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mnictasbcl · 3 years

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For you

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 11th: First argument- first making up @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Markus, Hank Anderson

Relationships: Connor/Markus, Connor & Hank Anderson

Additional Tags: First fight, blood mention, Worry, Concern, Guilt, Argument, Injury, Not serious injury, Just ouchy, Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, care, First aid, Mention of knife violence, Just a little stab, Making up, interface, Cuddles

Summary: Connor is self-sacrificial, Markus isn’t a fan of this, and they have their first argument.

Luckily, Hank is there to help and teach him a thing or two about relationships.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

“But this isn’t the Revolution, Connor!” Markus raised his voice.

Connor shook his head, smearing a streak of thirium off his cheek. “I know it isn’t. That doesn’t mean I’m no longer useful.”

“That’s… not what I’m saying. You can’t just run off into situations like that without backup!”

“Yes, I can.” He stared at the ground. “That’s my job, Markus.”

“Some days it feels like that’s all you think about.”

He blinked. That wasn’t fair. He… his job was no longer his sole purpose, of course, but he was still good at being a detective.

“You know what? I—I did it for you.”

The emotions brimming to the surface, combined with the pain radiating from his side, became overwhelming. Connor looked over the other android one more time before suddenly turning, storming away from New Jericho. He thought he could hear Markus shouting for him in the background, but he couldn’t comprehend it anymore.

_____________

That had been his morning. Fear, the mission, completing it—and an argument. Now, he was walking down the streets of Detroit, thirium trickling down his side, only one destination in mind.

He rapped his knuckles against Hank’s door. It opened after a few moments, the man half groggy with sleep, but he quickly moved into action upon seeing the android on his doorstep.

“Connor? What’re you doing here? I thought you were spending the weekend with Markus.”

Connor sighed, moving inside, not quite ready to answer questions. He just needed to pull off his coat, take a long, hot shower, and think about things—

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

He startled at Hank’s curse. Oh, right. He’d taken off his coat, revealing the gaping wound in his side.

“Apologies, Li—”

“Don’t go back to that. Just- just sit down,” Hank grabbed his arm, manoeuvring him gently but firmly to the couch, “I’ll go get the first aid supplies.”

Connor sat down without argument, glancing briefly to the Lieutenant as he rushed off towards the bathroom to grab the supplies. He started to feel a little guilty, coming into the man’s home without forethought to call ahead, especially with an injury. The guilt swirled together with the stew of other emotions in his mind, and he groaned.

This didn’t make sense. It was… it was too much, there was no logical pathway to sorting through each thing, and—

He was broken out of his thoughts by a wet nose sniffing at his hand. He chuckled, allowing Sumo to lick his hand.

“Ugh!” Hank’s outburst upon coming back into the room was warranted. Connor had forgotten about the thirium staining his hand, which the Saint Bernard was now licking off with fever. “The pair of you are disgusting, god.

“Anyway, I’ve got the android skin glue stuff. It’s just a surface wound, right?”

Connor nodded. “It didn’t damage any internal components or processors. Just nicked a thirium line.”

He was glad that Hank didn’t question him further quite yet, instead getting to work on the wound. It was only once the bleeding (or thirium leakage) had been stopped, the artificial skin sealing back up, did he begin.

“So… what happened?”

“A suspect managed to outsmart me briefly, with a knife; however, I did succeed in apprehending them.”

Hank nodded. “Right. That’s… kinda not what I meant, son.” His tone softened. “How did this happen? You were spending the weekend with Markus at New Jericho, not doing work.”

Connor frowned. “Yes, but I’m never truly off the clock. There were reports of an anti-android suspect breaking into New Jericho. I stopped them.” His gaze trailed off. “I… We do have some people for that in New Jericho, but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Noting there was more to be said, Hank didn’t interrupt. Shortly after a few deep breaths, Connor continued.

“Word was that they were after Markus. It was unlikely they’d be able to get through the walls of security, but I couldn’t take that chance. They were going to take him away.” The ‘from me’ was left unsaid.

“So…” Hank began. “Is Markus okay, then?”

Connor nodded curtly. “Yes. He’s fine. They didn’t get anywhere near him.”

Hank frowned. “So why did you come here? Not that I don’t love seeing you. But they have much better android care back in New Jericho. And surely Markus didn’t let you walk away looking like that.”

“Is that an insult to my appearance, Lieutenant?”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Nothing wrong aside from the blue blood all over you.”

“That seems like an overstatement.”

“And it seems like you’re trying to distract me from the main topic.”

Connor sighed. “Astute as ever. Fine. Markus was… rather displeased that I suddenly went after the suspect myself, without waiting for any sort of backup.”

Hank groaned. “Of course you did.”

“But I had to!” Connor retaliated in defense. “I’m perfectly capable of taking down one… or two suspects. I was built for this. I took out multiple Cyberlife guards on the night of the Revolution, all fully armed.”

Hank patted his knee. “Look, kid, I don’t think anyone’s doubting your—”

“I’m not a kid.”

Hank took in a breath. “Maybe not literally. But you’re my kid.” That shut Connor up for a few moments. “Anyway. I don’t think me or Markus are doubting how good of a cop you are. But he was right. That’s a dangerous situation to go into alone. Maybe he was worried about you, too, just like you were worried about him. You don’t have any more bodies to hop into, Connor. This is all you got. You have to take it with more safety.” A pause. “Please.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m not disputing that.” He met Hank’s gaze briefly. “I just… I understand he was worried. I was worried. And I did take too many risks. But… I didn’t think this would end things.”

Now it was Hank’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“With me and Markus. He was really upset. He said, he said something like ‘the job is all I care about’. Or like that.”

“A fight isn’t going to end your relationship.” Hank laughed in shock, not unkindly. “You love each other. These things just happen. They’re not pleasant, no. I remember, with my wife…” A faraway look caught his eyes briefly. “We used to get into our fair share of disagreements. But they’re not what define you two. All that was behind your words was worry. And maybe you hurt each other with what you said. You just have to fix it.”

Connor took Hank’s advice in. It was… helpful.

“That makes sense. That… thank you, Hank.” He fiddled with the thick fur on Sumo’s ears. “So Markus doesn’t hate me?”

Hank laughed genuinely this time. “Of course not. In a different sense, do you think I hate you every time you go self-sacrificial on patrol?”

“Maybe not every time. I’d say there’s a 50-50 chance you show resentment after I make a… questionable work decision.”

“Well, I think Markus is a lot more patient than me. And I haven’t disowned you yet.” At Connor’s wounded look, he held up his hands. “I was kidding! Geez.

“Anyway, just… whenever you’re ready, go back over there. In fact, I can drive you anytime today. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you. Don’t want to turn that poor kid grey too.”

Connor laughed.

_____________

After showering and finding some clothes to put on, that weren’t stained blue, Connor accepted Hank’s offer to drive him back to New Jericho.

It was definitely the right decision. Not long after they’d pulled away from the house, Connor began to feel impatient to get back there. He’d left Markus alone after an argument, and after the whole threat on his life that morning. The suspects were stopped, but he still couldn’t help but worry.

Thus he was thankful when they pulled up at the location, thanking Hank with a grateful smile and promise to be back by Monday, before rushing out of the car.

Markus was no longer on the outskirts of the town, but he was sure he knew where he was going to be.

He was correct. Walking into the painting studio, he spotted the lone figure of his boyfriend at the far canvas, hands moving in the fluid motions of brush strokes.

Connor approached quietly, but perhaps his whirring yellow LED gave him away to the other deviant, who turned around at once, and seemed to breathe a large sigh of relief.

“Connor, you came back.”

He rushed over to Markus, stopping a couple of steps away from him. “Of course I did. I was just… visiting Lieutenant Anderson.”

“I could tell from the shirt.” He chuckled, gesturing to the baggy old DPD hoodie Connor was now wearing. “But… it’s a relief to see you. There were things I said, that…”

“I did too. I regret it. I don’t value my work over you or anyone else at all. I wasn’t thinking, shouldn’t have just ran out like that…”

“I know you don’t, Connor.” Markus agreed. “I wasn’t thinking either. What you did in the Cyberlife Tower, on the Revolution, with all those androids—it was amazing. So amazing it’s something you can really only do once. But despite the risk… you survived. And I’m so thankful for what you helped bring for our people. That was when I realised, I loved you.

“But that also means you need to be safe. We don’t have to take those kinds of risks anymore. Our people are free. There are, regrettably, individuals such as the attackers this morning who want to steal that from us. But we have the advantage now.” He stepped towards Connor, hand extending in an invitation to interface. “And I can’t lose you.”

Connor accepted the invitation, skin peeling back, white chassis visible and connecting to Markus in interface with a soft clink. He felt a rush of emotions, warm and fuzzy, and he sent back his own, some worry intermingling but overall, love and compassion.

“I can’t lose you either. But I promise, I’ll be safe.” He brought the connection away, arms moving this time to embrace Markus. “Safer, anyway.”

Markus chuckled. “You better be, Connor. Because if you get yourself killed, then I’ll kill you. And then I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson will kill you too.”

“And Sumo.” Connor added with a smirk.

“I don’t know, he seems too pure for that. But… whatever. Just don’t die.”

“Likewise.”

#dbhcolorsofdeviancy #dbh #detroit become human #rk1k #dbh rk1k #dbh connor #dbh markus #dbh connor/markus #connor/markus #dbh connor and hank #dbh hank #dbh fanfic #fanfic #first fight

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walkswithmyfather · 3 years

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“Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name! For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.” —Psalm 100:4‭-‬5 (ESV)

“Come through the gates to his Temple giving thanks to him. Enter his courtyards with songs of praise. Honor him and bless his name. The Lord is good! There is no end to his faithful love. We can trust him forever and ever!” —Psalm 100:4‭-‬5 (ERV)

“There is Power in Praise” by Diana Rasmussen.

“God inhabits the praise of His people. The Lord reminds us that when we are feeling down or discouraged or hopeless, we do have a remedy. We can CHOOSE to put on the Garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. (Isaiah 61:3)

For me, this means that no matter how I feel, I put on my praise. God is more than able to shake off illness, sickness, discouragement, and depression. When I praise Him – He goes to work and defeats my enemies!

Remember the Israelites? When they came to the promised land God gave them they marched around Jericho 7 days. 7 days without saying a word. Just marched around the city. They saw those walls, they heard the people laughing at them and mocking them I am sure. They didn’t fight back. They just did what God told them. And then, on the 7th day:

“So the people shouted when the priests blew the trumpets. And it happened when the people heard the sound of the trumpet, and the people shouted with a great shout, that the wall fell down flat. Then the people went up into the city, every man straight before him, and they took the city.” —Joshua 6:20

“By faith the walls of Jericho fell down after they were encircled for seven days.” —Hebrews 11:30

Today, I speak to the mountains of depression, cancer, illness, lack and command them to fall down. Like my husband reminded us today, “If it didn’t want to bow, it shouldn’t have given us a name – because now it has to bow!” We know a NAME that is above ALL NAMES – JESUS!”

“For assuredly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be removed and be cast into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that those things he says will be done, he will have whatever he says. Therefore I say to you, whatever things you ask when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them.” —Mark 11:23-24

“This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it.” —Psalm 118:24

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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Revelations Chapter 2: The Rise

Hawke tells Kieran that plans have changed. To what? Well, he still has to figure that out. But an attack on the Rise bring even more realizations to light about the Maiden, and Hawke isn't sure whether he should be astounded by her bravery or appalled by her recklessness.

Read on AO3

Hawke eyed the amber liquid in the short crystal glass as he turned it in his fingers. Two candles flickered on the mantle, casting the slightest glow into the shadows of the room. But the dimness mattered not: he could see every woodgrain and knot in the walls as well as if it were midday. He didn’t look up when the door opened, mind spinning with his new revelations and shoulders heavy with the burdens of leadership he had to bear.

How the fuck was he going to figure this out?

“Godsdammit, Hawke. Not that look again.”

He knew if he looked up his amber gaze would be met with ice blue, hallmark of the wolven. He imagined Kieran was running a large palm down his face, exasperated with his prince’s ever-evolving scheme. So he kept his eyes fixed on the stiff drink in his hands, but couldn’t help but tip up a corner of his mouth.

“And what look is that, Kieran?”

“That broody one. Where you purse your lips and narrow your eyes and think loud enough for all of Solis to hear the damned gears working,” Kieran growled, stalking over to join Hawke at the small table. The Atlantian only then looked up through a loose mess of dark waves, finding his brother spinning the chair to sit with the backrest to his front and resting his forearms lazily across the top. “So tell me what your idiotic new plan is so I can then tell you how idiotic it is, and then you can proceed to not listen at all and insist that it is not idiotic and that it is, in fact, the only reasonable course of action.”

Silence permeated the space, blanketing the room in tension – the same room in the Red Pearl where he had first met the Maiden. Penellaphe.

Poppy.

Poppy, who carried that dagger of bloodstone and wolven bone and had managed to stab Jericho during his ill-fated kidnapping attempt. Poppy, who was quick-witted and kind and beautiful.

Poppy, who was beaten on what seemed like a regular basis. Poppy, who had said that the Duke had touched her. Poppy, whose punishment seemed to warrant the presence of the lord whose reputation was so vile that it was common knowledge around the castle that one did not want to catch his attention, good or bad.

He was staring at his glass again. A harsh laugh escaped his lips as he realized the absolute madness of the words that rose to his tongue.

“We can’t give Poppy back to the Ascended.”

Hawke could feel his brother bristle at that, and he couldn’t really blame his bonded wolven for the reaction. It was absolute, utter insanity.

“Poppy. Poppy? We’re on a nickname basis now, Hawke?” Kieran spat his own nickname at him before pushing himself out of the chair. Hawke’s eyes followed his pacing, gaze trained on his dark features, made darker by the night’s shadows and his own frustration. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can already assure you it’s a bad idea. She’s not like the other ladies. You can’t just seduce the Maiden for a particularly impressive notch on your bedpost –“

“That is not what I am doing.” Red rage sang through his blood at the implication, knowing the suffering that Poppy had experienced. But Hawke reminded himself that Kieran didn’t know – had no way of knowing that the Maiden may have been as much a prisoner as he had been. He felt eyes on him and turned his head to meet that ice-blue stare. Kieran’s gaze was shrewd, questioning. He could likely feel the ire billowing off of the prince, thick black smoke from a fire stoked with malice.

“Then what is it, Cas?”

Hawke’s shoulders slumped at the use of his name, his true name. The two of them rarely used it, the need for his absolute dedication to the role of royal guard Hawke Flynn overriding all else. But the name and the quiet desperation in his brother’s voice… he felt the resolution solidify in his chest. He didn’t know what they would do, but the Maiden was leaving this place and she would not come back. Freedom from her current torment was paramount, but the implications were far-reaching. What about Malik? How could they barter for his freedom? And how could he guarantee her safety, in Solis or Atlantia? If she were found in Solis she would be immediately returned into the abusive custody of the Ascended, but if she were found in Atlantia…

She would be killed, without question, and probably not quickly and painlessly.

He hadn’t realized that his stare had grown distant and cloudy until the warm brown of Kieran’s skin entered his periphery. Blinking, he refocused and saw that there were hands – his brother’s battle-worn hands pressing into the ashy wood to his left. Amber eyes traced up his arms and met that pleading gaze. Kieran knew – he always knew – that he was unsettled. Hawke just hoped that he would understand and accept why things had to change.

“Today I had to deliver the Maiden to a summons from Duke Teerman.” He gestured for Kieran to return to his chair, not wanting to explain this whole mess with the wolven hovering menacingly. “When I approached her and her lady’s maid to fetch her, they both seemed to be seized with distress. I could see that her maid was alarmed, but of course I could not see the Maiden’s face.

“I dismissed it as we walked. She didn’t say anything and, looking back, that should have been the second indication that something was wrong. But when we got to the door she stopped and just… she seemed to stare at it, as if she were frozen. She waved me off when I asked about it and then she went inside.”

Hawke pursed his lips and exhaled through his nose, leaning back. He caught Kieran’s eyes flickering with impatience. “I know, I know, I’m getting to the point.”

“I didn’t say anything,” the wolven shrugged with a grimace, winning a dramatic eye-roll.

“Anyway. I stayed outside the door and when I listened it seemed like an ordinary lecture, and over ridiculous things. I assumed the Duke just liked to listen to himself talk and flex his authority. But then…” Hawke sucked in a breath. Heat coiled inside of him, a burning weight of anger and disbelief. And the pressure looming over him – the promise to free his brother, to raise Atlantia from the ashes – grew ever heavier, more confounding. But still he knew he could not abandon her to this fate, no matter what Kieran or the rest of his men or his country might argue. “He beat her, Kieran. And not a violence born of frustration in the moment. This was calculated and sadistic. With a cane. And he has been doing it for years.” Eyes trained on the fluttering candlelight, Hawke took two calming breaths. His companion had not moved or spoken – barely reacted at all.

“All I could think about was Carsadonia.” That got Kieran’s attention.

Kieran: friend, bonded wolven, brother. Hawke had suffered greatly during his time in captivity, but the wolven had also lived five decades of sickness and uncertainty. Those piercing light blue eyes flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched, and the Atlantian knew that his brother hadn’t expected this.

And then Kieran surprised him.

“So what do we need to do?”

~~~

Hawke scowled, leaning against the wall across from the heavy wood of the Maiden’s chamber doors.

Poppy. Poppy’s chambers.

She hadn’t left in two days. And even though she had warned him that it would likely take that kind of time to… recover… the time still ate away at him. The rage at such injustice ignited something in his chest that he wasn’t sure he understood. The fierce jolt of protectiveness was completely unexpected, and not something he truly needed right now. But he’d be damned if he was going to deny it.

At the very least Poppy was the Maiden – outwardly a symbol of the Ascended, their dominion, their twisted version of history and tradition. At the very least she was a girl who was put on a pedestal for the kingdom but was kept in a pretty gilded cage, forbidden to participate in life and forced to endure whatever torments and violations the royals deemed necessary to ‘ensure her dedication’. He had yet to discover the depths of those depravities, but he would. At the very least she was an innocent girl who only knew what she’d been taught and still had the courage to question it, even with the threat of harm ever-looming. Who she was, at the very least, would have earned his respect.

But she was more than that. Hawke knew. She was so much more, and he had known that since that first night. She was beautiful, with luscious red lips and soft supple curves. Her wit was quick, and those eyes and lips so expressive that he couldn’t help but try to frustrate her. She was just so�� adorable when he had been able to push her buttons just so. And now… Gods, now? Now that he knew the stakes she was facing every time she even thought to move even her little toe out of line he couldn’t decide if he was in awe of her bravery or if he was frustrated by her recklessness. If he had wanted to save the Maiden, a girl who was only a victim of her upbringing, then his urge – his need – to rescue Poppy eclipsed that want. Tenfold.

All of his plans had exploded in his face and now lay in ashes.

And so Hawke stood there, on guard, staring at her door.

Two days. She hadn’t come out in two days. He should be thankful, as it gave him time to try to figure out a way to save both Poppy and his brother. He was working on that, but he found his mind coming back to the ‘lesson’ he had witnessed. The evil that had been thrust upon her. And while he’d gotten the answers about the Duke, about the cane, about how long it had been happening and how it had affected her, there was one looming problem that he had yet to completely understand.

Lord Brandole Mazeen.

There was a part of him that didn’t want to know his role in Poppy’s abuse, knowing the reputation that followed in his wake. Why had he been in the office with Duke Teerman? Hawke hadn’t heard anything other than the Duke’s drawling condescension and the sound of the cane cutting the air and striking flesh. But he had no idea what happened in that room – things that he wouldn’t be able to hear. Poppy had said that the Duke looked at her, touched her. Obviously, the Duke’s proclivities matched Mazeen’s sadistic streak. Maybe it was just a pastime they enjoyed sharing. Maybe it was a power dynamic they delighted in, knowing that Poppy would be unable to deny them their entertainment.

Fucking disgusting.

Growling, Hawke pulled a dagger from his boot. He needed to figure this out. Currently his strategy was to push Poppy’s curious, intelligent mind as far as he could and simply hope that she realized that things weren’t the way she had been raised to believe. He’d probably never had a more ridiculous, faulty strategy in his life, but there was something in him that whispered that she might just be willing to leave. She might even be looking for a way out. That would make their exit from Masadonia much easier than he would have initially anticipated.

He scowled down at his dagger, using it to pick under his fingernails. Getting out of the city and to New Haven was the easy part. But what if she did agree? What if she understood the wrongs of the Ascended and chose to come with him. What would happen when she found out who he was? Surely she wouldn’t just accept that and move on. And what of Malik? He couldn’t give Poppy back to the Ascended, but that also meant his bargaining chip for his brother was no more. Years of planning – ruined. Was it worth it? Was Poppy worth it? Something nagged at his hardened heart, telling him that she was. But how could he be sure? He barely knew her, could hardly know enough to care –

Horns blared and he jerked his head up. He returned the dagger to his boot and pushed away from the wall. The air shifted and, if the horns hadn’t been indication, the tingle of awareness that crept down his spine told him all that he needed to know.

The Rise.

He was already running when the horns called a second time and he barely noticed the tremor that ran under his feet. The entrances to the castle would be sealed within minutes. Hawke’s pace slowed slightly as he wondered for a moment if his priority was supposed to be the Maiden or the Rise. But he kept moving toward the exit. Poppy hadn’t left her room for two days, and the horns would signal to her and her lady’s maid to stay put. He was of more use on the front lines, making sure the invasion never even made it to the castle gates.

Some of his men would question his actions, his choice to assist in the defense of the Rise. But none of the men on the battlements were Ascended – of course they never chose to trouble themselves with the effort it may take to defend their cities, even if their strength and speed could account for that of ten mortal men – and he would not leave the mortals and potential ‘Descenters’ to die in the wake of their leaders’ indifference. And so he drew his short sword as he emerged into the chill of the night, stepping into mist-filled air. So it was craven. The clanging of steel, screams of men, demented howls of the hollow creatures that used to be men – they filled the night, wafting like the mist into the star-flecked sky.

Dispatching the craven outside the Rise was relatively quick work, the mist allowing for him to be much more lax about keeping his strength and quickness in check. Adding that to the fact that many had tried to scale the wall, he found himself with few of the ravenous, soulless creatures left. They had to have been newly turned, lacking their usual hollowness. Hawke took a moment to breathe, offering a brief prayer to the gods for even more souls lost to the Ascended. Perhaps one day he would learn their names and carve them in the wall – the only monument to the lost since the fall of Atlantia. He carried those names with him, carved into his very soul. He had known too many of them, and too well. The loss of each was like a brand, burning inside him.

Hawke stalked back within the protection of the wall, scanning the battlements for wayward craven that had not been taken care of. He caught sight of a cloaked and hooded figure, launching bloodstone arrows into the night – into craven. With impressive accuracy. Narrowing his eyes he studied the archer, spying pale fingers and unprotected arms. Whoever it was, they weren’t wearing the armor of a guard. They weren’t wearing armor of any kind. Hawke swiftly made his way – sword still in hand – to the short ladder that led to the parapet and marveled at what he saw.

It was no guard.

The fingers and arms of alabaster had not prepared him for the well-muscled leg that stretched out from under the cloak, balancing the woman who had crouched to a knee for the benefit of stable aim. Hawke didn’t need his enhanced Atlantian eyesight to appreciate the sheer… perfection of what was before him, from the top of that delicious, milky thigh down to those lovely delicate…

Slippers?

“You must be the goddess Bele, or Lailah, given mortal form.” He was absolutely reverent, and absolutely confounded. The figure before him spun on her knee, arrow trained straight at his head. He couldn’t see inside her hood, but gods did he want to. The arrow aimed at his face was a small bit concerning, however. “You are,” he breathed, sheathing his sword. “You are absolutely magnificent. Beautiful.”

He grinned wolfishly when he saw her body twitch, as if she was not expecting to be worshipped. But how could he not? With that spectacular leg and that spectacular aim. “The last thing I expected was to find a hooded lady with a talent for archery manning one of the battlements.” Hawke extended his hand to the warrior goddess. “May I be of assistance?”

The woman didn’t speak, but she did lower her bow and shift it to one hand. A relief. She gave him a motion, signaling him to back up. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed, still curiously awed by this mystery goddess. She climbed down the ladder but never turned her back to him. He was impressed at her vigilance, knowing not to give her back to a potential foe. When she reached the bottom of the ladder she slung the bow over her back. She flinched, almost imperceptibly, at the contact.

Hawke narrowed his eyes. “You’re… aahh…”

Staring into the darkness under the hood he could make out the swell of red lips, the gleam of emerald eyes. And the peek of shimmering white under the cloak – combined with that tiny twinge when the bow hit her back – drew all the puzzle pieces together. He knew that nightdress. He had touched it. He’d had his mouth on it.

This warrior, mystery archer manning the battlements, was Poppy. What in the name of all the gods…

She moved to make a swift exit and he blocked her path.

“What are you doing up here?” he demanded, cursing himself. She hadn’t left her room in two days. Two days. And the horns signaling a craven attack had acted not as a warning as he had hoped, but as a fucking invitation. Poppy tried to brush past him, but he caught her arm. He still had the upper hand. She had no idea that he knew who she was. He was bristling at her recklessness, but he wasn’t so frustrated to deny himself the fun of seeing this situation play out. “I think-“

Poppy spun in his grasp, twisting under his arm. Then she kicked her leg out low and swept his legs out from under him. He had to let go of her to catch himself before hitting the stone face-first.

That was… unexpected.

Hawke bent and retrieved the dagger from his boot. The Maiden… warrior? Poppy was running on the inner ledge of the Rise. He gripped the blade of the dagger and let it fly, catching the corner of her cloak. He felt a smirk forming as she was jerked back, and he stepped purposefully toward her.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he scolded. His eyebrows rose as she wrenched the dagger out of the wall and then flipped it in her hand, cocking back to send it flying back at him. “Don’t.” He warned, but she would not be swayed. The dagger flew at him – at his face. He turned sharply and caught it by the handle, giving her a condescending ‘tsk’. Spinning, she made her run toward the stairs, but Hawke was… not mortal. He jumped up to the narrow ledge at the top of the wall and used his stealth and quickness to sprint ahead of her, dropping down in her path. Poppy skidded to a stop, arms flailing, before landing on her hip with a painful-sounding thud. He inwardly winced, knowing that her back was still sore and that fall likely hadn’t done much to make it better. He would have to apologize for that later. And be more careful.

“Now that really wasn’t nice at all.” He grinned again, noticing how Poppy looked up to the ledge he’d toed and then back to him. Disbelief glowed in those eyes, shining under that hood. “I’m aware that my hair is in need of a trim, but your aim is off. You should really work on that since I’m quite partial to my face.”

Poppy kicked at him again, in his lower leg. She was quite the fighter, wasn’t she? She got to her feet, spinning to her right, but he blocked her, so she tried to sweep to the left. When she couldn’t get past him she kicked out again. He caught her ankle, getting another good, long, hard look up and down that delectable leg.

“Scandalous,” Hawke teased, but his voice was sensuous and dark. The warrior maiden growled and he couldn’t help but laugh. She was particularly enticing when she was frustrated. “And such dainty little slippers. Satin? And silk? They’re as finely tailored as your leg. The kind of slipper no guard of the Rise would wear. Unless they’re being outfitted differently than I am.”

He dropped her leg, but before she could react he grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. She took a ragged breath against his chest. Gods he could feel her against him. “You know what I think?”

Only then did he feel the blade at his neck. How had she managed that? Still, he didn’t let go of her, and was rewarded with her pushing the tip further into his flesh and drawing blood.

“Correction.” His laugh was breathy, ragged, but amused. She was absolutely the most intriguing, distracting, brave, reckless woman he’d ever encountered. “You are an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature.” Hawke glanced down, peeking the weapon that had nicked his flesh. His grin turned feral, knowing that she had revealed her hand without realizing.

“Nice weapon. Bloodstone and wolven bone. Very interesting…” He returned his gaze to those shimmering orbs under that infernal hood. “Princess.”

Poppy’s hand jerked back, pulling the blade from his neck. Perfect. He caught that wrist in his free hand. “You and I have so much to talk about.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“She speaks!” Hawke widened his eyes, feigning shock. “I thought you liked to talk, Princess. Or is that only when you’re at the Red Pearl. You’re not going to pretend that you have no idea what I’m talking about, are you? That you’re not her?”

“Let me go,” Poppy commanded, tugging on her arms.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Hawke turned them and pushed the Maiden against the Rise, trying not to agitate her healing back, and pinning her wrists against the stone. “After all we shared? You throw a dagger at my face?”

“All we shared?” she scoffed. “It was a handful of minutes and a few kisses.” Oh, no, she was not going to brush it off like that. He could have written off that evening in that manner, but not her. Not the Maiden, who had snuck out and let him touch her, taste her… who had asked him to help her live.

He lowered his voice a register. “It was more than a few kisses. If you’ve forgotten I’m more than willing to remind you.”

“There was nothing worth remembering.” Her retort was scathing, and he had half a mind to rip that hood off and kiss her until she took it back.

“Now you insult me after throwing a dagger at my face. You’ve wounded my tender feelings.” But the Atlantian smirked. She may be quick-witted, but he had over a hundred years on her. He could banter and quip for hours on end, but he would enjoy watching her grow more and more infuriated. He loved the way her chest was growing rosy with heat in the peeks of skin he could see behind that stupid cloak.

“Tender feelings? Don’t be overdramatic.” But… she did play the game well.

“Hard not to be when you threw a dagger at my head and then cut my neck.”

“I knew you’d move out of the way,” Poppy argued, but there was a hint of sheepishness in her response. She had hoped he would move out of the way.

“Did you? Is that why you tried to slice open my throat?” he countered.

“I nicked your skin. Because you had ahold of me and wouldn’t let go. Obviously, you haven’t learned anything from it.” Poppy’s answer was matter-of-fact, and he wondered how she could be so obstinate. He wanted to take the time to appreciate her skill with a weapon, to admire her bravery, but she was so damn stubborn – trying to keep a secret that he had known since that night in the Red Pearl.

Trying to keep a secret that, if it got back to the Duke… Gods, he didn’t even want to imagine. If seven lashes with the cane was an appropriate punishment for not doing her embroidery and looking at him wrong, what would the punishment be for sneaking to a brothel and, furthermore, participating in pleasures of the flesh?

“I’ve actually learned a lot, Princess. That’s why your hands and your dagger aren’t getting anywhere near my neck.” Hawke slid a thumb over the velvety skin inside her wrist. “But, if you let go of the dagger, there’s a whole lot of me I’ll let your hands get close to.” She had already slipped once, and he was determined to make her slip again. He knew he could wield innuendo to get under her skin.

Poppy seemed to choke on air. “How generous of you.”

“Once you get to know me you’ll find that I can be quite benevolent,” he purred.

“I have no intention of getting to know you.”

Oh, he knew that wasn’t true.

“So you just make a habit of sneaking into the rooms of young men and seducing them before running off,” Hawke scoffed.

“What? Seducing men?” Poppy sputtered. That had taken her by surprise. He gave her a glance. This close he could definitely see that pale skin inside the hood and the feral gleam of her beautiful eyes.

“Isn’t that what you did to me, Princess?” His voice had softened as he stoked a thumb across the inside of her wrist again. How he wished the gloves weren’t between his fingers and her skin.

“You’re ridiculous.” Her arguments were sounding more and more desperate, and he felt a spark of desire burning deep within him. She had surely taken him by complete surprise.

“What I am,” Hawke breathed, “is intrigued.” Poppy pulled against his arms, groaning. Her strength was surprising, and had he not had the benefit of enhanced strength she might have been able to move him. Not enough to free herself, but perhaps enough to catch him off guard. He snickered at that. He liked that.

“Why do you insist on holding me like this?” the Maiden demanded.

“Well, besides what we went over already, which is the whole being partial to my face and neck thing,” the Atlantian paused, feigning a thought, “you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. I’m doing my job by detaining and questioning you.”

Poppy huffed a bitter laugh. “Do you typically question those on the Rise who you don’t recognize like this? What an odd method of interrogation.”

“Only pretty ladies with shapely bare legs,” he teased. He would definitely bring up those legs as much as he could. He wanted to trace his fingers down the length of them, feel them wrapped around him, dip his tongue in between them. He leaned in against her, feeling the rise of her breaths against his chest. “What are you doing up here? During a craven attack?”

What are you doing up here, putting yourself in danger when you didn’t have the strength to leave your room for two days? Putting yourself in danger not just from the craven, but from the Duke’s wrath should you be caught?

“Enjoying a relaxing evening stroll,” she spat. He felt his lip curl up, a sardonic grin. Gods, she could be insufferable.

“What were you doing up here Princess?” Hawke demanded.

“What did it look like I was doing?”

“It looked like you were being incredibly foolish and reckless.” And that was the gods-honest truth, regardless of the little game that was currently playing out between them. She was being incredibly brash.

The flame of challenge in her eyes wasn’t necessarily unexpected, but he found himself surprised by the ire in her voice. “Excuse me? How reckless was I being when I killed craven and-“

“Am I unaware of a new recruitment policy where half-dressed ladies in cloaks are now needed on the rise? Are we that desperately in need of protection?” And it wasn’t that she hadn’t put on an incredible show. He had compared her to goddesses, after all. But she was also in a nightgown and slippers, and while seeing her in that nightgown – again – was also quite magnificent the protective instinct within him flared at how ludicrously unsafe it was.

“Desperate? Why would my presence on the Rise signal desperation when as you’ve seen I know how to use a bow? Oh, wait. Is it because I happen to have breasts?”

Oh. Oh, far from it.

“I’ve known women with far less beautiful breasts that could cut a man down without so much as blinking an eye. But none of those women are here in Masadonia,” Hawke’s voice seemed to grind out, and he knew his body was reacting to his thoughts. Those legs, the fighting, those lovely breasts. “And you are incredibly skilled, not just with an arrow. Who taught you to fight and use a dagger?”

Poppy didn’t answer, but knowing who she was and the company she kept he figured it could only be one person. She had only two royal guards, and he had certainly not been training her. Her aptitude came from years of practice, and only Vikter had been by her side that long. “I’m willing to bet it was the same person who gave you that blade.” He paused again. “Too bad whoever they are didn’t teach you how to evade capture. Well, too bad for you, that is.”

Vikter would not be happy to learn that she’d been caught. But he shuddered to think what would have happened if any one of the other dozens of guards had been able to corner her.

Smart and brave and unexpected and, apparently, without even the slightest sense of self-preservation.

And that stubborn girl brought her knee up, hoping to wound a very important and very sensitive part of him. He shifted his legs, blocking her with his thigh, and he had to fight hard not to let his grin grow wide enough to reveal his fangs.

“You’re so incredibly violent.” He murmured. “I think I like it.” Gods, he didn’t think. He knew.

“Let me go!” Poppy growled at him.

“And be kicked? Or stabbed?” He shifted his leg between hers, further pinning her and preventing her to take any more shots at the area where the leather of his breeches had grown significantly tighter. “We’ve already covered that, Princess. More than once.”

Poppy bucked her hips off the wall in an attempt to push the guard off of her and oh that did not go the way she expected. He smirked inwardly, feeling how her breath caught and the friction of his thigh between her legs, and he wondered if the top of her thigh had grazed the ever-hardening bulge in his pants – if she knew what she was doing to him. His body was tense, their chests colliding with their sawing, uneven breaths. Hawke let the silence drag, let her feel the intimacy of this moment while fixing amber eyes on that luscious pink mouth.

“I came back for you that night.” Her eyes closed at his confession and he could feel her shudder beneath him. “Just like I told you I would I came back for you, and you weren’t there. You promised me, Princess.”

“I… I couldn’t.” Could he hear a tinge of regret in her answer? Had she wanted to stay? He’d known she would probably run as soon as he left the room – was honestly glad that she had now that the Duke’s violent discipline was known. But still… he had wanted her.

“Couldn’t?” He lowered his voice, a whispered purr he rarely used outside of the bedroom… or wherever. “I have a feeling that if there’s something you want badly enough, nothing will stop you.” Like learning to fight, and using those skills to help protect the Rise. He would have to ask her why. Women in Solis were never trained to fight, were not valued for much more than their appearance and their progeny.

Hawke frowned at the bitter laugh that she spat out. “You know nothing.”

“Maybe.” He released one of her arms and reached inside the hood, finally giving in to the urge to touch her. He stroked his thumb along her cheek, earning a gasp. Poppy tried to draw back, but there was nowhere to go. He gazed into the hood, features dark but still clear for him to see – surprise and uncertainty and… fear? “Maybe I know more than you realize.”

Hawke bent his head down, his cheek grazing the soft leather of the hood, until his mouth was where he figured her ear would be. “You really think I had no idea who you are?” he murmured, and felt the Maiden grow impossibly more tense against him. “You have nothing to say to that?”

He lowered his voice to barely a whisper, finally putting an end to their game.

“Penellaphe.”

He had expected a reaction – perhaps something more subdued and anxiety-riddled. But her response was one of anger and frustration, and she tried to lash out with that sharp tongue. “Are you just now figuring that out? If so, I’m concerned about you being one of my personal guards.”

Hawke chuckled. Give her another century and he had not doubt that smart mouth might actually knock him off-kilter. “I knew the moment you removed the veil.”

“Why… why didn’t you say something then?” she asked softly, and it was like the fight had gone out of her in that moment. She had expected him to address this with some level with authority. Maybe she still expected that.

“To you? Or to the Duke?”

“Either.” He had to strain to hear it, her voice no louder than a breath. And where her fire had cooled, his reared and writhed to the surface.

“Gods, I’m fucking glad I didn’t tell the Duke after what happened the other day,” Hawke growled. Fuck, he couldn’t describe how relieved he was that nobody had found her out. “I wanted to see if you’d bring it up. Apparently you were just going to pretend that you’re not the same girl who frequents the Red Pearl.”

“I don’t frequent the Red Pearl,” Poppy retorted, that simmering annoyance boiling up to the survace once again. “But I hear you do.” Ah yes, he much preferred feisty Poppy to the demure maiden.

“Have you been asking about me? I’m flattered.” He shot her a winning grin.

“I haven’t.” She insisted. His lips tugged downward.

“I’m not sure if I can believe you. You tell a lot of lies, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I like it better than what I’m supposed to call you. Maiden,” Hawke scowled. He hated the title, the veil, all of it. “You have a name. It’s not that.”

“I didn’t ask for what you liked.” It was like she couldn’t let him get the last word, even though she was fighting a losing battle.

“But you did ask why I didn’t tell the Duke about your little explorations – and Gods, knowing what I know now I’m even more thankful that I didn’t. But I didn’t because I’m your guard. If I were to betray you, then you wouldn’t trust me, and that would definitely make my job of keeping you safe much harder.” And that was all true. But that didn’t account for the new situation – something that her other guards had never saw fit to address. “Although… it would seem that the Duke is also someone that I need to protect you from.”

“As you can see, I can keep myself safe,” Poppy sighed, the tautness easing from her muscles. “At least out here.” It was obvious, with her skill, she could take care of herself. But inside that castle using that skill was an impossibility.

“Yes, outside the castle walls, I see that you can.”

Hawke furrowed his brow, hearing the booted footsteps of someone approaching. He pulled away from the cloaked Maiden, one hand still keeping a firm grasp on her wrist, and the chill night against his chest made him ache for her.

“Hawke?” A voice called from below, although he couldn’t place his name. “Everything okay up there?” He peered into the hood, found those glimmering green eyes shining back at him, wondering what she was thinking he would do.

He looked over his shoulder and called, “Everything is fine.”

“You need to let me go. Someone is bound to come up here.” Poppy tugged on her arm, still caught in his hand. He raised a brow.

“And catch you? Force you to reveal your identity?” he asked wryly. “These are the things you should have thought about before you stepped a slippered foot outside your room tonight, Princess.”

She sucked in a breath, and he felt a twinge of guilt at the small shimmer of panic that flickered under the cloak. “You know what he would do. It… It would be worse than the last time.”

She didn’t have to tell him who he was.

“How can you be so reckless? Knowing what he does to you? Over nothing?!” Hawke hissed. “I never would have imagined I’d have to worry about you sneaking out to fight the craven, or to meet random men in places like the Red Pearl. And who knows what else you do when all believe you are safely ensconced in your chambers. Have you no sense of self-preservation?”

He was only met with the sound of her breathing, heavier with that hint of fear of what might happen if the Duke ever learned of this escapade. She was right. He had to let her go, to get back to her room before someone came calling for her. Although, he supposed, that someone would probably end up being him.

This conversation was definitely not over.

He looked down at her and then released her, taking another step back. “You better hurry back to your chambers, Princess. We’ll have to finish this conversation later.”

He watched the realization dawn over her features, that he wouldn’t keep her here or report her. His chest lurched a bit at the thought that she might think that he could do that to her – could send her to that monster for more torture. He had promised her that the Duke wouldn’t hurt her again, and he’d be damned if he went back on that.

Poppy turned and fled toward the stairs.

And Hawke stood and stared after her until long after she disappeared from his sight.

#fbaa #fbaa fanfic #poppycas #poppy x casteel #fanfic #fanfiction

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 2 years

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The Meaning of Faith

1 Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. 2 For by it the men of old received divine approval. 3 By faith we understand that the world was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was made out of things which do not appear.

The Examples of Abel, Enoch, and Noah

4 By faith Abel offered to God a more acceptable sacrifice than Cain, through which he received approval as righteous, God bearing witness by accepting his gifts; he died, but through his faith he is still speaking. 5 By faith Enoch was taken up so that he should not see death; and he was not found, because God had taken him. Now before he was taken he was attested as having pleased God. 6 And without faith it is impossible to please him. For whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him. 7 By faith Noah, being warned by God concerning events as yet unseen, took heed and constructed an ark for the saving of his household; by this he condemned the world and became an heir of the righteousness which comes by faith.

The Faith of Abraham

8 By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place which he was to receive as an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was to go. 9 By faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. 10 For he looked forward to the city which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God. 11 By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised. 12 Therefore from one man, and him as good as dead, were born descendants as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.

13 These all died in faith, not having received what was promised, but having seen it and greeted it from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

17 By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises was ready to offer up his only son, 18 of whom it was said, “Through Isaac shall your descendants be named.” 19 He considered that God was able to raise men even from the dead; hence, figuratively speaking, he did receive him back. 20 By faith Isaac invoked future blessings on Jacob and Esau. 21 By faith Jacob, when dying, blessed each of the sons of Joseph, bowing in worship over the head of his staff. 22 By faith Joseph, at the end of his life, made mention of the exodus of the Israelites and gave directions concerning his burial.

The Faith of Moses

23 By faith Moses, when he was born, was hid for three months by his parents, because they saw that the child was beautiful; and they were not afraid of the king’s edict. 24 By faith Moses, when he was grown up, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, 25 choosing rather to share ill-treatment with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. 26 He considered abuse suffered for the Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he looked to the reward. 27 By faith he left Egypt, not being afraid of the anger of the king; for he endured as seeing him who is invisible. 28 By faith he kept the Passover and sprinkled the blood, so that the Destroyer of the first-born might not touch them.

The Faith of Other Israelite Heroes

29 By faith the people crossed the Red Sea as if on dry land; but the Egyptians, when they attempted to do the same, were drowned. 30 By faith the walls of Jericho fell down after they had been encircled for seven days. 31 By faith Rahab the harlot did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had given friendly welcome to the spies.

32 And what more shall I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, of David and Samuel and the prophets— 33 who through faith conquered kingdoms, enforced justice, received promises, stopped the mouths of lions, 34 quenched raging fire, escaped the edge of the sword, won strength out of weakness, became mighty in war, put foreign armies to flight. 35 Women received their dead by resurrection. Some were tortured, refusing to accept release, that they might rise again to a better life. 36 Others suffered mocking and scourging, and even chains and imprisonment. 37 They were stoned, they were sawn in two, they were killed with the sword; they went about in skins of sheep and goats, destitute, afflicted, ill-treated— 38 of whom the world was not worthy—wandering over deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.

39 And all these, though well attested by their faith, did not receive what was promised, 40 since God had foreseen something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect. — Hebrews 11 | Revised Standard Version (RSV) Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, and 1971 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. All rights reserved. Cross References: Genesis 1:1; Genesis 4:4; Genesis 5:21; Genesis 6:9; Genesis 12:1; Genesis 12:8; Genesis 21:12; Genesis 24:4; Genesis 27:39; Genesis 39:20; Genesis 48:1; Exodus 2:10-11; Exodus 2:14; Exodus 2:22; Exodus 3:6; Exodus 12:13; Exodus 14:22; Exodus 18:4; Joshua 6:15; Joshua 6:23; Judges 4:1; Judges 6:2; Judges 14:6; 1 Kings 19:19; 2 Kings 4:36-37; Job 36:21; Isaiah 14:32; Matthew 12:36; Luke 9:31; Acts 7:20; Romans 4:19; Romans 8:24; Galatians 4:23; Hebrews 1:1; Hebrews 7:19; Hebrews 9:15; Hebrews 12:23; James 2:21-22; 1 Peter 4:14; Revelation 6:11

#faith #assurance #encouragement #believers #examples #Book of Hebrews #Hebrews 11 #New Testament #RSV #Revised Standard Version of the Bible #the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America

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connorandersons-blog · 4 years

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Kinktober day 17: Mirror sex, RK1K

Ok, this is VERY IMPORTANT!!! This has very heavy angst in it along with major self-hate. There is talks over dying or saying he should have died. Also there is established Markus/Simon with a hint of Markus/Simon/Connor at the very end. I just wanted to give a warning about the heavy angst. Also, this one was inspired by the song Creep so obviously that's a lot of not fun times akjsdhkal

Anyway, hope you enjoy!!

Everyone knew Markus was extraordinary, the whole world got to see that with his peaceful revolution. Connor had seen it when he first saw his speech. When he had lied to Hank about not noticing anything else.

Markus had easily forgiven him without even knowing the full extent of what he's done and almost did. He couldn't meet his eyes, too ashamed of his past even as Markus pulled him into a comforting embrace.

Markus seemed to know so much, he could do so much and he fit in. He stood out uniquely, but it wasn't like he wasn't supposed to be alive. Call it whatever you want, fate or destiny, he was meant to be alive.

But Connor wasn't. He didn't belong with the humans, being an android and ultimately betraying them when he became deviant and freed those androids.

He didn't belong with the androids, having done too much damage to even consider that possibility. He even felt guilty about staying with Hank. The man had enough on his plate.

Markus had his friends though, he didn't need Connor. He tried to be the best version of himself. He tried to be calm and stoic, posture perfect, and speaking only when spoken to. Yet he still faded into the shadows as Markus and his friends laughed together and fought together.

He didn't tell anyone where he was staying, well he wasn't exactly staying anywhere. He would charge at the free stations, and wandered the streets the nights he didn't need to.

He only did what was necessary and expected of him. He went to work once he was allowed, he was… he was cold. He could tell others were shocked, he acted more like a machine than he had before he deviated. Reed got even more aggressive, blatantly trying to start fights. He tried to end it peacefully but he often had to restrain him in some way, but he never pressed charges for assault.

Hank tried to get him to open up but only met a cold wall. Eventually, he didn't try as hard. He wouldn't give up on him, not completely, but it was hard to keep trying when it seemed like Connor wanted nothing to do with him.

Markus had tried the same thing, but again Connor only did what was necessary. Why would anyone actually want him around when he was a murderer? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer after all.

It broke his heart. Maybe he just wasn't supposed to be friends or have anyone love him. Maybe this was his punishment. It was a fitting one, take away the thing he wanted the most. A life for a life. Or in this cause, a life for lives. Too many lives.

He tried, he really did. He didn't know why being perfect wasn't working. It only seemed to push everyone away from him. He wanted to hold Markus again, be in his warm arms. He had felt so safe there. He'd run to him but that wouldn't be fair.

He had imagined being together, how wonderful it would be. But that would never happen. It would never happen especially when Markus and Simon started dating. They were perfect for each other. So god damn perfect. Everyone could see they were meant for one another.

Simon was sweet and caring and he never murdered anyone. He was so patient and even treated Connor just as kind as he treated everyone else.

Connor couldn't hate him. He just couldn't.

Connor wasn't meant for anyone. He wasn't meant for life or love or happiness. He knew that now and accepted it.

But maybe he could find someplace that would at least tolerate him, and so he left. He never got to see how devastated Markus and Simon both were. He didn't see the heartbreak they went through when they couldn't find him. He didn't see Hank break down again but thankfully had enough strength to not end it all.

He only ever saw his own self-hatred. It had clouded his mind so much he never saw how truly special and beautiful he was.

He didn't even leave Detroit, he simply kept to the shadows and his from anyone you may try to look for him. But he kept up with what they were doing after a few months. He knew Hank still went to work, but he decided not to contact him either.

He knew the leaders of Jericho were doing as well as they could, and he tried to help the androids who had nowhere to go. The ones like Connor that were scared and couldn't go to anyone.

He kept this up for years, two years, and six months to be exact. He had been out and about, going to charge up. He had been putting it off for far too long and couldn't wait till the night.

"Connor?" The name had him quickly spinning, already knowing who it was.

He had seen him from afar, he was always so careful to keep out of sight and never be caught. He had been so low he hadn't even noticed. "Markus," he greets politely with a small nod.

"I've been looking for you, all this time I kept looking. Did you… did you even leave the city?" Markus asked, stepping closer.

Connor swallowed and lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry to have troubled you, I know how busy you are."

Markus shook his head quickly. "No, Connor, hey. I don't care how busy I am, you disappeared. Connor, I miss you." He reached forward and before Connor could move away, pulled him into a hug.

Like before. He's so warm and soft, yet still firm. Markus kept him close, squeezing hard enough that it would be uncomfortable for humans. But it was oddly comforting for Connor. He hadn't been touched…Hadn't been hugged for so long. He had imagined being in his arms at least one more time.

He stiffened completely, he couldn't move his arms to hug back. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve Markus looking for him.

"Come with me? We can go to, uh, there's a cafe opened by an android. I can treat you to some." Markus said, pulling back and gently cupping Connor's emotionless face.

He knew the cafe, had helped the woman who made it. "I need to charge." He would, he'd promise to visit Markus but then he'd actually leave. Markus wouldn't need to look for him.

"Ok, they have some at the cafe I think. One you can use without going into stasis." Markus seemed ready to pick Connor up and leave if necessary.

He had to give in, just for a little bit. "Yeah, yeah I'll go with."

Markus sighed and smiled so widely it almost hurt to see. Why was he so happy to see Connor? Connor had done so much wrong, he was made for evil so why did Markus even care?

"Thank you, let's go, it's not a long walk." Markus hooked their arms together and Connor couldn't resist even if he wanted to.

"Weren't you doing something?" Connor asked, and it's so odd to actually be talking to him after so long.

Markus shook his head, keeping them close. "Nothing as important as you. Everything and everyone else can wait."

Not as important as him? That was definitely impossible. Markus was the leader of the androids, literally, everything and everyone was more important. Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't anyone fucking see that?!

He grits his teeth but didn't argue. No one wanted him to argue back, it made him even less likable than he already was.

"Connor, you can say what's on your mind," Markus says, interrupting his thoughts.

He shook his head and tried to breathe normally. Did Markus always smell this good? He knew he did but it was still a shock to his systems. "No, it is not important."

Markus sighed but didn't press, instead moving away to open the cafe door. Connor smiled just slightly as he saw how well it was still doing. Not only were there androids but there were humans too. He could also see an android and human couple probably on a date. What a cute idea.

"Connor!" A voice boomed out and he shrunk back, trying to hide. He loves her but preferred not to be the center of attention. Which was going to happen anyway with Markus glued to his side. Heads turned and Connor moved back, Markus probably didn't even mean to, but he took a step in front of Connor, shielding him from the curious eyes.

Connor held onto his arm, and Markus gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Hey, it's ok. Does she know you?"

The woman in question quickly walked over, brushing off flour onto her apron. "Yes." He mumbled before squaring his shoulders and stepping forward.

"Hey, baby! You should have visited months ago! You know you're always welcome here and whatever you want is on me." Her voice was loud just like the rest of her personality. But for some odd reason, she adored Connor.

Markus watched the two, confusion clear on his face. How did they know each other? What was Connor even doing with his time?

"I'm sorry, I've been busy. I was actually going to charge before I ran into Markus." He nodded towards Markus who gave a slight nod.

Her eyes widened and she walked up, sticking out her hand. "Welcome! Any friend of Connor's is a friend of mine. Feel free to get anything, it'll be on me as well. Also, thanks for setting us free, that was cool as shit."

Connor bit his lip at the look of shock on Markus's face. He had to hold back the comment that they weren't friends, Connor had none, but knew it would make Markus look sad and he really didn't want that.

Markus took her hand and she practically shook it out of his body. Then she looked around and all but dragged them to a table, grabbing a charger. "There you boys go. Charge on up, you need it. Now, what do you want to eat and or drink?"

The people around them started going back to what they were doing and Connor relaxed just slightly. "I'm ok with whatever extra you have, and whatever drink."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't seem all that shocked at Connor. "Alright kiddo, now what about you hun?"

"Whatever you think is best, Ma'am." He smiled up at her and she nodded.

"Very well! You two enjoy. Connor, I swear you better visit at least once a month or I'll find you and skin you alive." She glared down at Connor before grinning and winking. Connor nodded and watched as she walked off to the kitchen.

"So, you know her?" Markus asks once Connor has himself hooked up to the charging port.

Connor nodded and stared down at the table, even though he wanted to look up at Markus. See everything that had changed and stayed the same up close. See those absolutely beautiful eyes that had his wall he hid behind cracking.

"Can I ask how?" Markus asks once he knows Connor isn't going to elaborate without prompting.

"She needed to be fixed up, so I did. Then she needed money to start the business so I worked a few hard labor jobs and gave her the money." He didn't think it was anything special, he was just doing what he had to.

Yet Markus seemed surprised. "That's amazing Connor! Have you been helping a lot of our people?"

"Your people," Connor mumbled before shrugging. "I try to help those in need. The ones who had no one else to turn to."

Markus reached out and took his hands in his own and placed a finger under Connor's chin and pushed up so he'll finally look up at him. "They are your people too, and you do know you can come to me. Or Anderson, North as well, and Josh and Simon. We all want you home, Connor. You're one of us."

Connor yanked his hands away and placed them in his lap, not meeting his eyes. "They are your people. That isn't my home, I don't have one." He didn't deserve one either. He should be locked up, but the crimes androids committed before deviation were forgiven. But what about all those androids who died because he let the FBI follow him to Jericho? Their blood was on his hands.

"Connor," Markus sighed and reached forward but Connor flinched away. "Please just promise me one thing. It's all I ask."

Connor nodded, he'd at least think about whatever Markus wanted of him. If it was in his power he'd try to do it, but there were some things he could never do.

"Don't leave Detroit. You don't have to come ho-back. But don't leave. You can keep hiding but I'd feel better knowing you were somewhere here." Markus pulled his own hands into his lap as Connor took in a shaky breath.

Not leave Detroit? How did Markus know that's what he was planning? But he had to know that he had been found. He had been far too careless and now he had to leave the one city he knew.

But Markus wanted him to stay. Why did he want him to stay? Was it because he was a liability? Connor had turned off his connections to Cyberlife, even limited his access to the internet in general. He had tried to make himself as harmless as possible, turning off some of his fighting programs as well. He kept a few defensive ones, he did live on the streets after all, but still.

"Connor, please, I can't lose you again." Markus whispers and Connor finally meets his eyes. What he sees there stops his heart. Markus, strong confident Markus, is crying.

"I promise!" He quickly says. He can't stand to see Markus cry, not over him. He can stay in Detroit, but he'll be more careful. He'll take back alleyways instead, he'd gotten far too comfortable to be walking around where anyone can see him.

Connor's hands ache to reach forward and brush away those tears he's caused. But he can't, he just can't seem to move his arm. It's like he was a machine again and forced to follow his programming.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He mumbled, shame covering him like a familiar blanket. He had hurt Markus again and he hadn't meant to!

"No! No, Connor it's ok. I just, we all miss you." Markus said, trying to brush away his own tears, blinking quickly.

"No! No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He says quickly disconnecting from the charger, standing, and running out. He can hear Markus calling his name but he was faster. He knew the streets better, the ins and outs. So he disappears before Markus can even get out of his seat.

Connor stays hidden for weeks, but he can see Markus looking for him. But it's not just that, Markus *talks* about him. He makes a point to mention the silent heroes and when someone asks if he's mentioning anyone specific, he says yes. Someone who didn't want to be named but someone Markus missed a lot and recently got to see.

All signs pointed to that person being Connor, but he wasn't a hero. Far, far from it.

He doesn't leave Detroit, he'll keep that promise. But it hurts so much. Just as much as it did the first month he had disappeared. He had missed Hank so much, he had missed Sumo, he missed North and Josh and Simon and Markus. But they were better off, safer, without him there.

Then he takes a risk. It had been exactly a month since he saw Markus and the man had a series of paintings in a gallery. It wasn't the first time Markus had done this, his art was often used as a fundraiser to raise money for androids in need.

This was a completely open one to the public. There was something that caught his attention. None of the original paintings would be on sale. They could get a signed copy, but not the original which generally would raise more money.

His curiosity got the best of him. He dressed in plain clothes, hoping to hide in plain sight. Markus would no doubt be there, but Connor could manage to stay out of his radar.

When he gets there it's incredibly crowded which helps but also caused a spike of anxiety. He wasn't fond of huge crowds but it helped hide him.

He looks at the first painting and brings a hand to cover his mouth, eyes wide. Each stroke had a smudging quality that rendered the image watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. But he knows what's painted.

It's him.

"Markus… Why?" He mumbled, looking around the room. It's, it's all him. Every single painting is somehow him.

He's beyond overwhelmed at the sight, all the paintings Markus has done. The time he put into each of these. But they aren't all within the last month. Connor can tell some are over a year old. Markus has been painting him for a very long time.

Markus had been painting him since the first time he left.

He walked closer and reached down, running a hand across the dried paint.

"Sir, please don't touch the art." A voice called out and he snatched his hands back. Fuck, how had he forgotten he was at a gallery and others were here too.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled to the security guard who just nodded.

He could feel eyes on him and he quickly looked around, finding the mitch-matched eyes he knew so well.

They stared at each other before Connor ducked his head and left the gallery, knowing Markus wasn't following.

His days seemed to mold together, his mind still so focused on the memory of the paintings. They were all so beautiful, but why did Markus paint him like that?

He wasn't worthy of being painted, especially not by Markus. But the paintings were also not on sale, so Markus didn't want anyone to have them. Maybe he just needed to do another gallery but had nothing else to show, so he found his least favorite works, not even worthy of being bought. Yes, that made more sense.

He was walking around, not exactly sure what to do when he heard a small bark. His head snapped up and he glanced around. He was in an almost completely abandoned parking lot, the pavement having too many holes and no one wanted to pay to have them fixed. There was one car left and he cautiously walked towards it.

What he saw inside made his heart melt. A St Bernard puppy was inside and panting quickly. The weather was far too hot, and it was clear the puppy had been left here for too long.

It was an older car, so he couldn't hack it to get in, but if he didn't somehow get in the puppy would almost certainly die.

He could also see a closed water bottle with the puppy in the back seat, but that would do the dog little good without being able to open it.

The car itself seemed to be barely operational. It could run but definitely not for much longer.

He looked around one more time before elbowing the car window hard enough to crack it in one hit. Thankfully the puppy was smart enough to drag itself to the other side so Connor could break the glass enough to stick his hands in and grab the water and then the puppy.

He sat down against the car, leaning on the tires as he looked over the puppy. How was Sumo doing? He hadn't gotten to see him except for the very few times he caught Hank taking him for a walk.

He opened the bottle and poured a little into his hand, offering it to the puppy who was in his lap. The puppy leaned forward and took one slow lick before quickly lapping up all the water it could get. Connor let it drink the whole bottle before starting to pet the puppy.

He'd need to get it to a vet soon, but for now, the puppy seemed content to nibble on Connor's fingers.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He flinched back at the loudness. "You can't just fucking do that! That's my fucking car you piece of shit!"

He ducks his head, shoulders coming up a little more as if it would protect himself. "I-I'm so-" he had just tried to help! He didn't know the owner would be back so soon, or even back at all!

"No!" The person just waves their hands in an almost 'x' shape in front of them to back up their point "No you can't just fucking do that-" he jabbed a harsh finger at him then at the car "to my fucking property, jackass! What the fuck's wrong with you?!"

He curls into himself more, his thirium pump beating harder and harder. It's like a building had fallen on him and he was struggling under the weight of it. A wave of...of something, something bad- he doesn't- he doesn't know, washes over him.

'Please stop, please stop, please stop, please stop! Someone save me please!' The words repeat in his head as the man yells. He can't, he can't fucking breathe.

He tries to suck in air but nothing is working! He covers his ears but he can still hear the man yelling at him. Shouting at him. He did wrong, he fucked up, he would be punished. They'd all be-she would be-so disappointed.

The car had no AC! The puppy had been locked in there for hours, what the fuck was he supposed to do! "Please stop." He whimpered but it was drowned out by more yelling. So much yelling.

His systems notify him that his message has been sent, but he didn't send one? Unless his pleads accidentally were sent out to someone. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

But then…. Then it stops? There's a sucking crunch and... He's shaking, he knows he is but he can't stop that. He can't look up, he can't uncurl himself. He has to protect the puppy, even if it meant taking whatever beating the man wanted to give out. Connor deserved it after all.

"Leave." The one word pierces through to him and he knows that voice. But why? Why was he here? He wanted Connor to leave. He would, he would leave right now and never come back if he could just get his body to move!

Someone, no, he knew it was Markus, crouched down in front of him. "Hey, Connor it's me, it's Markus, you're safe." His voice is so soft and he can finally look up. But even then he's a burr from the tears that threaten to spill over.

"Markus?" It's so small and quiet, he sounds so broken. He could leave now, he could give the puppy to Markus and run. Run until he was far away from Detroit.

But he doesn't do that. Instead, he falls into Markus' open arms and lets the sobs wrack his body. It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope.

Even though they are almost the same height, Connor feels so small in his hold, the puppy still laying in Connor's lap between them. He clings onto him, hands gripping Markus's suit jacket as he buries his face in his neck.

"I'm s-sorry," he chokes out and keeps repeating it hoping Markus knows he's telling the truth. His breathing was ragged, gasping and the strength left his whole body.

He pulled away, and Markus' had to hide his own tears, especially at the sight of Connor. It was the face of one who had suffered before and didn't know if he could do it again. Then, just when Markus thought the breakthrough would come and he would trust him with his vulnerability, his emotion walled off behind a mask, he didn't know any other way.

He looked down at the puppy and gave it a few scratches before handing it to a shocked Markus. "I'm sorry, I'll leave now."

Markus wanted him to leave, he didn't need to be told twice. He fucked up all over again, he had been trying to be good for so long.

And then strong arms are wrapping around him again and he tried to push away. He's fighting to get out, to get away.

He hit Markus' chest but barely had any strength behind it. He kept hitting and pushing, but it was doing nothing. "Let me go!" He cried out, trying to stand, but Markus pulled him back down and into his lap. Connor had no choice but to fall into him.

"I'll never let you go. I don't want you to leave." Markus mumbled, pulling him so close their bodies were flush against each other. Connor still fights it but much less, the hits are more like lingering touches and Connor's LED is a solid red. Markus gently strokes his hair and Connor wants to melt into him, he really does. But he can't. He doesn't deserve Markus' comfort.

"If you really want me to let go, I will... But...."

"Markus, Markus," he keeps saying his name like a prayer because he's so tired of fighting. He thought he wanted him to leave. He thought he fucked everything up again, caused such a huge scene. Just… he's just… tired.

His body goes into an involuntary stasis and falls limp in Markus' arms. He doesn't know what happens next as the soft nothingness consumes him.

His systems slowly rebooted and he blinked his eyes open. His system had been down for 24 hours exactly, not all too surprising. If it was forced or involuntary it was either 12 or 24 hours until the android woke up.

The room was large with two windows and a desk. It was mostly bare other than that except for the paintings on the wall and a canvas near one of the windows.

Beside him in a chair was Markus, slumped to the side, head resting in his hand asleep. He even had the puppy sleeping in his lap. He looked so peaceful and so at home.

Home. Markus had taken him to his home. Connor knew that when Carl had passed he had given the house to Markus, it was all over the news that Markus was in the man's will even before the revolution.

Connor slowly sat up, making sure to not wake up Markus. He was kind enough to bring him here, but Connor didn't want to be a burden.

Of course, Markus wouldn't leave anyone on the street if they did the equivalent of passing out, it was just something he wouldn't do. He'd even help a criminal if they passed out.

He found a notepad and a pen easily, scribbling down a note and placing it on the bed.

'Thank you for helping me.'

He did what he had been doing almost all his life. He ran once again. He kept in Detroit but he really needed to stop running into Markus so much. It was doing weird things to his head. Like making him imagine a life where the two can curl up together and drink coffee, Markus playing with Connor's hair and humming softly. The light from the sun would stream in and it would be so wonderful.

But he couldn't have that. He could never have that. Someone like him deserved to be living the harshest life he could, but even now that wasn't true. He could be suffering more, the right amount, instead he lets himself get away with things like going to cafes or galleries.

The next time he allowed himself to think of Markus was when he found new art up against the back of a building. It was similar to Markus' style but done in spray paint instead of acrylic or oil.

But there seemed to be something about it. He scanned over it and his systems alerted him that he had a new image. He pulled it up on his hand and couldn't help the small chuckle. God, it felt weird to laugh even for a second. But it was just like the clues to find Jericho.

So he followed it, curious as to what it could be leading him to. It was odd that many of the paintings seemed to show up on abandoned buildings where he would sometimes rest in, but dismissed it as a coincidence since there was more art on places he hasn't been in than ones he had.

When he got close to the final destination he stopped dead in his tracks. It was leading to New Jericho. Of course, it was, Markus probably put these up himself as a way to honor the new Jericho.

He glanced at the next art and his heart stopped just like at the gallery. Once again it was a painting of him, but this time he looked serene and at peace in a person's arms. He couldn't make out who the person was as their head was turned away and no skin or hair was showing.

Markus had left this for him. Why did he want Connor back?! Did he plan on locking him up? If that was the case he could have just told Connor and he would have gone willingly. But this… it was so much like the old Jericho signs.

It was like Markus was trying to show him to safety. That Connor would be safe there, with him.

Connor would be safe with him, he knew that, but Markus wouldn't be safe with Connor. He had too much blood on his hands and would make a clear target if given the chance.

So he turned around and left, not following the rest of the paintings even though he wanted to see what they'd look like. He couldn't risk Markus waiting for him at one of them. He knew it wouldn't take much more for Markus to be able to coax him back to New Jericho.

He honestly does try to stop reading every news article about Markus, and he quickly turns away when he walks past a television and sees him there. But when he goes into a convenience store and sees one magazine he buys it.

He doesn't care about the rest of the articles, he just flips to the one on the front cover.

'Markus's Secret Lover?'

There was no way he'd cheat on Simon, none. He wasn't the kind of guy to do that. This was why so many of Connor's hopes and fantasies burned at him because they were often romantic in nature.

He scans over it and then goes over it again more slowly.

''Simon and I have talked, and we are both open to having another partner. One, in particular, we've talked about, but I'm afraid it won't happen or at least not for a long time.' Markus had said, and everyone in the studio could see the adoration in his eyes.'

What? Who was Markus interested in? Why wouldn't it happen? Anyone would be lucky to have him, Markus was amazing!

He made a scan and confirmed it was a real interview, one that had gained many people's attention. There, of course, was hate over the fact that the two were not monogamous, but Connor rolled his eyes at those. Honestly, after all this time you'd think people would stop caring if someone was gay, straight, or anything else if it didn't involve them. But no, there would always be the bigots.

''Could you maybe describe this special someone?' The interviewer had asked.

'Oh, well I'd rather not give his name. He is a bit shy, and honestly, I think he's really scared currently. I tried to show him, you know? Left him clues but he's always running away from everything. Which is understandable, but I just want him to feel safe and loved like he really is. Because there are so many that really do love and miss him.' The whole room seemed to be shocked, filled-' he stopped reading and had to sit down.

There was no way. This couldn't be real. He looked it up again and saw everyone speculating who it could be. No one guessed him outright, but many suggested whoever it was Markus had painted so much for the gallery.

Everything seemed to be lining up, but it still made no sense. Why Connor? What had he ever done to make Markus like him? To make anyone like him?

Or maybe this was just a ploy to get Connor to go to New Jericho. If it was, then it worked.

He ran the whole way there, not caring who saw him. He had to know if this was real if Markus meant what he said.

He had to know why, if it was real. How was Markus making him doubt everything he believed in? Connor knew he was a terrible person, but Markus made him feel almost good.

He didn't stop running until he was standing in front of the large doors of what used to the Cyberlife tower.

People moved around him, not even glancing his way. Other than the conspiracy theories a very small few people had come up with about his disappearance, no one seemed to remember him. It was like he never existed. Like he was a ghost.

Then one person catches his eye in the building. "Hank." He mumbled.

It's almost like the man hears him, but Connor knows that's impossible, but he turns and their eyes lock. Connor can see him mouth Connor's name just like he had and then Connor's pushing through the doors and Hank runs at him.

Hank engulfs him in a hug and Connor can feel him shaking. "Son." He mumbled, and Connor knows he's crying.

Connor doesn't hug back, but he doesn't try to pull away either. His eyes are wide, he hadn't ever seen Hank cry, not like this.

Then Hank grabs his shoulders and pulls back, shaking him gently. "Don't you ever fucking leave again, I can't lose another son." His voice cracks at the last word and Connor doesn't know what to do.

Lose another… Did Hank think of him as a son? But why? He'd only caused the man trouble and even made the man lose his job because he punched that FBI bitch.

"I don't… What?" He asked, furrowing his brows.

"You fucking heard me, don't you dare leave. Where the hell have you been?! You didn't leave a message, just off and disappeared, I thought you were dead but Markus said he could still try to contact you, some connection or whatever. I've been looking for you!" Hank is raising his voice and Connor starts to shake. But Hank thankfully noticed and his voice softened. "You scared me, kid."

"I'm sorry." He whispered, staring down at the ground. "I'm so sorry, I thought… I thought you–everyone–would be better off without me, be safer." He really did but now, fuck. Now he saw how upset everyone was even after all this time. He'd done so much damage without even being there, he had done the damage from not being there.

"No! No, I'm so sorry we made you, fuck, I'm sorry we made you feel that way. I never meant for that to happen, Connor, you have to know none of us wanted you to leave. We've been looking for you this whole time, kid." Hank sighed and pulled him back into a hug, much gentler this time.

Connor felt him start to cry and he couldn't hold back his own tears. He had missed him so much, he had walked up to Hank's house so many times, hand raised to knock on the door but always backed down.

He had heard Sumo barking at him and he wanted to just bury his face in his fur and stay there all day.

Now he's wondering why he hadn't even left a message. Why hadn't he let anyone know he was alive?

No, he knew why. Because he was better off dead, he wanted to disappear and thought everyone would forget him. But the ones he thought couldn't care less never forgot and always kept looking.

"Hank, oh god I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, I fucked it all up, I'm so sorry." He cried, clinging to the man.

"Shhh, it's ok son, you're here now. I'm not gonna let you out of my sight. You'll either stay here or with me, no arguing ok? I'm sure Sumo misses you too." Hank pulls back and reaches up to wipe away Connor's tears. "You ok, kid?"

Connor nodded and hugged him again, not ready to let go, not again. He'd been gone for so long, he missed so much, and now… was he really going to stay? With how Hank was holding him, it didn't seem like he'd have much choice in the matter. Hank would probably start a manhunt himself if Connor disappeared again.

"Yeah… I don't know. I came to see Markus? But, uh, I'm really happy I think to see you." Even now after so long he still struggled with them and identifying them.

But he was happy, he thinks, to finally see Hank again and talk.

"Wait, holy shit!" He heard and pulled back, glancing at the voice he knows well too. "It is! You absolute motherfucker!" North shouts, stomping up to him.

Connor shrinks back and hides slightly behind Hank. He isn't scared of her, but he hated the yelling. She keeps her eyes on him and seems to stall at the look on his face.

Then tears well up in her own eyes and she breaks into a run, tackling him to the floor. She makes sure to put a hand behind Connor's head so he won't get hurt and wraps her whole body around him.

Many people are now looking over. Some seem to look shocked once they recognize Connor, others seem just plain confused. It wasn't like many new Connor other than as the deviant hunter or the one who freed the androids from the very tower they were in.

North held him tightly with her whole body, legs wrapped around him. "You motherfucker, why the hell haven't you come back?" She asked, pulling away, but still sitting on top of him.

Connor swallowed and stared up at her. Out of everyone he expected North to miss him the least or not even care. She had every reason to hate him, and he thought she did.

But maybe picking on him had been her way of showing affection. He thought she just was trying to tell him to get lost without outright saying it. "I'm sorry." He was starting to sound like a broken record, but he had no idea what else to say.

She huffed and shook her head. "Yeah, well Markus is gonna shit bricks. I figured it was you he was talking about but no one wanted to get too hopeful. Now, I'm gonna get off you and we're gonna go see loverboy. Hank, you're coming too."

"No need to tell me twice, I'm letting him out of my sight," Hank grumbled and Connor smiled just slightly.

"Wait, Hank why are you here?" Not to mention the fact he still had a gun on him along with a taser and a new weapon that was used to take down androids without doing any extra damage.

"There's a lot to catch you up on, but I help head security here. Helped keep my head on, doing something." North got off and Hank offered a hand, which Connor took.

He was beyond proud that Hank had found something to do instead of drinking all day. No doubt Jericho needed it, and Hank was especially qualified. Connor wouldn't trust anyone else with Markus's and their–Markus's people.

North hooked her arm around Connor's and started walking towards the elevator. The whole place was redecorated enough that he could barely recognize it. He even saw a few child models drawing on the walls with what was probably washable markers. He had no doubt Markus encouraged them.

It might have changed a lot but the moment he stepped in he remembered the feel of the gun going off in his hand and then the scent of fresh human blood being spilled.

He kept telling himself the bullet did it. The bullet killed them. But his brain knows that he pulled the trigger. He's the one that murdered them without even knowing their names. Did they have families they'd never go home to? Kids who waited for their dad to walk through that door one more time?

He could remember the stench of blood that filled the elevator, how he didn't even pause. He had still been so very machine-like, deviation was a slow process after all. Just because he broke through the code didn't mean he didn't follow his basic programming.

How long did it take them to clean up the blood? Would there be any traces of it left? He couldn't scan to find out, vision blurry from something. Who had to tell their families they had died. That the person responsible wouldn't go to jail, instead got to walk free.

"Connor, come back to us." A voice said, and a hand gently took his own. He snatched it back and looked around.

The blood and bodies were gone and all that was left was North and Hank looking at him worriedly.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled and gladly left the elevator. He kept his head down as the other two filled out before the elevator was closing and moved back down.

"Kid, it's ok. Maybe we can take the stairs next time." Hank offers and Connor can only nod. He had noticed Hank seemed to have lost some weight and gained more muscle back. Once again he was flooded with pride and he tried to smile but knew it didn't look right.

"Ok, so his office is down here. He's talking with Simon and Josh but don't worry, it's not as important." North shrugs and quickly leads them to a pair of closed doors. At least Markus was smart enough not to leave his door opened.

He had the urge to tell her exactly how unimportant he was but bit his tongue. He literally bit his tongue to keep himself from talking.

He stared at the doors, the other two seem to come to the same conclusion that he should be the one to knock.

He raised his fist and went to knock, but instead just pressed his hand against the door. Fuck, why was he doing this? After all this time, he should know better. Yet he ached to go in there and kiss… no, not kiss. Simon was there. But hadn't the article said the two were open for this? Ugh! It was all so confusing!

He squeezed his eyes shut, taking in a few deep breaths before exhaling and breathing out. He could do this. He had to do this.

He knocked twice, far timider than he meant to, but it still rang out in the deathly silence of the hall.

"Who is it?" Markus called out and Connor's whole body jolted. This was happening. Markus was behind these doors he was going to walk through. He'd no doubt be sitting at a desk, and the room would most certainly have paintings hung up.

He opened his mouth but no sound seemed to come out. He was gaping like a fish, fist still resting on the door.

"Uh, is anyone there?" Markus called out again and Connor had to do this.

"It's me." He tried calling out but his voice was so small and weak, he doubted Markus would hear him.

Silence hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. He could hear Hank's heartbeat and the soft whirl of North's thirium pump. The silence was the most terrifying part.

Would Markus reject him? Had he read the situation all wrong? Fuck, he shouldn't have come here.

Before his thoughts could drag him down again the doors were flung open and Markus stared at him with wide eyes. "Connor." That one word seemed to break Connor into tiny shards. Ones he knew, if pressed hard enough could cut deep. But he couldn't stop himself as he fell into Markus' hug, gasping for air.

"Why me? Why? I don't, I don't deserve this!" Connor buried his face into Markus' neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He kept repeating, his whole body trembling.

"Shhh, Connor. Hey, it's ok. You've done nothing wrong." Markus squeezed him, pressing a very gentle kiss to Connor's shoulder.

"No! No, I killed people, Markus I murdered humans and androids, I'm disgusting. I shouldn't be allowed to live, I should be shut down and used for parts."

He heard a gasp but he didn't know who it was from. The very people he ran away from, all in one room.

Markus pulled back so quickly it made his head spin. Then hands are cupping his face and Connor has to look at Markus. "Never say that. You did what you had to do. I, and everyone else here, missed you, worried about you constantly, want you here, and we love you. We love you, Connor."

"I don't deserve your love, I never have." He whimpered, tears stinging his eyes.

Markus frowns and completely pulls away. Good. He finally realized how fucked up Connor was, he realized how much of a bad idea it was to put any trust or affection into him. That he killed people.

It breaks his heart even more, but that's ok. That's what he gets for everything he's done. Every time he even thought about pulling the trigger. What he had done he could never undo. The guilt was like gasoline in his body. His insides rusted and decayed slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt him out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person.

Markus held out his hand, his skin receding to expose his chassis. Connor stared at the hand. Why would Markus want to interface with him? How could he trust that he wouldn't infect Markus?

Connor shook his head, holding his arms to his chest, trying to protect Markus. But he wanted to reach out and take the hand so badly. He wanted to know what an interface with Markus would be like. He wanted to touch Markus again and again, and he wanted to try to do it without his skin. He wanted to be so selfish.

"Connor, it's ok. You won't hurt me. I just want to show you something that I don't know how to say in words." Markus kept his hand out, not moving closer but not moving away.

Connor bit the inside of his cheek, his fingers itching to reach forward. Maybe he could do this. Markus wanted him to, he was the one that offered. It would be rude to turn him down, right?

His hand shook as he slowly reached out and clasped his wrist, accepting the interface.

He's flooded with memories, Markus' memories. Before the revolution ended, how Markus was intrigued by Connor. Then moments when Markus had managed to get a fleeting look at Connor. He always stopped to stare, but Connor never even glanced his way, always caught up in whatever mission he was on.

Then it changed to the night they met. How worried Markus was for Connor, not for his own life. Connor could feel how absolutely stunned Markus was at the sight of Connor. How alive he seemed to Markus even then, holding a gun to him.

The sadness of Jericho being blown up, but there was no anger towards Connor. There was worry when Connor hadn't come out of the water as quickly, then relief when his head popped out of the water.

It was odd, feeling Markus' emotions. What was odder was all the positive ones directed towards Connor. Markus had thought Connor looked adorable soaking wet but also… Connor knew his face would be flushing blue. Markus was attracted to him.

He had sought Connor out at the church, making sure he was ok. Connor could feel Markus's want to draw him into a hug and never let go. He wanted to take Connor and his friends and go, protect them at all costs, but he hadn't. He had stayed for his people.

The absolute terror washing over Markus when Connor suggested his mission to the tower was overwhelming. There was hope, hope that Connor would make it back but also overwhelming grief.

He wanted Connor to not feel like he had to risk his life to make up for the mistakes he thought he made, or to help his people. Markus didn't want to let him go but knew he had to.

The memories skipped over until Markus saw Connor walking down the street leading all those androids. Pride bloomed in his chest so strong it knocked the air from Connor's artificial lungs. Pride and love. Markus adored Connor, wanted to keep him safe. He wanted to pull him into a kiss and show the world how much he trusted and cared for the man in front of him. But he didn't, worried Connor hadn't felt the same connection.

But he had. He had and he showed Markus that in return. He felt it the moment he saw Markus' face on that huge screen. When he lied to Hank about not noticing anything.

Markus moved on, showing his terror when they couldn't find Connor anywhere. These memories were faster, skimming over the time he was gone. There was so much guilt from Markus, so much yearning to have Connor at least somehow back in his life. It was like a part of his soul was missing.

Then they found each other, completely on accident. And it clicked. His soul seemed to click back together when he saw Connor when he got to be close to him again.

Connor couldn't watch anymore, it was just too much. He ended the connection but not the touch. A hand came up and gently cupped Connor's cheek, brushing away the tears there.

"Do you understand now?" Markus whispered. Connor bit his lip but nodded his head. He hated himself. He really did, fully and completely, but Markus loves him. He loves him so much that he can't bare to lose Connor for good.

He didn't deserve it, none of this, but he couldn't change Markus's feelings for him. He had tried to change his own but he failed completely. He was in love with Markus.

"I don't know if I can do this." He whispered, leaning into the touch. God, it felt so good. Connor seemed to fit perfectly into his hand.

Markus hummed and stepped closer, pressing their foreheads together. "It's ok, we'll be here for you. We'll take it as slow as you need. We'll get you help."

Help. He knew there were now android therapists. But would it actually work? "I can try."

"That's all I ask."

Therapy was hard, as was living in the tower. When Connor had finally confessed to his discomfort there, Markus had invited him to Carl's old house, having left it to Markus. It was huge and Connor had plenty of time to wander around and explore it.

He found he enjoyed reading and playing the piano. Painting wasn't his thing, but it was nice to watch Markus paint.

Hank barely let Connor out of his sights, but neither did Josh, Simon, North, or Hank. They were always there for him, reminding him he was loved and wanted.

It took a year and a half before Connor brought up him and Markus. Simon was there, of course, and Connor was beyond nervous. He still had plenty of self-hate but he also knew others loved him. He may not see himself a certain way but he would not deny that others did and their opinions were just as valid as his own.

Simon was oddly charming about it all, explaining things that had Connor fumbling over his words to figure out how to ask. Simon would still date Markus, the two did love each other. He wouldn't date Connor unless Connor wanted to, but he also gave full consent and even encouraged the two to get together.

Even after it was incredibly slow. Connor was touch-starved and didn't know how to initiate anything, but he also flinched away from unexpected touch. Connor hadn't kissed Markus and hadn't gone on any dates.

It would take a long time until they got there, but eventually, they did. Hank had grown old, having to retire from security, but he was always welcome at New Jericho. The androids had mostly all taken a liking to him. The androids didn't age, not in the human sense. Connor liked still as young as ever, but his processors would eventually slow in the future.

The first time they slept together, Connor had cried. Not from sadness, but just from everything. He felt so loved and wanted, Markus was so gentle with him too. He didn't know how to deal with all the emotions. But Markus helped him through it, only continuing after Connor gave the ok.

They didn't sleep together much, but Connor had gotten more and more confident over time.

It was still Markus who initiated it this time as well. Connor had had a long day, his anxiety and self-hate were strong and so Markus decided to show him just how beautiful he was.

"Markus, are you sure?" Connor asked, hands going to Markus' exposed chest. His hands splayed there, gently smoothing over the skin.

Markus pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I am. If you don't like it, we can stop, ok?"

Connor bit his lip but eventually nodded. Markus plopped onto the ground and Connor straddled him, letting Markus attack his neck with hot kisses.

His skin burned and he let out a small whine, tilting his head even more. A hand runs through his hair, as the kisses become harder and more urgent. Another hand slides around his waist and pulls him close to Markus. "Fuck! Just like that, yes Markus!" Connor rocked his hips down, hissing at the pleasure that shot up through him.

Markus groaned and bit down on Connor's shoulder, bucking his hips up in retaliation. "Love how beautiful you sound, baby. I love how you say my name."

"Markus! Markus, please, I need more!" Connor felt his whole body shudder, his cunt dripping. His neck was so sensitive, and Markus knew exactly what to do to get him going.

Long fingers danced across his taut abdomen, fingertips brushing lightly over his heated skin, making the hairs on his arms stand up. Connor rolled his hips down and bit his lip, trying to keep his sounds at bay.

"So beautiful, I want you to see yourself. Is that ok now? Take off all your clothes and watch as I play with you?" Markus pulled Connor's shirt off and Connor nodded his head. He'd do whatever Markus wanted. "That's a good boy, you're so wonderful and amazing."

Connor whimpered at the praise but let Markus turn him around, pulling off his pants and damp boxers. Markus kissed the bare shoulder, resting his chin atop of it as he traced the soft line of Connor’s artificial abs.

"Do you see how beautiful you are?" Markus asks, sliding his hand up to circle around Connor's thirium pump. "I want you to say how beautiful you are."

Connor could barely look at the mirror, if he did he could only look at Markus or his hands. Those beautiful hands that knew just what to do to work him up. He shook his head, closing his eyes. He didn't want to see himself, he didn't deserve to be in Markus's arms. No… no, he did deserve this. Markus loves him and wants this too.

"Come on baby, open your eyes. Let me see those beautiful brown eyes, you know I love them." Markus purred and Connor's eyes slowly opened. "God, I love you. Do you want me to touch you now?"

Markus's hand slowly trailed down then skipped over Connor's wet cunt, massaging Connor's open thighs. "Come on baby, talk to me."

"I-yes, please touch me." He whispered, leaning back against Markus. He's so warm and strong, Connor can feel him taking all of Connor's weight. "Markus, I want you so bad."

Markus' fingers slid down and slowly rubbed in a circle, putting just enough pressure on him. Connor lets out a choked moan, bucking his hips forward and opening his mouth as he tips his head upwards, giving Markus better access to his neck.

"Yes! Fuck, yes just like that!" Connor groaned. He bit at his bottom lip, rolling his hips forward against Markus' clever hands.

"Look at yourself, baby." Markus grins, feeling him twitching beneath his hand, keeping up the harsh movements until Connor looks at the mirror.

He's spread open for Markus wet slick dripping out of him as Markus worked his fingers over his cunt. Markus was so hot and Connor's body felt like it was on fire. "You look so good, I love you so much, want to feel you inside me. Fuck, you fill me up so well." He babbled, gasping for breath. His toes curled and he grabbed Markus' hips, careful of the connection with his knee.

"Thank you, but I want you to look at yourself. If you watch yourself then I'll fuck you real good, ok? I'll keep playing with your beautiful cunt while I fuck your little hole." Markus rolls his hips forward and Connor feels his hard leaking dick against his back.

Connor whimpered and looked at himself. He was… really fucking hot. He looked so good pressed up against Markus, begging for his cock.

"There we go, you ready for me? Or do you want to play a bit longer?" Markus always made sure Connor was sure, giving him every chance to back out, and now was no different.

"Yes! Please fuck me, please I need your dick, I need you!" He rolled his hips forward one last time before Markus pulled him up quickly and smoothly sliding him all the way to the hilt. Connor gasped and his back arched as Markus freed a hand to rub his cunt.

Markus hissed, pressing a kiss to Connor's neck. "You feel so good wrapped around my cock, like you're meant for it. So hot and tight."

“Fuck,” Connor breathes. He tries to look back at Markus but Markus turns his head back to the mirror, hand going back to his wet cunt.

"Eyes front, keep watching yourself," Markus commanded. Connor whined but looked at himself again.

He's bouncing on Markus' dick, taking him quickly and fully, filling himself up so well. "Ah! God, yes, just like that!" His hips jerked, trying to fuck Markus' hand as well. He was so damn close. So fucking close he just needed a little more.

"You're such a good boy, so beautiful and panting. Fucking hell, god you make me feel so good, Connor." Markus reached up and flicked Connor's nipple. He matches Connor easily, losing himself in the pleasure of it.

Connor moaned, hips jerking wildly. Fuck, it felt so good. "Watch yourself come, baby, you look so damn pretty all spread out for me." Markus's hand rubbed quickly, and Connor shakes. He clenched around Markus, his back arching away from him.

He keeps his eyes on the mirror, watching how his face flushed blue as he came. Shocks of pleasure jolted through his body as Markus worked him through it. He couldn't deny how hot they were together. He was pretty, just like Markus said.

He whined as Markus took a hold of his hips and started pounding up into him. He keeps watching but his eyes stray to Markus's as he feels him tensing. "Connor, fuck!" Markus moaned and Connor clenched around him, taking it all.

"There we go, baby, fuck yes!" Markus panted against Connor's skin.

They both had to take a while to cool down before Connor pulled off and cuddled into Markus's lap. "You did so well, baby. I love you so much and you are a good boy." Markus pressed kisses all over Connor's face making him giggle.

"I love you too. Markus… I do kind of want to talk about Simon? It's nothing bad, I think it's actually good." He hadn't before, but he was curious now. Simon was so sweet and cared about Connor just as much as Markus did.

"Yeah? Well how about this, we all get some sleep and in the morning we can talk if you're feeling up to it. I want tonight to be all about you." Markus nuzzled into Connor's neck and pressed a gentle kiss there too.

They often shared a bed altogether, with Markus in the middle. Tonight he knew they planned on putting Connor in the middle and showing as much love and affection as they could. "Yeah, ok. Going into stasis does sound pretty good." He let out a yawn, not even jolting when Markus picked him up.

"God, I love you more than I know what to do with." Markus gently laid him down on the bed, no doubt letting Simon know he could come in.

Connor snuggled closer, a small smile on his face. He did deserve a lot of things, a lot of really bad things, but he also deserved this.

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tenebriiis-archived · 4 years

Text

// This was deeply inspired by many things that I think you’ll recognize as you go by. I’m sorry for the delay. This was mostly inspired by this Song: Methods of Madness , and I highly recommend to play it in repeat-mode as you read ♥

Hope you like, Dear! And as always your opinions are more than welcomed ♥

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

[ ♦ ]

She could barely breathe...

Around her everything had turned into crumbles, ashes and dust. Roses were wiltering one by one, surrounded by long pierced torns and ebony feathers all around. Darkened tears falling down her cheeks as the dizziness made it difficult to stand up. The dull sound of sorceres and the harsh screams of the trifarian legions outside of the crumbled Immortal Bastion rang in her ears along with hollow eerie -overlapping & menacing- voices

...Where was him?...

The lullaby of war singing outside, fighting to something they weren't able neither slightly prepared yet to stand against. He had returned to take what was always his. Centuries had passed. It didn't matter, he had been patient and ever scheming, and she had been too blind, comfortable in her very own precious illusion of power. A lie to herself, and now the only thing remaining inside was the acute pain... both physically and emotionally.

...Where was him?!

Crawling herself in the shattered floor, feeling like torns piercing her skin with every movement, until finally finding destroyed furnitures to grasp to and help her stand. Every step is thousands of needles in her magicless emptity, as the air turns into a sharp dagger cutting her voice. Gasping for air as her golden hues, now a soft amber color & lacking any sense of power, scan the area with despair and agony, with craving, with need...

Until she founds him, there is him...

Thrown on the dark broken marble floor, feathers all around him as burnt mementos of cruel & unreachable glory. Destroyed raven wings, the bird unable to fly ever again. She screams his name in sorrow and torment, echoing against the walls. There's not cunning, nor affection, nor playfulness in her tone... all that could be heard and felt was her inmense turmoil. A maelstrom of desperation as she attemps to reach him, crumbling with every step. One single arm trembles, barely extending in her direction trying to reach her, as his bronze-colored eyes look at her...

She can smell the blood that pools around him, feel the terrifying pain he's into. The claw is lacking, atonishing and glowing red now gone... The demon was gone from his body, by his last tactic and resort, his last remain of a broken hope.

The Sorceress doesn't know where the last remainings of force come from as her pale form quickly reaches his form. They are running out of time, as the world is in flames around them, and the symphony they had played for long becomes a sad melody of farewells. Kneeling by his side, "Jericho... Mon Corbeau..." Her voice is softer that he would ever heard, as her hands gently craddle his head to rest on her lap instead of the cold and coarse floor, running her shivering fingers on his silver hair before caressing his cheek. They share smiles that spoke volumes of sadness and hopelessness, of recklessness, of powerless... and yet there's something subtle in them, as she traces his features with delicate fingertips in a loving gesture... ever-so careful anf gingerly, terrified of only enhance his discomfort even if he take a deep breath beneath her touch.

Both perhaps guess that after all that had been lived and shared, accomplished and obtained, loved and raised, there's not point on pretending any games anymore.

"You gave her the Demon..." Emilia quietly whispers, an affirmation almost turned into an inquirie as her chest tightens, knowing how minutes pas unmercilessly.

"And you... gave her your Magic, didn't you?"

"Our Daughter needs more if we are meant to fall down at the end. I only kept enough to find you..." Even in the closeness of the grasp of Kindred, even if he won't ever worship them, he still had that little grin of his when something would come by as he planned, wished or was simply amusing on tune. "...You raised her to be just as clever and skillful in your arcane sorcery as well as I did with my own prowless... We knew deep inside this day would come, and yet..." Her voice sounds hoarse, even if she tries to cover up for the tiredness.

"...Yet we never imagined it to be so close." He concludes her statement, his remaining hand looking to cover the one on his cheek, grasping it tightly, a signal for her to look into his eyes, to listen to him. "Now she will end this war for us both, for all Noxus..."

There's unmistakable pride in his tone when he talks about her. The strong woman their little crow had became. He could still recall the fragility of her form the first time she was in his arms, the joyful tone of her childhood, the cunning and intriguing ideas as she grew and then the desire to serve Noxus as properly as any other soldier could do. It had killed the hopes of Emilia to her behaving as a Queen in a sense, no, she was bold & far better than that.

And now she was out there, defending all the Noxian Empire for those who it belonged now. After the brieftest of exchanges and the longest of goodbyes. The last command he could give to Raum, the last petition to the Demon of Secrets who on the other hand wasn't a fool after all. There was more and more power hunger in the deal of their Daughter and her immense sorcery quality.

It was heartbreaking to let her go, and witness the crimson glow decorating now her amber eyes. Besides of course, feeling the guilt of passing such horrible burden onto the only light both of him could find in their own darkness. Now it was her time to lead, fight and command. And they knew she could...

Just as they also knew and feel how they were running out of time.

He looks up into her eyes once more. All the masks had fallen, all the games had ended, burnt roses and feathers together at the end of this story. What could be writen of them in books? What could be say of the Immortal Witch & the Raven General? Would they call them heros, tyrants, leaders, foes, fiends? Would they talk about their endless garden, their chess game? Who would place the ink that will carry them into the eternity? Or who would torn them from the pages into oblivion?

"Emilia" He calls her name and she snaps out of her deep thoughts on this little terrible last encounter. He doesn't need to tell her more words to understand as her caresses on his semblance come to a halt. The little last hints of arcane belonging to them still linger, entwining together as she carefully search in the folds of her silken dress. A little vial containing a silver liquid.

Only two drops, no more, was her usual message. A reminder. But now...

"Open your mouth, Jericho. Drink..." The Sorceress whispers with a voice about to break, as her eyes start to glisten on tears she tries not to shed. The pain surely most be unbearable at this point & that was the only comforting thoungt she could grasp from. He didn't hesitate, it was an still promise they would had, and she carried that vial with her everywere... hoping to never needing it.

Carefully, she tooks off her long silken scarves & folds them until being able to do a comforting pillow for her ally, her enemy, her lover, before moving parsimoniously as suffering continues running through her body. Regardless, there's no hesitation on her neither as carefully laying at his side, glazing on his eyes one last time, sharing silent conversations instead they usual games of daggers and coats.

The Enchantress leans in to kiss his lips, gently, lovingly, a farewell that drowns an eagerly whine. A plea. More time... she pleaded, nor matter if any of them were religious, she pleaded and promised to any god willing to listen, to the Kindred if there was any mercy of the Lamb and the Wolf, yet any pray above nor below entity could make the clock reverse.

The poisonous liquid stings her tongue and thoat as she keeps kissing him with all the will and energy she's able too, before her body is collapsing and trembling and the Grand General embraces her & pulls her close to him for her to rest. Emilia feels her tears shedding silently as her head craddles close to the sound of his heart, slowing down. Her pacing mimicking her own. It's in that moment, along with the sounds of what she can recognize as screams of glory from Trifarian Legions and Tropes. As if a Victory had being obtained... All the voices scream in obation their daughter's name.

The clock won't reverse, but time has chosen a new era of Glory to begin, in which they aren't pictured in but a remembrance. It's enough to her to hold on the hope

She looks up at his face, as his about to close his eyes into the painless and dreamless slumber of darkness. Would they encounter themselves there? Once more? Or their souls were meant to part? Crossed lovers like the poems dedicated to stars... together in a point of view, and yet so far in reality...

Oblivion seemed so terrifying, yet she only wanted both of them to find solace. No more horrors, no more maelstroms in their minds & souls, nevermore...

"Je t'aime..." She whispers, as her last breathing seems to come and so does his. It's a last confession on their death bed, as the world crumbled around them, only to offer pass to a new cycle.

"...Pour toujours."

[ ♦ ]

@visionofnoxus

#visionofnoxus #ll Sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting #I played the music and suddenly got carried away writting oajdoaj #Hope you enjoy at least some of it ♥#tw: long post #very long post #drabbles

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jdgo51 · 11 months

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Using Worship as a Weapon

Today's inspiration comes from:

Using Worship as a Weapon

by Shawn Johnson

"Have seven priests carry trumpets of rams’ horns in front of the ark. On the seventh day, march around the city seven times, with the priests blowing the trumpets." — Joshua 6:4

“'The rules are simple,” Pastor Chris told my wife and me.

“Take this Bluetooth speaker into that room, blast some worship music, and start worshiping and praying out loud together.”

Jill loved those instructions. I hated them.

I’m a pastor, so you wouldn’t think that would be a difficult task for me, but I can’t stand praying with my wife. She’s an incredible prayer warrior, and I feel like a stuttering idiot. Even after all these years of marriage, this far into my relationship with God, it still feels awkward for me to pray with her at length.

I hope that is freeing for some of you. Stop feeling guilty. It’s not just you!

“That’s right,” he continued, “it’s time to start worshiping. You’re both going to pray out loud for thirty straight minutes at the volume of the music.”

When Pastor Chris saw the deer-in-the-headlights look I gave him, he explained the method to his madness. He reminded us we were in a battle, and the first two weapons we needed to use were prayer and worship.

The whole thing was a little confusing. Prayer doesn’t fix my anxiety; at times it gives me even more of it. And worship is something we do in church services that, truthfully, makes me feel insecure and often makes my feet hurt when they have us standing for so long.

I thought, I’m here fighting for my life. We are going to war. And our weapons of choice are prayer and worship?

But then he said something that changed the trajectory of my life:

“Satan hates it when we pray like this. It destroys him.”

That’s what I needed to hear. His words instantly brought me back to something that had happened less than a year prior, an experience that changed my family’s lives forever. An event where I felt like God was telling me to stop seeing worship as singing songs in church and begin viewing it as a weapon to battle for my freedom.

“Satan hates it when we pray like this. It destroys him.”

THE WALLS OF JERICHO

I had been studying and preaching in the book of Joshua, the man who miraculously took the nation of Israel across the Jordan River into the promised land. But when he got into the promised land, as I mentioned earlier, he still had to fight thirty-one battles to take possession of it.

The very first battle is somewhat famous. Even if you haven’t been in church much, you may have heard of the Battle of Jericho. It’s this crazy story where God instructed the nation of Israel to march around Jericho for seven straight days. And on the last day, God told them to start worshiping, singing, yelling, praising God, and playing instruments.

The interesting thing is, the trumpets God instructed them to play were sometimes used as a battle cry before the battle but were most often used to celebrate after a victory. The Israelites would always fire up the worship music after they won a battle. But in this case, God told them to start worshiping, singing, yelling, and playing those instruments before they saw the victory.

What?

Celebrate before they had anything to celebrate? Worship before they saw the outcome they wanted? That doesn’t make any sense, and yet that’s exactly what God called them to do.

And the results were mind-blowing. You can read all about it in Joshua 6. Essentially, as soon as they started worshiping, Jericho’s walls, which were securely barred, miraculously fell, and the Israelites were able to overcome the city.

The Israelites didn’t have a chance on their own strength. However, right in the middle of their confusion, fear, anxiety, depression, and (I have to believe) feelings of hopelessness, God showed up in a spectacular way. They experienced freedom and a victory they never dreamed possible. And the whole thing was put in motion with a weapon called worship.

Sometimes we worship because we’ve had a victory. But sometimes we worship until we see one.

God demonstrated to Joshua that there would be times in life where worship would be the way to victory. Worship will be the way you defeat your Enemy. Worship will be what brings you the very freedom you so badly desire."'

Excerpted with permission from Attacking Anxiety by Shawn Johnson, copyright Shawn Johnson.

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soyforramen · 4 years

Text

BHDC - Toni

Betty knocked on the door of a trendy townhouse in the middle of downtown. It was a quaint, clapboard house surrounded by a lush garden filled with vegetables, herbs, and a few rare poisonous plants that caught her eye. These were not, as Jughead put it, mere ‘acquaintances’. She filled the information away for later questioning when the door opened and a petite woman opened the door.

“Hello, Jughead,” the woman said, a smile playing at her lips.

So this was Toni, the vampire friend. She was gorgeous, Betty realized, in a biker don’t-mess-with-me sort of way. Toni’s clothes matched Jughead’s aloof, messy style. Purposeful thrifting, in a way. Betty suddenly felt as if she’d tried to hard in selecting her outfit this morning, the pastel cardigan and boat shoes far too cutesy to fit into this crowd. She quickly shoved that thought aside. There were more important things than her own insecurities (insecure about what? Toni? Betty didn’t even know her; but Jughead did …). Shaking the thought out of her head, Betty introduced herself.

Toni gave her a polite nod, ignoring the outstretched hand, and lead them into the ornate home. The foyer was filled with artwork from around the world. Mayan sculptures that were weathered by hundreds of years of sunlight and rain; large French impressionist paintings of the Riviera, the paint yellowing with time; antique Japanese block prints from feudal eras long gone by; Yoruba court masks decorated with metal birds and glittering jewels. It was an intimidating show that was more at home in a Bond villain’s lair. Here, in a cozy modern home, it was a braggadocios display of what the gift of immortality could give, if one did it right.

They made their way down a short hallway, the rest of the house was well lit despite the late hour, crowded with antique furniture and dark wallpaper. Gaslit sconces lit their way and Betty couldn’t help but wonder if there was an old lover trapped in the attic. She quickened her step, her hand reaching out to grasp Jughead’s jacket. When she remembered how flippant he’d been with her earlier, Betty dropped her hand back to her side.

“Babe?” Toni called out when they reached the end of the hallway. “Jughead’s here.”

“Joy,” came a flippant response.

Betty stepped into a fully stocked industrial kitchen. (Could vampires even eat? Common knowledge told her no, but if that was the case why have a kitchen that had fresh fruit on the counter, spices in a rack, and dry goods artfully placed around the room? Surely it wouldn’t just be for looks?) A redheaded stepped in from the open patio door. Jughead shot her a warning glance and Betty stifled her sudden irritation.

Accusations against the Vixen’s Den bartender, the one who’d rebuffed their questions and sent them those drinks that night, flooded Betty’s mind. Why had she done that? Was she a part of whatever conspiracy was going on? Was she merely an agent of chaos, as Jughead had described her? But asking would likely do no good here, especially when she held information they so desperately needed.

“Cheryl,” Jughead said through gritted teeth.

“Hobo.” Cheryl didn’t so much as look towards Betty.

Jughead’s hands clenched and Betty realized they were standing on thin ice; between Jughead’s quick temper and Cheryl’s lack of interest this would be a quick meeting if things didn’t settle down.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Betty said with her brightest smile. She took a seat at kitchen island and dug out her notepad. She’d dealt with this sort of person before; flattery and sickly sweet attention would do far better than demanding answers. With her pen poised, Betty devoted her full attention to Cheryl. “Jughead mentioned you were one of the best sources of information when it came to the underground.”

Preening under the false compliment, Cheryl gave a coy smile. Everyone in the room knew it was a lie, but the admissions was enough to pull her out of her prickly shell.

“Is that so?” Cheryl shook her hair out, a sheen to it that could only be achieved by a mix of magic and chemistry, and settled into the bar stool next to Betty. “Toni’s told me so much about your little exploits. Cheryl Blossom.”

Betty took the limp, downturned hand. Did she really expect her to grovel? This bitch…

“I’m afraid you have the upper hand here. I know so little about you,” Betty replied. Before Cheryl could realize she’d sidestepped introductions, Betty flipped to an open page in her notebook. “Toni mentioned you were at The Woods a few weeks ago?”

Cheryl sighed theatrically and picked up an apple. “Poor Josie. Is she still missing?”

‘Josie?’ Betty mouthed at Jughead.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Cheryl. She’s still missing, along with-“

Cheryl waved her hand at him and tutted. “Your loss is no bigger than mine, Forsythe, and you’d do well to remember that.”

Jughead’s lip curled as he pushed himself off the counter and Betty jumped in quickly before they lost the only lead they had.

“She went missing?”

“Yes. It was their 50th Anniversary blowout. Val and Melody -“

“Her bandmates,” Toni added.

“-saw her before the show, but after they left the dressing room she was never seen again.”

Betty tapped her pen against her lips. “Did they notice anyone hanging about? Strangers, someone who seemed out of place?”

Cheryl shook her head. “Not that they mentioned.”

“Did you got to her dressing room?”

Cheryl’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re implying -“

“Quit,” Jughead snapped. “She’s trying to help.”

Toni raised her eyebrows in surprise. A surprised reaction, but why? He and Cheryl were at odds, and from what Betty had seen it wasn’t out of the ordinary. And from Cheryl’s smirk, it seemed as if she’d been trying to bait him all along. Unless…

“We were in the audience,” Toni said in the lengthening silence. “A lot of the underground was there, it would have been weird if we didn’t make an appearance. The lighting is never the best there, but I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

“What about the fae?” Betty asked as she flipped through the last few pages of notes. “Were they -“

“They weren’t involved,” Cheryl said quickly. “I would know if they were.”

Betty jotted the assertion down. This was the third person - Veronica, Reggie, and now Cheryl - who’d insisted they weren’t involved. Strange, considering the rumors that were swirling through the covens. Rumors that the fae had shut their doors against all but the most select of persons, along with a few who’d been taken against their will.

“There were a few humans, though,” Tonia said after a moment. “Sweets had to take Fangs home early for a nightcap. He didn’t think Pops would let in humans that night considering it was The Cats playing.”

“I was surprised myself,” Cheryl added.

She slipped her hand through Toni’s and toyed with the ring on her finger, gaze directed at Jughead. He shook his head and shifted against the counter, his hip bumping up against Betty’s arm. Her words skipped across the page and she elbowed him playfully in response.

“There are rules, after all, about letting humans into underground spaces like that. Especially when The Pussycats have been playing together for over five hundred years. They might get ideas.”

“I thought you said it was their 50th Anniversary?” Betty asked, hoping it was a crack in their story that might lead to something, anything that could give them some direction.

“Yes, their 50th Anniversary playing at The Woods. Pop got an exclusive contract with them in the 70’s. They’ve been playing together since at least Jericho, probably even earlier,” Cheryl said.

“What about the humans?” Betty asked, sure they were chasing their tails on this one. “Who was letting them in?”

“Perhaps you should ask Pop, or that weirdo DJ of his. Dorkus, or whatever his name is.”

“We did,” Jughead said shortly. “He’s the one who sent us to Fangs and Toni. He also mentioned that you’d been lurking around backstage before the concert.”

Toni stepped away from Cheryl to stare at her. Cheryl’s hand tightened and her smile turned chilly.

“Can I not deliver a gift to my best friend of three thousand years?”

“A gift? Funny, I wouldn’t call the pig’s heart they found in the dressing room a gift.”

Cheryl scoffed. ��It is if you’re a demi-god who moonlights as a cat.”

“Babe,” Toni chided softly. There was a painful question in her eyes and Betty found herself looking away from the private moment.

“Later,” Cheryl promised, her gaze soft. It hardened as she turned back to their guests. “As for you two, I’d be more concerned about the bald, chanting, idiots in white. Anyone who wears all white this far past Labor Day is super suss if you ask me.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about these humans or…”

Betty trailed off. Humans? That was her answer? For Cheryl to claim humans had infiltrated the underground, let alone suspect them of kidnapping a demi-god, let alone a witch and a were? It was unthinkable.

“All I know is they were in desperate need of a spa treatment and a makeover,” Cheryl said with a curled lip. “They even had the nerve to suggest I was one of the ignorant masses who needed their enlightenment.”

Jughead shot Betty an exasperated look and she bit down a smile. He’d been against meeting with Cheryl from the state - his ranting about her for the thirty minute journey to the townhouse a clear signal that there was some unspoken history there - but Betty had persisted. As unlikely a lead as humans were, it was more than they’d had this morning.

“What about -“

Betty was cut off as the patio windows blew in, glass and plant debris propelled at them by searing air. As Betty was just beginning to process what happened, she found herself at the front door, tucked into Jughead’s arms. Behind him Toni held Cheryl carefully in her arms.

“Stay here,” she told Cheryl, her fangs already out.

Jughead set Betty down, pausing only to brush glass from her ponytail, and was gone before Betty could take a breath.

“What the hell?” Betty asked breathlessly. She stepped towards the kitchen and winced at the sudden pain. A large piece of glass had cut through her cardigan to her skin. Blood stained the light pink fabric and Betty cursed at the sight.

“Whatever it was, they’re going to wish they were in hell when I’m done with them,” Cheryl snapped. “I just had that kitchen redone.”

She stalked towards the flames that were creeping into the hallway, fists curled in on themselves. Betty followed, pulling out a string of spell beads as she went.

#bughead drabble challenge #i am slowly getting through these #now the real question is what am i even going to do with the platypus???

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petersmoan · 5 years

Note

Peter is an incubus and he gets bought by mob boss, tony stark! 😍 request

I absolutely love this idea. Thank you anon.

TW: mentions of torture, bruises, scars.

---

As a boss of the most dangerous mob organization in the world, Tony Stark was, indeed, the most dangerous man. His single action could destroy one’s entire life and family, his single order could make the government turn upside down. That’s why not everybody is right for this job; it must be someone who’s stable, assertive, disgustingly intelligent, self-confident and charismatic.

Tony Stark was the right man for this position.

It seemed like he was unbreakable, strong both emotionally and physically. Loyal to his friends and employees, caring for them and their families.

When the day of his trip to Afghanistan came, it was safe to say he was ready for any other occurrence than planned. Anything could go wrong, but he trusted his instinct and spontaneity enough to relax in the private plane he shared with James Rhodes, best friend and right hand.

Shaking hands with the enemy was always his favorite part. He knew the Guardians despised him and his humor, especially the head of the group, Peter Quill. Tony always felt superior to the younger man, wittier and smarter in general. And Quill was painfully aware of that.

The demonstration of the brand new missile of Tony’s invention, “Jericho”, went well. Quill was impressed, listening to the instructions carefully, and Stark was sure he got them.

Suddenly he felt his wrists being pulled behind his back and handcuffed. The same went for Rhodes, who tried to break free, but failed miserably, knocked down to his knees. It was a fucking ambush. Business had always been difficult with the Guardians, Quill being unpredictable and sometimes unbelievably stubborn, but this time they’ve outdone themselves. Tony and James were threatened to be killed unless they gave the missile for free, and let Quill claim it as their own idea. Great way to achieve anything.

While he was speaking, pointing all options they had left, there could be heard a scowl and a louder growl from the other room. That made Tony curious. Was that another failed experiment of their own, or something worse Quill hadn’t thought through?

“It’s just our little treasure we’ve stolen from those bastards in Queens. Pain in the ass, believe me. I actually regret getting this piece of garbage out of there.”

The thing started panting, with a roaring sound growing with each exhale.

“Let me see”, Tony asked politely, “Please, Quill. Let me see it.”

Quill shrugged and nodded at his men to give him what he wants. They brought a big cage that could hold two adult German shepherds at least. There was a young man imprisoned, on his knees and elbows, tied in chains all over his half naked body. He wore a piece of clothing that was supposed to be underwear, probably. His skin was bruised and scarred, and he had a fresh blood stain under his nose. Tony noticed a couple of piercings in both of his ears. But they weren’t as vibrant as the beautiful big brown eyes, sparkling a reddish color in the light.

When he saw Tony, he grabbed the bars in front of him and from now on, he never stopped looking at the man. With a devilish gaze, he kept his mouth open, his tongue licking them.

Tony felt like he was hit with a tank. Like he forgot about his purpose of being there and the dangerous situation he had found himself in. The boy’s eyes were cutting through his body like a knife.

“Is that... Is that an incubus?” He heard Rhodes’ voice as if from behind a wall.

“Indeed, it’s the fucking demon. Literally.” Apparently Quill’s men liked this kind of jokes, because they exchanged a few small giggles. “He seduces every one of my guys I put in charge to guard him. So we mostly torture him, so that he don’t have the opportunity.”

“Does it work?” Rhodes asked sceptically.

“... Sometimes.”

James shook his head and examined briefly the demon’s thin body. “You’ve cut his wings and tail off. He’s too... humanoid, more than I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve ever seen?” Tony woke up from the short spell he fell under, and interjected.

“I have a history with these. Used to run tests on them. Dangerous, they are very dangerous.” He frowned, deep in thought, remembering all those long hours spent with the incubuses. All the nightmares. How many times did he risk his life for the sake of those tests?

Tony turned his gaze back to the demon, who seemed to beg him with his pitiful face and eyes. But beg for what? For help?

“I have an offer you cannot reject, Quill” Tony’s voice spoke before his brain could have comprehended. When Quill was all ears, he continued, “I’m gonna take this demonic beauty home, and you’re gonna let us go. The missile stays mine, and you’re gonna buy it, like a good boy.”

The Guardian’s face changed. He wanted to get rid of this god-forsaken creature that was killing his men one by one, more than he wanted the missile. They were short on people since he’s brought the incubus to his base.

“Fuck you, Stark. Take this hellish garbage and get the fuck outta here.”

Tony smirked victoriously, glanced at his new acquisition and waited for the Guardians to let his wrists free. The demon started shaking his cage impatiently, exposing pure white teeth, sharp at the edges.

At the Stark Tower, the incubus was transported into a big cell separated with bulletproof glass. Doctor Banner wasn’t happy with his boss’ decision, claiming it’s reckless to put such an unknown to the humanity entity to this place. They didn’t even know how to fight it, if it decided to slaughter them all.

Bruce resisted mentioning his fear about Tony’s common sense. It was untypical for him to make a decision so stupid and unbeneficial. At the same time though, he didn’t want to lose his job, that could lead to him being dead and buried somewhere in Alaska within days.

“I never caught your name. Do you have one?” Tony asked the creature, who’d been wandering around his cell, then approached the glass and touched it. Bruce Banner was in the back, taking notes.

“Peter. Peter Parker, sir.”

His voice vibrated in Tony’s ears. It took him a while to keep calm. Grunting, he crossed his arms and asked another question.

“Are you really an incubus? A demon? I never really wanted to believe in this kind of stuff.”

Peter grinned, his teeth like pearls, put both of his hands on the glass and hummed, “I am, Mr. Stark, sir.”

Tony felt nauseous for a second, a sharp ache attacking his head suddenly. Losing focus a little, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, Tony?” It was Bruce, speaking in a delicate, caring tone.

“What, yeah, I’m fine”, the man assured his doctor and close friend. When Bruce backed off, he asked, “You just messed with my head, is that right?”

All Peter Parker did in response was arching his back and licking the glass in front of Tony’s face.

The only person that Peter listened to, was, obviously, Tony. He was obedient, didn’t cause any trouble seducing anyone and behaved well, locked in his big cell, mostly reading books and meditating.

Tony gained a lot of confidence towards the creature, talking to him every day, asking about his history and personal things. He had experience with a lot of non-human entities, but as stated before, he never wanted to believe in demons or ghosts.

He also didn’t want to believe in his complete fall for Peter Parker. Waking up in sweat every morning was odd, but he wasn’t willing to connect it in any way to the boy. Until that one night.

Feeling something weighing on his chest, he opened his eyes immediately. Sleep paralysis was unlikely, because he could move all his limps and head. But there was this unholy nightmare, haunting Tony ever since he laid his eyes on it, sitting on his chest and staring.

“I missed you, Mr. Stark. I don’t like spending nights alone.”

This must be a dream, crossed Tony’s mind, but Peter was quick to read it and respond.

“You’re not dreaming, Mr. Stark. Did you really think that wall of glass could stop me?” His great force stopped Tony from getting up, holding him by the neck, with one hand, caressing his cheek with the other. “It’s okay, sir. I’m here to take all your stress away.”

Nothing has ever turned out to be such a mistake in Tony Stark’s life. Once their lips smashed together, there was no salvation. He forgot about Rhodes’ warnings, Dr. Banner’s advices, and his common sense was sent straight to hell by this demon, who tasted like the sweetest dessert, moaned so beautifully, rode Tony’s dick so gracefully and made him come so many times that night, that his load was almost dry.

Peter didn’t pay attention to any of the guards, to any of Tony’s friends and employees. All he wanted was the boss himself. The moment he saw him, he wanted to taste him, he wanted to drag him through the darkest path of sexual arousal and hell itself.

“I promise, Mr. Stark, I won’t hurt any of your men. Don’t tell them that wall is useless. I want you and only you.”

Tony was in great danger, and was fully aware of that. But he couldn’t say no to these devilish eyes, these tempting moves and the softest skin he’s ever touched. Peter was bruised and had a lot of scars, but that didn’t stop him from demanding to be spanked and bitten during their nights together. As cruel as it sounds, Tony was his favorite victim of them all. The most handsome, the smartest, the best in general. He’s never been this satisfied in his entire existence.

They weren’t monotonous in their sexual voyage. Sometimes Tony was too exhausted, so he made love to Peter, fucking him slowly and caringly. He’d always clean them up after finished, taking shower together or just using wet piece of cloth. Peter didn’t sleep, so he just lied there, cuddling his Mr. Stark and watching him dreaming. He knew their intercourses were depriving Tony of his health and stamina, he knew they weren’t meant for the happy ending. But how could he stop loving this perfectly sinful human? Even on Tony’s deathbed, he promised himself he’d be there, holding his hand, waiting for his last breath to leave the cancer-eaten lungs, as the man would whisper to him slowly,

“Oh my god, Peter. I knew you were gonna be the death of me.”

#my works #starker #starker au #incubus #tony stark #peter parker #request

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swervestrickland · 5 years

Text

Lingerie | Hangman Page

Sequel to: Yankee Candle parts one and two

Word Count: 1997

Warnings: gets mildly nsfw all right so sue me as if ‘lingerie’ wasn’t warning enough

“Which one? The black or the baby blue?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Both.”

Emi rolled her eyes, flipping her hair in an exasperated manner. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Adam was already floating away from her, eyeing other garments for her to try on. He held up a pink babydoll outfit, completely and totally see-through, and showed it to her. “Thoughts?”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Say no more. Ma’am, do you have this in baby blue?” He stopped one of the floor employees who happened to be passing by. “She prefers blue.”

The employee smiled, commenting that they were sure they could find one in the back, and walked off to go find it. Emi blushed, absolutely embarrassed at the thought of all this lingerie. She’d already found two or three bralettes and panties, a pair of sexy pajamas, a garter belt, and now this. He was really going all out and it just made the butterflies in her stomach beat their wings even faster.

She wasn’t usually a lingerie kind of girl. She preferred sleeping in flannel pajamas every season of the year, and her bras and panties never matched. To be quite honest, the entire time they were in the store, she felt intimidated by the thin, sexy women on the walls. It didn’t help that next to those pictures were thin mirrors that reminded her of just how absolutely not skinny she was, how absolutely not picture-perfect she was, and how she absolutely did not deserve to be there.

But a deal’s a deal, Emi thought. And she wanted nothing more than to make Adam happy.

When the attendant returned with the promised blue babydoll outfit, Emi figured it was time to try on all the pieces to make sure they fit. When Adam protested, she stopped him. “This is expensive. At the very least I have to make sure it all fits.”

He couldn’t argue with that, so he sat down on the couch where all the significant others sat while they waited on their other halves, and tried not to look around. It suddenly dawned on him how embarrassing it really felt, being in a store like this, and he hoped that Emi didn’t feel the same way.

Pajamas first, Emi thought, once she was situated in one of the grandiose fitting rooms. Then we move on to the scary stuff. They were (surprise, surprise!) baby blue, and the shirt was a button down with a deep plunging collar, perfect for showing the little cleavage she had. Her fingers buttoned the shirt up anxiously, already feeling the insecurities creeping up, and she had barely even started.

Pajamas were supposed to be my comfort clothes. Once they were on completely, she looked in the mirror and wanted to cry. Her breasts were too small, she could see her tummy riding over the waistband of her bottoms, and her shape was just. Not ideal. She sat down on the bench, ready to tap out then and there, when her phone buzzed.

Adam: everything all right in there?

She sighed, wiping away the first sign of tears that welled in her eyes.

Emi: I don’t feel good about these clothes. I feel ugly :(

The call was almost immediate. She answered quietly, too terrified that the person in the dressing room next to her would hear, her voice a mere whisper. “Hello?”

“Hey there, sweet thing. How’s the sexiest woman I know doin’?”

Her heart sped up. He knew exactly what he was doing. She could practically hear the beaming smile in his deep, gentle voice.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Now that just isn’t good enough, darlin’. I guess I’m gonna have to put it on me to make you feel better. How’s that sound? Sound good?”

“Mhm,” was all she could manage, as she was literally on the verge of tears again, this time a mix of insecurity and overwhelming joy at how much he cared for her.

“Wipe those tears away for me, sweetheart. I can hear you snifflin’.”

His drawl had gotten thicker. It was comforting, his voice. It felt like home. She did as she was told, without protest.

“Listen to me, babe,” he said, “I know you don’t feel good about yourself, but I promise you that there’s not a man or woman out here who would pass a chance with you. Given that said, you’re all mine, and I don’t think I can wait till later to see you all skimpy.”

Emi giggled, a few more sniffles escaping her.

“Send me a picture of each one. I want to see you in full gear.”

She may not have seen it, but she could feel his wink through the phone. “Mhm,” she nodded.

“All right, babe. I love you.”

“I love you too.” She hung up.

It took a minute before he got her first selfie. His left knee had been bouncing, up and down, up and down, in a fit of nerves. He’d never asked her to do this before, but he figured it would help. He knew that she found pride in being his, in being something beautiful for him to bask in. She wouldn’t let him down, that much he was sure about.

Adam looked around, making sure no one sat behind him or looked over his shoulder. His leg bounced faster, and he placed a hand on his thigh to quiet it. Biting his lip, he opened the picture.

She sat facing the mirror in baby blue pajamas, her dark hair over one shoulder, framing the plunging neckline of her top. He saw the shadow of her plump little breasts, the soft skin at the crook of her neck, her pouty little lips, and her sad, beautiful eyes. God, he wanted to hug her. To embrace her.

He started to type.

Adam: Jesus, babe. What a way to start.

Emi: really?

Adam: I’ve never seen anyone look as good as you do in pjs. You’re adorable.

Emi: ^.^ guess i’ll get the pj’s.

Adam: what’s next?

Emi: so needy lol.

Adam: I need you.

Emi felt sharp knot in her core, and somewhere further down. Fuck, that was honestly the sexiest thing he’d ever said to her through text. She squealed aloud to herself, and the person next to her fitting room responded.

“Are you okay?”

Emi’s eyes went wide. “Totally fine, uh, sorry!”

The other person didn’t sound too certain, but didn’t know enough about her to push. “All right, then.”

She turned back to her phone, and typed out a response.

Emi: one sexy pic comin’ right up!

Hangman’s phone buzzed again, and he barely gave it the time to before he was unlocking it and opening his messages. She stood sideways in front of the mirror, her juicy thighs and thick ass jutting out for him in the most perfect way, and he enjoyed all too well the way the lace decorated her skin. His eyes roamed down the trail of her bare legs, looking absolutely smooth and soft to the touch.

It made him hard just thinking about running his fingers along that skin of hers.

Adam: it’d almost be cruel to rub my beard against skin so soft.

He ran his tongue along his lips, as he so often did when the cameras caught him making his entrance. His ‘mleps’, she called them. He remembered the first time he heard her call them that. It was right after All Out, and he hadn’t been feeling very good about the loss to Jericho. She had eyed him with a furrowed brow, her body instantly approaching him once he’d made it backstage, far from the eyes of the sold out crowd.

“How are you feeling?” she’d whispered, leading him to a chair where he could rest for a bit, and she could stare at him intently for any sign of deep emotional scarring.

“Reckon I could feel worse,” he’d said, and managed to flash her a sad smile. He stayed quiet, then, and Emi could feel that she needed to say something that would help Adam keep his mind off the loss.

“Seventeen.” He’d cocked his head, not understanding. “Hm?”

Bless his heart. It was like he was in another world. “That’s how many mleps I counted. I’m hoping they become like Lesnar’s F-5’s. I might tweet about it. See if the crowd will help me count once you make your televised Dynamite debut.”

“Mleps?” He was still confused.

She scooted closer, the excitement beaming on her face at tuning him into one of her little hobbies. “You know. When you stick your tongue out? Or run it along your lips? You do that a lot. It’s fun to keep track of.”

Hangman gave her an incredulous, dumbfounded look, and ran his tongue along his lips. “Do I really do that?” He ran a hand through his hair.

Emi couldn’t help but laugh. “You just did it again. Eighteen.” “Oh, boy.” He did it again. “God, now I can’t stop.”

“Nineteen.”

“Jeez, I-” He looked away, doing it for the twentieth time that night, and sighing deeply when he’d realized he’d done it again.

She pulled his chin towards her, staring at him intently. “I think it’s endearing. And it’s my favorite hobby, so don’t take it away from me.”

He smiled, and agreed he wouldn’t stop, just for her.

His phone buzzed, and it brought Adam right back to the moment at hand.

Emi: it’d be cruel *not* to. Have i made you mlep yet? ;)

Adam: oh, i’ve mlep’d plenty. Might be at about...oh, i dunno, a hundred?

Emi: glad you’re keepin’ track for me. Want another reason to mlep?

Adam: absolutely, gorgeous.

Emi giggled with delight, all care for who might hear out the window, along with that small bit of insecurity she had felt. She pulled off the bralette and panties, preparing herself for the pièce de résistance. Slowly, she shimmied herself into the garter belt first, careful to make sure she didn’t stick a toe through the fishnet stockings. After that was over, she pulled the babydoll top gently over her head, pleased at the way the top barely touched her ass.

She snapped a pic, typing out a message to her dearest cowboy.

Emi: eat your heart out, hangman page.

The picture that followed hit him like an arrow in two places, and it was imperative to Hangman that they go home, like immediately. He felt way too confined, he felt way too constricted. He need to get out of there, and he absofuckinglutely needed to show her exactly how she made him feel, right fucking now.

He was calling her before he even had a chance to think straight.

“Hello?” Emi answered, innocence coating her sweet voice.

“Hm, I swore I was callin’ one of them naughty girls, not an innocent one.” Adam’s voice was a rumble that pierced her right to her core. She was glad she’d changed back into her clothes, or she’d have had some serious explaining to do to the person at the cash register, when it came to the state of her lingerie.

Her words were caught in her throat, and she could feel her nipples peaking beneath her shirt. “Y-yeah?” was all she could manage to say.

“Oh, yeah. And you know what Hangman does to naughty girls?”

Emi placed her phone between her ear and her shoulder, picking up her lingerie and draping them across one arm. “No, I don’t,” she whispered, turning the knob of her dressing room stall and making her way towards her cowboy.

“He makes them regret bein’ bad.” He said, putting a hand in his pocket and taking a look around the store.

She grinned, placing herself quietly behind him, so close she could smell his cologne, along with the lingering scent of the candles by his side. Standing on her tip toes, she leaned into his ear. “I don’t think I’m going to regret a damn thing.”

#listen im sorry this took so long #but there's gonna be a part 2?#hope that makes up for it :)#this is gratuitous self indulgence shut up #my fics #mine

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pamphletstoinspire · 4 years

Photo

QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY

The Introit of this day's Mass is the sigh of an afflicted soul confiding in God:

INTROIT Be thou unto me a God, a protector, and a place of refuge, to save me: for thou art my strength and my refuge: and for thy name's sake thou wilt be my leader, and wilt nourish me. (Fs. XXX. 3. 4.) In thee , O Lord, I have hoped, let me never be confounded: deliver me in thy justice, and set me free. (Ps. XXX. 2.)

COLLECT O Lord, we beseech Thee, graciously hear our prayers, and unloosing the bonds of our sins, guard us from all adversity. Through our Lord, etc.

EPISTLE (I. Cor. XIII. 1-13.) Brethren, if I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. And if I should have prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I should have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And if I should distribute all my goods to feed the poor, and if I should deliver my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. Charity is patient, is kind: charity envieth not; dealeth not perversely; is not puffed up; is not ambitious; seeketh not her own; is not provoked to anger; thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never falleth away: whether prophecies shall be made void, or tongues shall cease, or knowledge shall be destroyed. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part: but when that which is perfect is come, that which is in part shall be done away. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away the things of a child. We see now through a glass in a dark manner; but then face to face. Now I know in part; but then I shall know even as I am known. And now there remain faith, hope, charity, these three: but the greatest of these is charity.

EXPLANATION In this epistle St. Paul speaks of the necessity, the excellence and the nature of true charity. He says that all natural and supernatural gifts, all good works, even martyrdom, cannot save us if we have not charity; because love alone can render our works pleasing to God. Without charity, therefore, though ever so many prayers be recited, fasts observed , and good deeds performed, nothing will be acceptable to God, or merit eternal life. Strive then, O Christian soul, to lead a pious life in love, and to remain always in the state of grace.

Can faith alone, as the so-called Reformers assert, render man just and save him?

Faith alone, however strong, though it could move mountains, without love, that is, without good works performed for love of God and our neighbor, can never justify or save us. For, when St. Paul says, that man is justified by faith without works, (Rom. III. 28.; XI: 6.; Eph. II. 8. 9.) he means to refer to those works which were performed by command of the law of Moses, and which, as they were external and without true charity, were of no avail; he did not refer to those works which are performed in a state of grace with a lively, love-inspired faith. Therefore the same Apostle writes to the Galatians: (Gal. V. 6.) Faith only availeth which worketh by charity; to Titus: (Tit. III. 8.) It is a faithful saying: and these things I will have thee affirm constantly: that they who believe in God, may be careful to excel in good works. These things are good and profitable unto men; and he exhorts the Colossians (Colos. I. 10.) to be fruitful in every good work. St. James confirms the same by saying: (James II. 17-24.) So faith if it have not works, is dead in itself; by works man is justified and not by faith only. That this is the true doctrine of Christ is evident from His own words, when He says: "Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit, shall be cut down and shall be cast into the fire." (Matt. VII. 19.) At the day of judgment Christ will demand good works from all men, (Matt. XXV. 35.) and will not judge them only according to their faith, but by their good works, which true faith must always produce. (Apoc. XX. 12.) Would Christ and His apostles demand good works, if faith alone be sufficient? "The devils also believe and tremble," (James II. 19.) they believe, but they are not saved, and their faith but increases their torments. Therefore, the assertion that faith without good works is sufficient for justification and salvation, is plainly against the doctrine of Christ and His Church, and must of necessity lead man to vice and misery, as shown by the history of the unhappy separation of the sixteenth century

Are good works available which are performed in the state of mortal sin ?

Good works performed while in a state of mortal sin avail nothing in regard to eternal life, writes St. Lawrence Justinian, but aid in moderating the punishment imposed for disobedience and the transgression of God's commandments. They bring temporal goods, such as honor, long life, health, earthly happiness, etc.; they prevent us from falling deeper into sin, and prepare the heart for the reception of grace; so the pious person writes: "Do as much good as you can, even though in the state of mortal sin, that God may give light to your heart."

ASPIRATION O God of love, pour the spirit of true charity into my heart that, according to the spirit of St. Paul, I may endeavor to be always in a state of grace; that all my works may be pleasing to Thee, and meritorious for me.

GOSPEL (Luke XVIII. 31-43.) At that time, Jesus took unto him the twelve, and said to them Behold, we go up to Jerusalem, and all things shall be accomplished which were written by the prophets concerning the Son of Man. For he shall be delivered to the Gentiles, and shall be mocked, and scourged, and spit upon; and after they have scourged him, they will put him to death; and the third day he shall rise again. And they understood none of these things, and this word was hid from them, and they understood not the things that were said. Now it came to pass, when he drew nigh to Jericho, that a certain blind man sat by the way-side, begging. And when he heard the multitude passing by, he asked what this meant. And they told him that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by. And he cried out, saying: Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. And they that went before rebuked him, that he should hold his peace. But he cried out much more: Son of David, have mercy on me. And Jesus standing, commanded him to be brought unto him. And when he was come near, he asked him, saying: What wilt thou that I do to thee? But he said: Lord, that I may see. And Jesus said to him: Receive thy sight; thy faith hath made thee whole. And immediately he saw, and followed him, glorifying God: and all the people, when they saw it, gave praise to God.

Why did Christ so often foretell His passion to His disciples?

Because He wanted to show how great was His desire to suffer for us, for we speak often of that which we crave; and because He wished His disciples when they should see Him treated as a criminal and martyred, not to think evil of Him, or imagine themselves deceived, but remember that He had foretold all minutely that all happened of His own will.

Did not the disciples understand anything of what He predicted in regard to His future sufferings?

They may, certainly, have well understood He was to suffer, for which reason Peter tried to dissuade Him from it; (Matt. XVI. 22.) but they did not comprehend why or for what He would suffer, or how He would rise again. All this the Holy Ghost gave them to understand, after it had come to pass. (John XIV. 26.) The light of the Holy Ghost is of so much value, that without it even the clearest doctrines of faith are not understood.

Why does Christ so often call Himself the Son of Man?

He wished to show, in the Jewish way of speaking, He was also man, a descendant of Adam, and that we should be humble, and not seek or desire high titles.

Why did the blind man call Christ the Son of David?

Because, like all the Jews, he believed that the Messiah, according to humanity, would be of the house of David, as was promised. (Ps. CXXXI. 11.)

Why did Christ ask the blind man: What wilt thou that I do to thee?

This He asked, not because He was unaware of the blind man's wish, but to enable him the better to prove his faith and hope that through Christ he would receive his sight; and to teach us how willing He is to help us, and how it pleases Him if we confidingly place our wants before Him. We should learn from this blind man, who would not be restrained by the passing crowd in his ardent and reiterated request, not to pay attention, in the work we have commenced, to human respect, or human judgment, but to persevere, and not allow ourselves to be led astray by the world's mockery or contempt. We should also learn to be grateful to God, and faithfully cling to Him, if He has once opened the eyes of our mind, and healed our spiritual blindness, which is far more deplorable than physical blindness, for nothing can be more miserable than not to see and understand God, not to know what is necessary for our salvation, and what is pernicious.

Why is this gospel read on this Sunday?

The Church wishes to remind us of the painful passion and death of Jesus, and to move us by the contemplation of those mysteries to avoid and despise the wicked, heathenish amusements of carnival, sinful pleasures which she has always condemned, because they come from dark paganism, and, to avert the people from them, commands that during the three days of carnival the Blessed Sacrament shall be exposed for public adoration, sermons given, and the faithful exhorted to have recourse at this time to the Sacraments of Penance and the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, with the reception of which Pope Clement XIII. (Breve, 23. June 1765) connected a plenary indulgence. A true Catholic will conform to the desire of his holy Church, considering the words which St. Augustine spoke, at this time, to the faithful, "The heathens (as also the wordly people of our days) shout songs of love and merriment, but you should delight in the preaching of the word of God; they rush to the dramatic plays, but you should hasten to Church; they are intoxicated, but you should fast and be sober."

PRAYER O most benign Jesus! who didst so desire to suffer for us, grant, that we may willingly suffer for love of Thee; that we may hate and flee from the detestable pleasures of the world and the flesh, and practice penance and mortification, that by so doing we may merit to be released from our spiritual blindness to love Thee more and more ardently, and finally possess Thee forever.

INSTRUCTION ON LENT Who instituted Lent?

According to the fathers of the Church, Justin and Irenaeus, the fast before Easter was instituted and sanctified by Christ Himself; according to the saints Leo and Jerome, the holy apostles ordained it given by Jesus.

Why has the Church instituted this fast forty days before Easter?

To imitate Christ who fasted forty days; to participate in His merits and sufferings; to subject our flesh by voluntary mortification to the spirit, and to mortify our evil desires as did St. Paul; (Col. I. 24.) to enable us to lead a pure life, and thus prepare for the holy festival of Easter, and the reception of the divine Lamb, Jesus: and, finally, to render God satisfaction for our sins, and do penance, as Pope Gregory says, for the sins of one whole year by one short fast, lasting only the tenth part of a year.

Was the fast of Lent observed in early times as in the present?

Yes, but more strictly; for the people of the early ages not only abstained from meat, but also from all that which is connected with it, such as eggs, butter, cheese, etc., even from wine and fish, although this was not the general command of the Church; they fasted all day, and only ate in the evening after vespers, in remembrance of which, vespers are now said before dinner-time, because the Church, as a kind mother, now permits the supper to be changed into a dinner, and also allows something to be taken in the evening, that the body may not be too much weakened, and become unfit for labor.

How much does this ancient custom put to shame the Christians of to-day who think the fast in our times too severe! "But," asks St. Ambrose, "what sort of Christians are they? Christ, who never sinned fasted for our sins, and we will not fast for our own great and numerous offences?"

How should the holy season of Lent be spent?

As according to the teaching of St. Leo, the main thing in fasting is not that the body be deprived of food, but that the mind at the same time be withdrawn from wickedness, we should endeavor during Lent, not only to be temperate in eating and drinking, but especially to lead a modest life, sanctifying the days by persevering prayer and devoutly attending church.

PRAYER AT THE BEGINNING OF LENT

Almighty God! I unite myself at the beginning of this holy season of penance with the Church militant, endeavoring to make these days of real sorrow for my sins and crucifixion of the sensual man. O Lord Jesus! in union with Thy fasting and passion, I offer Thee my fasting in obedience to the Church, for Thy honor, and in thanksgiving for the many favors I have received, in satisfaction for my sins and the sins of others, and that I may receive the grace to avoid such and such a sin, N. N. and to practice such and such a virtue, N. N.

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