week is named after an ancient Moabite king entitled “Balak” (i.e., בָּלָק, “the destroyer”) who sought to curse Israel by hiring the services of a wicked Midianite “prophet” named “Balaam” (i.e., בִּלְעָם, “one set above the people”). It begins this way: “And Balak the son of Zippor saw all that Israel had done to Amalek and grew fearful.... King Balak’s plan was to employ Balaam’s sorcery (i.e., kashafut: כַּשָׁפוּת) against the Israelites to prevent them from entering the Promised Land. Similar to the delicious irony that befell the villain Haman in the Book of Esther, however, King Balak’s scheme was upended, and the curse he sought to put on the Jewish people was repeatedly pronounced as a blessing by Balaam instead. After several foiled attempts, Balak fretfully dismissed the prophet, but before departing from the dejected king, Balaam ironically prophesied the destruction of the Moabites and the victorious establishment of Israel. Some peoples lives, it seems, are meant to serve as warning of the dangers of self-destruction.... The shameful story of Balaam reveals that "there is no enchantment against Jacob, no divination against Israel" (Num. 23:23). Ein od milvado (אֵין עוֹד מִלְבַדּו) - no weapon or scheme devised against God will ever prosper (Isa. 54:15-17). [Hebrew for Christians]

6.20.21 • Facebook

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

June 21, 2021

Jesus Christ Is Lord

“That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:10-11)

Often this passage is thought of as an admission by all sentient beings of the deity of the Lord Jesus—and it certainly is that. There surely will come a point in time in which “every thing that hath breath” will praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6). Those of us who are the twice-born will do so with great joy. Those who have chosen to reject the gospel will also do so—but with overwhelming terror (Proverbs 1:27).

However, the foundational passage from which the New Testament quotes, and by which it twice applies the event, is found in Isaiah 45:22-23: “Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else. I have sworn by myself, the word is gone out of my mouth in righteousness, and shall not return, That unto me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear.”

Our verse today applies the Isaiah passage to the great final judgment referred to in Revelation 20. Other insights in Revelation cite some of the songs we may sing and something of the ceremonies and pageantry associated with the celebration of Christ’s formal assumption of His role as King.

The first New Testament quotation of Isaiah 45:23 is in Romans 14:11-12. Here, Paul applies the judgment to an open report of our deeds: “So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God.” Surely this broader sight should strengthen our resolve to “please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier” (2 Timothy 2:4). HMM III