#please heed the preamble

[chorus-the-mutate]

This is an edited repost of the Erzsebet Bathory character analysis I wrote yesterday that I refuse to let go to waste. I tried doing the right thing and tagging all of the necessary trigger warnings only for this post to be completely hidden from the Castlevania Nocturne and Erzsebet Bathory tags. Since I can't afford to tag the proper trigger warnings without being punished please do not read this post if discussions of rape or sexual assault triggers or upsets you in any way. I don't take these topics lightly and they are vital to this analysis of Erzsebet Bathory.

This post also contains major spoilers for this first season of Castlevania Nocturne.

This may seem presumptive of me to say but this thought has been stuck in my head for several hours: Erzsebet Bathory is the most rapist adjacent villainess I've ever seen without her actually being a rapist.

The first and smallest point against her is how often she mentions virgins. I know that Erzsebet's initial mention of virgin sacrifices is supposed to tie into the origin of her alter ego and consumption of Sekhmet but it's super fucking weird that it played into why she wanted to sacrifice Maria.

Next point against her is the lawyer's daughter. I'm not sure if this lady was a virgin but when she's first brought to Erzsebet she's already terrified and too dazed to fight back. It's obvious that she doesn't want to be there and that even if she did that she can't really express that desire. But Erzsebet still takes this lady out of a literal gilded cage, sits down and sits this lady on her dress to admire her despair before drinking her blood. The next time we see the lady she's still dazed. The only differences are that she's dolled up and seems more suggestible. Even with hundreds of people in this ballroom scene the lady is literally ignored by everyone except for Erzsebet who dances with her and parades her around for her own amusement. Everyone else knows that Erzsebet likes to make her victims suffer and they still refuse to acknowledge the lady because Erzsebet has made it clear that she's her possession. Hell the only person who is unhappy enough with Erzsebet to go rogue at this point is Olrox and he STILL IGNORES THIS LADY. When the lady is dragged outside to be fed on again without anyone batting an eye it reminds me of a rapist roofying their target and proceeding to do everything in their power to seem interested in their victim's well-being in order to take them to a second location. And no one speaks up since Erzsebet is the Harvey Weinstein, Prince Andrew or Thomas Jefferson of the vampire world; the embodiment of people in power getting away with abuse until the damage has already been done.

The last and biggest point against Erzsebet is the entire scene where she turns Tera into a vampire. For me personally that is just an allegorical rape scene and it's executed very well. Erzsebet makes her entrance at the abbey as a lioness of a woman, a literal predator who wants to take Maria as a sacrifice and turn her into a vampire to ensure Emmanuel the Abbot's loyalty. Tera protests and offers herself to Erzsebet instead. This is such blatant coercion that Tera refers to herself as the ram Abraham sacrificed to God instead of Isaac. And the only question or concern Erzsebet has at this point is if her sacrifice should be a virgin. The only reasons she accepts the sacrifice are Emmanuel's genuine love for Tera and the fact that Tera is a powerful sorceress. Once Erzsebet settles for Tera and physically lifts her to her level no one can stop her. Maria gets knocked out for trying and Richter gets bodied immediately after. Their only option is to get the hell out of there once Annette makes an opening and Richter rightfully runs for his life. Even Maria, the only person that could look back and see Tera turn, is knocked out and that feels like an intentional writing choice to give Tera one last shred of dignity. Erzsebet holds Tera really close in this sort of hug as she feeds on her and once she's fed she literally sits Tera on her lap for her turn to feed. Then Erzsebet cuts herself and the blood starts dripping down on Tera, starting at her skirt, going to her blouse and reaching her face. At first Tera doesn't react but then her body responds to the blood and she feeds even though she doesn't want to. Even though no one wants this for her. And that is exactly what it's like when someone has an unwanted orgasm. Tera's body is protecting itself the same way a victim of assault would and that paired with the blood on her skirt being reminiscent of the blood on a woman's thigh in the aftermath of an assault hammers home the rape allegory. It's very sad and uncomfortable to think of Tera's turn to vampirism this way but the thought lingers hours after like a grimy film on my brain.

I 100,000% believe that Erzsebet would have been an actual rapist if Netflix Castlevania didn't romanticize Lenore raping Hector and ending their relationship on friendly terms. Not to mention Sumi and Taka's sudden shift from allies to sexually assaulting Alucard out of spite. Castlevania Nocturne seems to shy away from rape and sexual assault in favor of allegories or moments so brief that I missed them unlike its predecessor. So I'm blaming the gratuitous depictions of sexual assault in Castlevania on Warren Ellis, the creator of Netflix Castlevania, who doesn't work on this show for a very good reason.

Everything from her size as Sekhmet to her tendency to torture women and girls before killing them contributes to the allegory of Erzsebet being the vampire equivalent of a rapist. She exudes power and not only does she enjoy making others feel helpless she's also great at it. She is a sadist without honor, willing to parade her lady victim of choice around vampire high society or hang a young girl on hooks to drain dry rather than let any of them die a quick death. The dragged out, needless suffering Erzsebet inflicts along with her preference for women and virgins frames her feeding as something more sexual in nature than the other vampire nobles who simply indulge in their gluttony. Even Olrox feeding on his former boyfriend isn't framed sexually, it's framed as a desperate, romantic gesture to keep his lover alive. And every vampire I remember from Castlevania has their feeding framed as a tool for political power or sheer, simple gluttony. Even the vampire general Cho was shown to be more of a tyrant or a general sadist clinging to power in Japan than a deviant.

Erzsebet's sheer sadism actually contrasts quite well with Dracula's humanity and restraint. He understood humanity, only feeding to survive or strike down the merchants who slighted him. (He probably also used feeding as a tool for political power but I don't think we saw that directly.) Dracula ultimately came to understand humanity so well that he fell for Lisa Tepes, the exemplar of what it means to be human. And that love is why I believe he respected Lisa's wishes and let her keep that humanity instead of turning her into a vampire. And after Lisa's death Dracula stopped feeding entirely, hoping to extinguish his life and take out as many people as he could because he believed that humanity should've been better. He believed that the people who lived alongside Lisa would've stood up for her and they betrayed her out of a mix of fear, religious reverence and apathy. Meanwhile Erzsebet doesn't care about humanity, seeing people like the lawyer's daughter as possessions or people like Tera and Emmanuel the Abbot as pawns to further her own rule. She might be taken aback by Drolta's death once she learns of it but there's an equal chance that she wouldn't even bat an eye.

So what do these points of analysis mean for Erzsebet and Tera's future dynamic as master and pawn? The one thing that's certain is that Tera has been fundamentally changed, forced into an unprecedented nightmare scenario that will drag her down a dark path. But I'm an optimist and I believe that Tera will ultimately be redeemed. She may never be human again but her humanity, her love for her son and daughter will save her soul. Ultimately I hope that Tera lives and recovers from the trauma of Erzsebet turning her. I hope that she goes home to her children and is taken in with open arms. But if Tera dies she will die as Tera, not as a pawn, and that is because Erzsebet could never kill her humanity.

[swradiogram]

Shortwave Radiogram, 8-13 June 2023: Digital modes that pay no heed to the brightest cosmic explosion

I hope the fires, smoke and haze that affected much of North America in the past week have not had major adverse effects on you. I don't think they will impede our MFSK transmissions. Thanks to all of you who participated in last weekend's comparison of MFSK16, MFSK32 and MFSK64. My apologies for not tweeting my results during part of the weekend. On Sunday morning we discovered that our house had no internet access and no landline telephone, both provided by Verizon Fios. Attempts to fix it by way of self-troubleshooting and via the Verizon chat failed, so a Verizon technician visited on Monday. After checking all the systems, he determined it was a bad splitter in the Fios hub located a few blocks away. As part of the repair, he also replaced the Optical Network Terminal (ONT) on the side of our house, and the power supply for it, located in our storeroom. The new power supply no longer has a battery backup, so if we have a power failure, everything goes down. Anyway, during the internet interruption, I was able to tune in (via direct reception) and decode Shortwave Radiogram broadcasts (thus demonstrating the concept). But I could not tune in via remote SDRs, nor could I provide or receive updates via Twitter and email. The results of the experiments, based on your interesting reports, reminded me (because I had forgotten) why we don't usually include MFSK16 in our programs. MFSK16 is a robust mode in difficult reception conditions, but MFSK32 text succeeded almost every time MFSK16 succeeded. So we might as well transmit MFSK32. As for the images, I noticed a rather high failure rate among the preambles (triggers) of the MFSK64 images. This is probably because of the speed of their transmission. So I am considering using MFSK32 for the images, at least on a trial basis. The resolution of the MFSK32 images is fairly close to that of the MFSK64 images. (Images this weekend will be MFSK64.) A video of last weekend's Shortwave Radiogram (program 307) is provided by Scott in Ontario. The audio archive is maintained by Mark in the UK. Analysis is provided by Roger in Germany. Here is the lineup for Shortwave Radiogram, program 308, 8-13 June 2023, in MFSK modes as noted:   1:46  MFSK32: Program preview   2:58  MFSK32: SpaceX's Starlink Wins Contract for Ukraine   5:52  MFSK64: Why was brightest cosmic explosion exceptional?* 10:44  MFSK64: This week's images* 28:37  MFSK32: Closing announcements Please send reception reports to radiogram@verizon.net And visit http://swradiogram.net Twitter: @SWRadiogram or https://twitter.com/swradiogram (visit during the weekend to see listeners’ results) Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/567099476753304 Shortwave Radiogram Gateway Wiki: https://wiki.radioreference.com/index.php/Shortwave_Radiogram_Gateway

Other Shortwave broadcast programs that include digital text and images include The Mighty KBC, Pop Shop Radio, and This Is A Music Show (TIAMS). The schedules for these fine broadcasts are posted here.

WØMM in Houston received these images Saturday, 3 June 2023, 2300-2330 UTC, on 7570 kHz from WRMI Florida ... 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 152

I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it...

Okay, maybe I am. I managed to queue up the chapters I had in the barrel! Yay!! Which also means that I have a super duper exciting chapter coming up, which I can’t wait to write and can’t wait for y’all to read. I just need it to be perfect.

That said, thank you to @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for your help with this particular chapter.  I love when we are all three in one of these sessions and just descending into chaos in the chat. Also, @mamayoda (who I can’t tag but I do want you to know I see your likes in my notes!) for love-bombing my notes recently.

“Is it just me or is everyone really jumpy?” Charly asked as I set my food down across from her.  It was our thrice-weekly lunch dates in one of the public mess halls, and she definitely had a point.  I had already noticed three people scowl distrustfully at the food consoles, hugging closely to the prepared food side of the room instead.

I sighed. “It has to have been Derek’s stress test.  It wasn’t supposed to impact systems we didn’t design, but…”

She snorted loudly. “Tell that to the week I spent taking cold showers again.  At least this time, the doors didn’t play any music when I walked through them.”

“Did your doors at least open consistently? I was stuck in my quarters for a whole day until we figured out that I could walk through if I had an escort.”  I laughed and shook my head before digging in to my food. “And, come to find out, we actually do manage the water systems, thanks to BioLab 2.”

Contrary to myself, Charly was entirely unperturbed at this revelation beyond sniffing her hoodie and shrugging. “My doors worked fine as far as I know, but Coffey and I tend to work the same hours, so… Maybe that was it.  Oo!” Her cheer of enthusiasm caught me off guard as she started bouncing in her seat. “OOOOO! I bet he activated the routine Xiomara had running when you and Jokul weren’t friends yet!”

“There was a routine!?” I asked, exasperated. “I behaved, thank you. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Meh. Just in case. What do you think her deal is?” She tilted her head to the side, at a table near us.

Sure enough, the woman at that table was darting glances around the room, her shoulders hunched, elbows close to her body, eyes wide.  I could practically feel her shaking from where I was. “I can’t tell if she looks suspicious or afraid,” I murmured, hoping the woman couldn’t hear me. “But the fact that I’ve met mice and chihuahuas who shook less, I’m going to go with afraid.”

As I watched the woman, weighing whether or not a stranger trying to comfort her would make it better or worse, Mona’s familiar face approached her instead.  She was speaking softly enough that I couldn’t make out words, but the woman clearly recognized her and only jumped slightly.

I was so focused on the sight of Mona comforting the woman that I nearly hit the ceiling when Parvati’s voice came from entirely too close to my right shoulder. “Rebecca.  She lost her family twice, first her parents, some cousins, and an uncle when the hack happened, and then her partner and children in the After.  It’s understandable that she’s terrified right now, after the stress test. Too many bad memories.”

My face flushed in humiliation. “Pranav and Zach sent a ship-wide alert that the stress test was happening - “

A perfectly manicured hand clapped over my mouth, one dark eyebrow arched in eloquent disbelief. “Sophia. You of all people know that mental scars do not heed logic.”

Charly’s hair flew around her face as she nodded enthusiastically. “After day three of cold showers, I flinched every time I went through a door in case that stupid song started playing again, no matter how many times I reminded myself that it was a stress test and I had decidedly not given Derek boba tea again.”

Both my hands flew up in surrender. “I stand corrected, I just feel awful to see people react like that.” Gazing around the room, I was suddenly much more aware of all the darting eyes, protective postures, seats turned so that backs were against walls.

Charly had obviously seen the same thing. “We may need to talk to Pranav about limiting the tests to one or two systems at a time.”

“I wish we could,” I admitted, stabbing a potato out of my pie slightly harder than necessary. “His department was passing the tests with flying colors when Derek was limited to one or two systems at a time.  But they failed this last test miserably, it turns out.  As soon as they would react to one thing, Derek would switch to another system, and they couldn’t be everywhere at once as well as they convinced themselves that they could.  And they can’t just be good at small scale attacks: the revolt that happened before the End brought everything down at once, from multiple access points. It was… kind of elegant, in a terrible way.  Very clean.”

Charly squinted at me and Parvati in suspicion. “Are you supposed to know that they crashed and burned in the test.”

I rocked my hand back and forth while I chewed on a mouthful of crust.  It had way too much butter in it, but at least it was actually crust this time. A week ago it had been something pretty close to paper mache. “Technically we don’t officially know that.  Officially, all we know is that Pranav has requisitioned enough additional staff to increase his team of programmers by seventy percent.”

“Asses handed to them, got it,” Charly nodded in understanding.

“We also officially know that Pranav currently owes Hannah quite the enormous favor,” Parvati confided.

“How big?” Charly ventured slowly.

“Big enough that his grandchildren may be indebted to hers,” came the laughing response.

Charly shook her head and clucked her tongue. “He should know better than to bet against Derek.  He breaks the systems for fun, and they asked him to really go for it. What did they expect?”

“Apparently to put up a better fight at least.” I forced a smile, but guilt weighed on my heart as I studied the room again, fully seeing the microexpressions of anxiety, fear, and anger.  It felt like the entire Ark was constantly swinging between hope and fear. The random drills weren’t really helping, either.

“They aren’t,” Parvati agreed, letting me know that I had been thinking out loud. “Everyone is sleep deprived, on high alert, and then all of a sudden all the computer systems went on the fritz for a week.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, pushing what was left of my pot pie away from me, appetite gone. “We need to talk to Grey and Antoine about getting counselling for everyone, seeing as how Xiomara and Pranav pretty much just triggered the entire ship. I mean, everyone knows counselling is available, but I think allocating training and resources to the therapy teams is going to take priority over Pranav’s request for the moment.”

Charly tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do we have the space for some quiet rooms, like you set up for the Food Festival a few years back? That may be a good idea.”

Snapping into work-mode, Parvati flicked her datapad open, bangles clattering as she started making notes. “The quarters left by those who relocated closer to the Archives are still uninhabited, those can be used.  We may be able to convince some people to relocate so we can spread the rooms out more evenly, but even if we can’t, just having those rooms available will help.”

“Make a note to add in the proposal for Grey: possibility of having specific vendors permitted to serve food in BioLab 2.  Encourage mental health days and picnics.”

Parvati nodded in acknowledgement of my request, before adding her own spin. “As a contingency plan, find vendors who will pre-package picnics.  Between the current distrust of the consoles and the fact it will remind everyone of the annual Festival, the good emotions will help.”

“I like it,” I confirmed. “What else?”

“Paintball tag day in the corridors,” Charly announced, without preamble or warning. “Make it a holiday, everyone is off work, limit it to one end of the Ark.”

I shook my head. “Guns, not the best idea.”

“Ew, no. No pew-pew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was thinking more paint-soaked splash bombs.”

Finger guns deployed, dual wielding. “I am so here for a paintball tag day in that case.  The flavored paint?”

“Not the scotch bonnet please,” Parvati begged. “I just know someone will get that in the face, I don’t care how much Else likes it.”

“Got it, no more pepper spraying people,” Charly agreed seriously. “OOO! I could test the new arrows out!  With something like buttered popcorn paint, obviously. Maybe kiwi on the other team.”

“Just limit the pull on the bows, okay? I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Fiiiiine…”

Parvati smiled and added to her notes. “So, we probably want someone to correlate the current date to whatever the date would be on Earth… Just in case we need to get a consultant for Holi.”

“Good point. Conor is alarmingly good at that, so I can ask him.  It would be a nice cultural event if we could do that. If not, we can totally work on celebrating Holi when it comes around.”

“Final suggestion for right now, because I have to get back to work,” I sighed happily. “This is going to be the biggest ask, and the smallest at the same time…” Both nodded at me to continue. “Care packages, for everyone. And I mean everyone on the Ark.”

“Sophia,” Parvati scolded me. “That’s almost ten thousand people and sixteen animal companions.”

“Well aware,” I forged on, “We’ll talk to Sam about the bows, I can wrap them. Commission some of those really nice chocolates, or maybe some taffy from Simon. And something salty.  I know there is someone on the Ark who makes aromatherapy candles, Tyche is bananas about them.”

Shaking her head, she added it to the list. “If you insist on that, I insist on a celebration for the drop out of FTL.  Hannah and I can use some of the plans from the Food Festival, include Charly’s paint tag - “

“And Kink Night!”

“- and Kink Night, apparently… have several events going on across the Ark, since we already discussed declaring a holiday.”

“Get Bash’s permission to use the Undine again, and I won’t object,” I surrendered before standing. “On that note, I really do have to get back to work.  Come on, Vati, we have work to do apparently.”

<< Prev  Masterlist  Next >>

[generalfoolish]

Mayhem Times Infinity

Part Two: Multiverse Mayhem

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader (enemies reluctant co-workers to lovers)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: cw mentions of death, gore, trauma; the snap, violence, comic mischief, language

Word Count: 4k

Summary: The duo finds out what odds they're up against, but Loki has other plans.

A/N: Hey babes! I couldn't help but put in the work ASAP on this one. Gotta chase that hyper-fixation high. I'm ready to move into the "will they" part of this story! Sorry, for that slow burn, guys. Also, this doesn't necessarily join up at all with the series, but I threw a little nod in there, a little Professor Loki at the end. Enjoy 💕

Masterlist | Part One | Part Three

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged :)

“So, to summarize,” Loki drawled. “This is Earth-616, and it’s in danger.” Doctor Strange groaned, but nodded. Four hours. You had been listening to Doctor Strange for four hours. He had detailed the Multiverses, interdimensional travel, sling rings, all-powerful creatures more heinous than Thanos, and the ultimate demise of Earth-616--your Earth, your universe--and all Loki could do was joke.

You were reeling. Sure, you had considered the idea of other dimensions. You gulped as you tried to wrap your head around the gravity of the situation. There was a Multiverse jumper, Strange had given you all the information he could about the existence of multiverses and the area the villain was from, but couldn’t be more specific.

“Sure, in short. Now, listen, we don’t know who exactly is doing this. It would seem they’re working for Kang or Gah Lak Tus, but we aren’t certain of anything. We’re sending you for reconnaissance. Find out anything you can.”

“Yes, but why us? Why not the Guardians with Thor?” You asked. The tea in your hands too cold to enjoy, but you took a small sip anyway. You pulled a small face, and lowered the small cup again.

“They’re busy.” Strange told you without preamble.

“Well, so are we. He was just resurrected, and I’m technically homeless right now.” You argued, lifting the cup again, and taking another sip. The now pleasantly warm liquid tasted much better than it had even when you poured it. You raised an eyebrow at Loki, wondering if it was his magic, but he was looking at Strange, a small smirk on his lips.

“Then it should be less of a discussion. You’ll need to travel light, and neither of you are otherwise entangled. Now, do you recall our conversation of sling rings?” You nodded, and yelped when a thick bar ring appeared on your hand.

“I just focus?”

“Yes, visualize, focus and see the destination. Look beyond what you see. You know how to do that. This is the only way you’ll be able to travel through the multiverse, and I only have the one. You’ll have to travel together.”

“Okay. What about the Negative Zone?” You asked, your hand weighed down by the new accessory. The physical weight was negligible, but the mental weight left you straining.

“Start there. Remember Earth-616 is yours. Though it is unlikely anyone will refer to them as their numerical filing. What’s your job?” Strange asked, and you huffed, annoyed.

“Gather intel. We can handle it.” You snapped, and he lifted his hand.

Suddenly, a golden ring appeared before you, and on the other side an empty field.

“Go on, then.” Strange challenged, and you shot him a look, but walked through the portal.

You felt the portal close behind you, the energy rippling shut.

“That was strange.” Loki murmured, smoothing his leather jacket down. Without thinking, without pause, you replied.

“Doctor Strange.”

“That is not a good joke, darling.” Your eyebrows shot up.

“First, it definitely is. Second, ‘darling,’?” You asked.

“I told you, I refuse to call you ‘Stone,’ and you haven’t supplied anything else.” Loki argued, and began walking through the field. The grass, untouched, reached far up his long legs engulfing his waist, and you tried to pull your attention away from how he looked surrounded by the golden strands.

Celestial. God-like, you thought as you failed.

“Well, perhaps we should focus on the mission instead.” You cleared your throat as you walked to him. You tried to ignore how you had to incline your head to see him, failing again as you took in the height difference.

“Yes. I was thinking, we should perhaps change our clothes to fit in.” Loki mused, and you nodded.

“Good idea. Where are we?” You asked. It looked...vaguely Earth-like.

“How should I know? Aren’t you the one blessed with infinite knowledge?” He grumbled. You rubbed your palm down your face, and tried to perceive your location.

“I got nothing, Mayhem.” You mused, and began walking again.

“Casual linens, then?” Loki inquired, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You shrugged, and before you had relaxed your shoulders back down, you were draped in a dark green gown. You rolled your eyes at Loki’s shit-eating grin.

“Subtle.” You told him, gesturing down. He held his hands out in a shrug, and you laughed. He had matched his own ‘casual’ clothes in the same deep shade of green. You expected another jab, but instead he started walking away from you, and didn't break pace to see if you were coming. You jogged to catch him.

"Where are you going?" You asked, slightly out of breath. You were only just realizing how much taller he was than you. His long legs had carried him swiftly away from you in no time.

"Anywhere I please." He told you, barely looking down, but you could see his lips lifted in a smirk all the same.

"What do you mean?" You asked, looking around, wondering what destination he meant.

"Norns, woman, are you daft? I'm leaving. I'm free, finally. A better question for you would be: where are you going? Hmm? All that time on Midgard, now you're in space, darling. Where are you going to go?" He had broken stride to sneer down at you. You tried to hide your obvious shock at the sudden turn of emotion.

"To find the threat against our Galaxy. Why wouldn't you want to do the same?" You asked, malice lacing your tone. Here he was, wearing his true colors finally. The treacherous Loki, the one you'd been told about, the one you should've heeded the warnings about.

His nose crinkled in disgust, and you felt the vision coming before it hit. You'd seen this one a few times already, but nothing prepared you for it. You gasped for air as you felt Loki's throat being constricted, and winced when you felt the crunch of his neck.

His smug look told you he'd made that happen.

"I have a few reasons." He told you, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"We were chosen for a reason, Loki." You tried, grasping for any shred of logic that might convince him to stay. Treacherous or not, he had much more experience in space than you.

"Yes, we were. Isn't it obvious to you, yet? We were sent here to die." He held his arms out and gestured around at the field.

"What do you mean? It's just recon." You replied, noting his wingspan, the subtle way his lithe muscles pulled taut the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh yes, truly the omnipotent Dr. Strange would send a known liar and the newest avenger to stop a doom to the universe." He rolled his eyes and began walking away from you. You watched his hands trail lightly over the blades of grass, and knew he was right. You hated him for it, but he was. You had been pushing those feelings down since you had first found yourself in space looking at Loki. If this truly had the gravity Dr. Strange said it had, why wasn't he here? Or anyone of the other space faring avengers, or the guardians? Why were you sent here with Loki of all people?

You followed behind him, the grass reaching much higher on you, and contemplated your choices. You had the sling rings, so the options were endless. Yet, you kept coming back to the same one: do the job. Every fiber of your being told you Loki was right, but a small voice in the back of your mind told you he could be wrong. And it was enough.

You glanced up at your companion, his black hair curling at the edges of his collar, his back straight and proud, his shoulders broad and capable. He could handle himself in a fight, this much you knew. He'd be an asset. How would you convince him to stay? Trick him? Trick the God of Mischief? Surely you weren't dumb enough to try.

You threw your head back and looked at the sky. You knew you were. You knew you had to. You needed his help, but more than that, you actually wanted it. He was charming, after all.

"So, where exactly are you going, then?" You asked, breaking the steady silence. You watched his stride falter for a second as he turned to look at you.

"To the town." He told you, confidently.

"So, you do know where we are?"

"No."

"Then how would you know?" You challenged him.

"There'll be a town, eventually." He told you, clearly agitated at your questions.

"Sorry, just working out a few things." You told him, keeping your gaze averted. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You kept your face passive as the wave of wariness washed over you. You had thrown your plan together in about three seconds, but already it was going perfectly.

Step one: make Loki suspicious. It was easy to do. He had no real reason to trust you. Plus, he had to be expecting it anyway.

It led to the rest of your plan. He’d “uncover” your deceit, and you’d go along acting caught in a lie. Then, you’d gain his trust for real. Finally, you trick him into actually helping you do some reconnaissance for Strange.

Easy peasy.

Now, just to find this town.

I’ll be damned.” You muttered when you first saw it.  A light cascading in the sky, not the stars that littered it currently, but a new one. A man made, or alien made, one.

“Aha!” Loki called, looking at you expectantly.

“You did it!” You laughed, peering through the trees that stood between you and the source. Failing that, you reached out with your mind. No one was lingering about, so you focused on Loki. It was a mixture of joy and trepidation. It was all bitter endings.

He was planning a betrayal of his own, of course. What you couldn’t piece together is why he was feeling hesitant to do it. Clearly, he had worked out a way to get off-world.

“Perhaps we should make camp here.” He suggested, turning his steady gaze to you. You looked around, considering it. More open than the forest, but that could be helpful in a fight. Unlikely anyone would be able to sneak up on either of you. Especially if you took turns sleeping. But, didn’t you just feel his looming betrayal? Should you risk it so soon? You needed sleep. Would he leave you alone, asleep, in a field on an alien planet? Surely not. But could you trust it? Did you trust him?

“Okay, Mayhem. I’ll grab some firewood.” You told him, starting to head to the edge of the woods. He chuckled, and you heard the whoosh of a flame. You turned and your mouth fell open. He had conjured an entire campsite. The fire was contained within a stone structure, there was a clearing to sit, he’d even managed a few blankets.

"Surely this will suffice." He teased, a grin ghosting on his lips. You nodded, lamely, and grabbed a blanket.

"Can you be troubled with dinner?" You joked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

"What do you want?" He asked, settling down onto the ground, long legs stretched before him.

"Oh I don't know, what's your favorite thing?" You mused, snuggling under the thick material. It was softer than cotton or wool, warm but not hot, heavy enough to provide weight without being unbearable. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling against your skin, and nearly dozed. He startled you when he began speaking.

"The perfect night-meal is a sampling of delicacies. But the most exquisite taste is fresh champagne from the springs on Alfheim. Poured lazily by the Pleasure Elves, of course." You laughed.

"Pleasure Elves and champagne springs, what the hell are we still doing here?" He chuckled and adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, before looking at you seriously.

"I will show you Alfheim, if you wish." You resisted shuddering under his intense gaze. You could barely meet his eyes, a deep, dark green that rivaled the evening forest.

"I'd like that, someday. For now, dinner. Can you do...pizza?" You asked, smiling broadly. He frowned, clearly disgusted.

"I could, but I would not. Is that truly what you crave? Greasy, unimaginative mortal food?" You shrugged. "Very well." With a flick of his wrist, he brought forth two wrapped sandwiches. Curious, you pulled the wrapper off and smiled happily.

"A cheeseburger! How is that better than pizza?" You asked, laughing and taking a bite. You watched him peel the wrapper with grace, only touching the burger with his fingertips.

"I'm not sure. Thor described them much better than they appear." He seemed vaguely disgusted.

"We could have had alien food." You told him, laughing at his discomfort. He rolled his eyes at you.

"Technically, darling, you're the alien here." His matter-of-fact tone wrecked your mood. The way he said "darling" was more like an insult. How could he conjure burgers and then ruin the moment so seamlessly.

You didn't respond, just silently tucked into your sandwich. You still needed to work out how you were going to break his trust anyway. It couldn't be too clever, you thought. Just clever enough that it seemed like it would work, but not clever enough that he would suspect another attempt.

You were so lost in thought that you didn't see the way he studied you, mapping your face, reveling in how the starlight splayed shadows on you. He had put you in green as a joke, but lounging fireside under the thick blanket, you looked at home in the deep shade of mid-summer forest green.

You finished the burger and tossed the wrapper remains into the fire. You turned to find Loki already looking at you, he lifted a corner of his mouth but remained silent.

"I'll take first watch." You told him, hiding a yawn behind your hand. He waved you off with a flick of his wrist.

"Sleep. I'll watch over you." He watched you as he spoke, and you felt his dark eyes on you as you snuggled your way into the blanket nest. The fatigue from the battle with Thanos, and the rush of adrenaline from finding Loki and talking with Dr. Strange, and the long walk through the field came crashing into you all at once. Your eyes closed of their own Accord, and your limbs followed soon after tingling with sleep.

"G'night, Mayhem." You mumbled, your mouth and brain mostly asleep. You were drifting off, even as you said it, but you heard his response.

"Good night, darling." You smiled as you fell further asleep, his tone softer than it had been.

As sleep began to take you under, quieter than before, you heard Loki mumble to himself.

"Damn. She's adorable." When you awoke, you wouldn't remember, as it were, you barely heard it at all. Proof, you thought dreamily. It was proof, that Loki wasn't all bad.

~~

You blinked hard against the morning light and groaned as you rolled over. You remembered where you were quickly, the hard ground your first clue. The event of the previous day hit you at once, and you sat up quickly, scanning for Loki. You started to panic, he had slipped off during the night, and now you were alone on an unfamiliar world.

“Shit.” You cursed, rising to your feet.

“What?” You whirled on the voice and sighed deeply when you saw the God of Mischief staring back at you.

“I...thought you left.” You admitted, stretching your back out. His smile faltered a bit.

“I did not. I found breakfast.” He told you, tossing you something that looked like an apple. You smiled sheepishly.

“You didn’t wake me.” You said, and he merely shrugged. “You haven’t slept.” You continued, unsatisfied with his nonchalance.

“I was dead yesterday, darling. I think I can manage without one night’s rest.” You winced at his nickname for you. It dripped with venom and mistrust.

“Don’t act offended, Mayhem. Betrayal is literally your middle name.”

“What do you know of betrayal? Hmm?”

“Plenty. You may have cornered the market, but you didn’t trademark it.”

“I would not simply slink away in the dead of night. I am Loki, prince of Asgard, the rightful king of Jotunheim, and the God of Mischief, and I do not lurk in the shadows. My betrayal would be right in front of you, rest assured.” You scoffed, as you watched him pontificate.

“What do your titles get you here?” You asked and smiled in triumph when his face fell. You turned the fruit over in your hand, and looked back at him. “I’m sorry I thought you left, thanks for the fruit.” You mumbled, guilt already eating away at you. Why did his crestfallen face split you in two so quickly? You bit into the apple, and winced right away. It definitely wasn’t an apple. The texture was similar to a kiwi, but the flavor was unlike anything you’d ever had.

“It’s a local fruit, not one I’m familiar with.” He explained, his voice tight. “It isn’t dangerous.” You furrowed your brow to object, but he held his hands up. “I had one already to test it.”

“Thank you, Mayhem.” You told him, genuinely thankful. He waved the campsite away, and the two of you began your trek through the dense forest. The dark green clothes helped camouflage you as you picked your way through the vegetation, and while you knew he had done it to get a rise out of you, you were thankful to be out of the clingy spandex uniform you normally wore.

You had been training with Nat when the first power surge flowed through your fingertips, and the blast produced was golden. Nat must have alerted Tony, because within the hour you had a brand new, golden suit. You looked like an asshole, flying around in a shimmery gold suit, but no one would change it. Friday had told you to “Fuck off,” and that was the end of it. You’d become the Golden Avenger in the news, but everyone called you stone. It was a horrible joke, born out of horrible circumstances. You looked like a walking gauntlet, and you were treated that way too.

You focused harder on the ground, stepping around massive root systems, and avoiding areas where the ground had sunk into itself. Loki was right. You hated that you were thinking about it now. No one had truly accepted you as an avenger, except Nat. It was hard for them, you understood. The thing that gave you power was the same event that had destroyed them. But, it isn’t like you wanted it. You hadn’t asked Thanos to do this, you didn’t have control over the events that led to your origin. Yet, the first chance they got, they sent you away. You were the outlier, you were the uncertainty, and you were safer kept at arm's distance. Why else send you on an obvious goose chase with a wanted intergalactic villain?

You glanced at your traveling companion, and found him deep in thought as well. His brow was creased, and his mouth was set. He looked handsome, bathed in the filtered sunlight and the flecks of gold illuminated his dark features. He flicked his eyes at you, and relaxed his mouth into a small smile.

“Shouldn’t be long now.” He told you quietly, and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about. His double-cross to you? You needed to hammer your own plan together, but it could wait, you thought. You didn’t want to think too hard about it.

“Good, it’ll be nice to get a real seat,” You laughed and he smirked at you. “Is Alfheim your favorite place?” You asked, thinking about the pleasure elves, you could see the appeal. He cocked his head to the side, a ghost of a real smile playing on his lips.

“No, Asgard was my favorite place.” He murmured, and you wanted to disappear. Of course, his world was just destroyed, what a dumb question.

“Sorry Mayhem, I didn’t think…” Your apology died on your tongue, as he began chuckling.

“Don’t fret, darling. I’m not that fragile.” He teased. Your heart was firmly lodged in your throat, stuck from embarrassment, but remaining still as you realized he had softened your nickname. No longer did your skin crawl, instead, a warmth spread through your chest. His soft tone had rendered you speechless, dumbfounded, but you hoped he wouldn’t notice. What could you say? I was embarrassed at having brought up a potentially sensitive subject, and then you called me a flirty name and now my tongue is heavy. Why would it even matter? You were going to betray him, and then he would betray you. It was what your master plan was hinged on. Who cared if he was soft and pretty?

“Truly, it is not an issue.” He continued, confused, searching your face.

“Tell me about it?” You managed to squeak out, and you caught the look he gave you, the look of skepticism.

“It was a Golden City, built up in the mountains, and the rainbow bridge connected it to the bifrost. It was devastatingly beautiful. That was only the Palace, though. The forests around the city were as cruel as they were beautiful. It truly was a world fit for gods.” He looked wistful, and you pretended not to see the tears welling up. “Where is your favorite place?” He asked abruptly, and you smiled happily.

“You remember that place I took you yesterday, when I plucked you from the debris in space?” You asked, waiting for an answer. When he nodded, you continued. “It was my attempt at freedom. I had just broken up with a man who controlled me, and well, it was a little crappy, but it was mine, y’know? I had just gotten back in touch with my family who I had been cut off from, and it was so right. I was only there for a few months before Thanos’ attack.” You told him, fiddling with your sleeve, swallowing hard. “It was the first taste of happiness I had, and then it was taken from me just as suddenly as I had gotten it.” You wiped your eyes and cleared your throat.

“I know a great deal about that, darling.” He reassured you, and you were surprised to feel the pressure of his hand on your back. You gave him a tight small, and felt the smallest tendrils of affection reaching out to you. You widened your smile and turned to the forest before you.

“What’s your favorite power, then?” You asked, falling in step beside him. He laughed.

“Power?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, your powers?” You wiggled your fingers, knowing he’d never done anything like that.

“It’s magic, darling.” He rolled his eyes at you, but you could tell it was playful.

“Whatever, your magic. What’s your favorite spell?” He chuckled at you.

“Duplication-casting, then.” You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that? Conjuring?”

“They’re two completely different powers.” He explained with a long, suffering sigh.

“So, they are “powers” now?” You asked, laughing.

“Norns, you are so aggravating.” He huffed.

“Well, why duplication-casting? Why not the poison one?” You asked. He raised an eyebrow.

“What poison one?” He asked, looking confused.

“You can have poison without it hurting you.” You told him plainly.

“No, I cannot.” He was genuinely confused at this point, and you held your hands up.

“But you tested the fruit for me.” You told him, confused. He blinked slowly at you, and your face fell in realization. He had been protecting you. And immediately you treated him like a monster.

“Mayhem, I’m…” He fixed his lips into a small line. You were trying to form an apology, clearly you were the one deserving the monster treatment. You had actively plotted against him since you had landed, and he had done nothing but try to make you comfortable. He raised a finger to his lips, his face hard. You heard it then, the crunching of leaves and splintering of sticks underfoot. You were no longer alone with the God of Mischief.

[sun-summoning]

as sarada cries, sakura cries as well. there’s no empathy in her tears, no compassion in the ragged whimpers that escape her clenched teeth. sarada’s face grows redder and redder as she makes her misery known, and sakura locks her arms to force herself to hold the baby she wants to put down and walk away from right now. 

she’s tried rocking her, has checked her diaper, and has fed her formula as she deals with the constant throbbing pain of a clogged duct from a baby that has been refusing to latch. 

still, sarada screams.

“please,” sakura mutters. “please, i am begging you--ow!”

sakura pays no heed as sarada’s little hand hits her eye, but she screeches when it grips her hair. sarada cries louder and pulls with all her might.

sakura lowers sarada onto her beddings, quickly and carefully, and then pries open the girl’s hand. she’s young, not even half a year old, but her grip is strong and so is her tug. 

“you don’t do that!” sakura orders. 

she feels silly, trying to discipline an uncaring baby as she stands in clothes covered in spit-up, her eyes heavy from exhaustion and her hair a tangled mess. 

she takes a step back. sarada cries louder in response and sakura takes another. she brings her hands to her face and hisses when her arm brushes over her left breast at the wrong angle. she covers her eyes but she thinks she might want to cover her ears instead. she wants silence, she wants sleep, and she wants peace.

“stop crying,” sakura pleads helplessly. “i don’t know what you want, sarada. please.”

“sakura.”

sakura drops her hands and finds her husband glancing between her and their daughter. she knows she should be grateful that someone else can now deal with sarada, but she also knows that if she couldn’t soothe her, then sasuke definitely won’t be able to. their daughter has proven to be picky so far. 

sakura’s been crying. now, her tears are falling faster. 

“it hurts,” sakura tells him over a sob.

he nods once, careful and almost wary.“what hurts, sakura?”

sakura doesn’t know. her head from all the pulling? her breast from the clog? her back from holding this heavy baby all day? her heart from seeing her child so upset and not knowing how to help her?

she shakes her head and take another step away. “you need to take her.”

“sakura--”

“just give me an hour, sasuke!”

he looks stunned for a moment, maybe even hurt, but sakura doesn’t really process his feelings, already rushing to the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. he’s a supportive husband and he’s a good father. maybe she was a bit harsh for yelling. still, he has no idea what she’s going through right now and he never really can. 

outside, sarada’s screams grow louder so sakura turns on the shower to drown them out. she tugs off her clothes, careful of her tender chest, and then steps under the still cold water. she flinches at the contact before it steadily grows warmer. she wipes away the tears and snot and whatever sarada might have gotten on her. her crying begins again though, a vicious cycle of debatable inadequacy, until the too hot shower quickly falls to warm and then the initial icy spray. 

shutting off the water, sakura begins to laugh. she spent so much time sobbing she missed that shower introspection and didn’t even have time to think about why. her last huff turns into a yawn, a wide, almost satisfying one, soon followed by another. 

she steps out and dries herself up. she looks in the mirror, her damp hair clinging past her shoulders to her arms and her chest, and she sighs. she takes the knife that’d been in her pile of clothes because she’s a kunoichi to the core. she considers her reflection, the long hair she’s vainly adores framing hollow features. without any preamble, she gathers her hair like sarada would and cuts it just under her chin. she continues this process, knowing she’s not doing a very good job, until she almost feels twelve-years-old again, terrified out of her mind and cutting off her hair to be able to take care of the ones she loves. 

when she finishes, she lowers the knife onto the counter and throws the hair into the trash. she nods at her reflection, then opens the bathroom door and steps outside.

sasuke turns to her, worry etched on his face as he bounces their still wailing daughter. he grunts when sarada notices her too and begins to thrash, eager to be with her mother.  

“give her to me.” sarada practically leaps into her arms and sakura clings to her as much as she clings to sakura. she rubs the girl’s back and she takes a breath. “i can do this.”

[jeasthetic]

May 2019

Deolinda Kalila,

A girl with a beautiful face, who if you look from the outside will look fierce, arrogant, and also harsh. But if you know her more deeply, you will see her gentle and tough nature. So tough, that no one could match her toughness. A quiet girl who doesn't have many friends, also doesn't have many memories. Her life isn't full of happiness, but she never complains of circumstances.

Deolinda Kalila,

The girl who has been teaching the meaning of life, where you shouldn't complain just because of circumstances. If you feel desperate for your life, look back, see how many people were struggling to survive. Look at those who have so many burdens, but never complain about circumstances, never blame God.

The girl opened everyone's eyes, that the real world is not as cruel as people say. It's just about perceptions and presumptions. If you always think that the problem is too big, then that's how you will feel. Let us consider all problems small, because every problem must have a solution. It's all about timing, and how we live it. Stay optimistic, and always give thanks to God. Surely God will bless our every step.

Deolinda Kalila,

Her name has stuck with me, in the depths of my heart, filling every empty space in me. The girl who was strong was incessantly floating in my mind. Her is funny, sometimes spicy, but motivating chatter always rings in my head.

I feel like crying when I remember the memories we have spent together. Kalila is strong, who always looks tough, who always advises me, always supports me, and teaches me about the beauty of being grateful.

However, it turns out that Kalila isn't that strong, she isn't an incarnate angel, she's just an ordinary human. Someone who is already within her limits. Kalila is tired. Not tired in heart, but body.

*** *** ***

October 2018

The stars scattered in the sky indicate that the weather is sunny tonight. I invited Kalila to see how beautiful the scenery in the sky was. The stars still look beautiful even though we only see them from behind the window. Well ... Kalila's health isn't very good, she isn't allowed to go out at night, so I think this is the only way to comfort her when she is missing her parents.

"Kal, someone said if there is a shooting star, we can ask for one request and be granted," I said to Kalila.

"It's a hoax. The only one who can grant our request is God." she said seriously. Huh, even though I'm just kidding.

"If God gave you one wish, what would you ask for?" I asked.

"I want to live a little longer," she replied with a smile.

I shuddered in horror, "it's not like your age isn't that long. Anyway, no one knows how old you are."

"It's not that long," she replied lightly, "I don't know how old I am, but with my condition like this, the possibility of living a long life is very small." she continued.

I was stunned, I think her words were too .. too much.

"How bad is your pain?" I asked a little annoyed.

"Um ... btw, isn't it ridiculous if I ask to stay alive when it's time to go?" she asked back without heeding my question earlier.

I sighed heavily, "It's ridiculous, but 'how about it? Everyone has their own reasons why they want to live longer, including you." I replied. Forget my question earlier, Kalila won't want to answer it.

"Yeah, I want to be successful and be happy for Grandma, as well as the people around me." she said. Yes, it's that simple the reason.

"Nice." I gave a faint smile, lightly patted the top of her head. "Btw, it's already at this hour. I'm home, huh? Afraid that my mother will be angry." I say goodbye to Kalila.

Kalila just nodded limply with pursed lips.

"Alright, don't be sad. Don't cry anymore, your mom and dad need prayers, not tears. Okay?" I said.

Kalila nodded again, "be careful on the road."

***

Kalila absent from class for one week, without explanation – alpha. This certainly makes me anxious, I'm worried about the situation now. The reason is, Kalila is completely unreachable, and her house is always empty. Where it is now, I don't know. Even if I want to search, I don't know where to look, there is no clue at all.

All I can do now is visit her house every morning and after school, to check whether she and her grandmother are home or not. Even though I myself don't know whether they left to come back again or ... ah, I don't know. Besides, this is the only way I can do it.

I walked along the path to Kalila's house, hoping that this time I could meet her. When I almost arrived, I saw from a distance an old woman had just gotten out of a taxi and walked towards her house. There's no mistaking it, it's Kalila's grandmother. I immediately approached Kalila's grandmother, who was now at the door and prepared to open the doorknob.

"Excuse me, Grandma." My greetings to Grandma Kalila, make her fail to open the knob.

"Ah, Jeno-ya." she said, her expression sad and tired.

"Grandma, where is Kalila?" I asked without preamble.

"Ah, Kalila ..." Kalila's grandmother's sentence was interrupted, the sad face became more visible.

"Grandma?" I took Kalila's grandmother's hand, then held it.

Grandma Kalila cried, "Kalila..." she muttered a little sobbing, "Kalila is hospitalized."

I was flabbergasted, "Hospitalization? What disease does she have, Grandma?"

"A lot, kid. The virus is running rampant now." replied the grandmother between her tears.

"What? What virus?" I keep asking, really, I don't understand at all. What's going on here?

"Looks like it's time for grandma to tell you the truth, son." she said, I was just speechless.

Grandma Kalila told me everything about Kalila that I didn't know at all so far. She was really telling the truth, it made me disbelieve. Kalila, who has been looking tough all this time, turns out to be bearing a lot of burdens, one of which is to bear the disease she is currently suffering from. And how shocked I was when I learned of Kalila's illness.

Kalila contracted the HIV virus from birth. The doctor said, this was a fortune because Kalila was still able to survive today. The reason is, Kalila's father died after several years of contracting the virus, as well as her mother who died after giving birth due to an indirect infection from the HIV virus.

So far, Kalila has to take ART drugs or antiretroviral treatment, to prevent the virus from multiplying, and stabilize her condition to stay healthy. But lately, she didn't consume it due to cost issues. So that the HIV virus is increasingly spreading and causing various kinds of complications.

Kalila's grandmother's statements were so stifling, they filled my eyes with tears, which I just spilled. My heart feels very sick, really can't accept the harsh reality. In fact, from the start I thought that Kalila was indeed a HIV sufferer because some of the symptoms she had had did refer to the disease. But I always deny it, I always hope that my guess isn't true. And the worst will not happen.

"Why did you just say it now? Why did Kalila never tell the truth?" I asked in a slightly choked up voice, my tears have broken now.

"Sorry, son. Kalila didn't allow me to tell anyone about her illness. You must understand Kalila's feelings."

"But this is me, Grandma? I'm her best friend."

"Precisely because of that, Kalila doesn't want to lose her only friend. Kalila is afraid that you will stay away after learning about her illness."

Alright, so that's the reason. I don't understand why Kalila thought that I would leave her after knowing the illness she was suffering from. I'm not that bad, no thoughts of leaving her, at all. I thought Kalila was very familiar with my nature, but not. A little angry, but much disappointed.

"Grandma, I went to the hospital, right?" I asked Grandma Kalila.

"Yes, son. Jeno, wait here first, I wants to take Kalila's needs."

**

Kalila is lying weak with an IV in her hand and various kinds of tubes stuck in her body. Her body was too weak to simply change her sleeping position. Looks very tired, but still awake from sleep. I hold Kalila's left hand - the hand that is free from the IV - intending to strengthen it.

Actually I was angry and also disappointed, considering Kalila's attitude was so closed to me. But I don't have the heart to take it out on Kalila. She's too weak to argue with. So, I tried to throw away my anger, and excused Kalila's actions.

We haven't said anything since I came. Though usually she was very enthusiastic about welcoming me, even though she was sick. Kalila continues to daydream while staring at the hospital ceiling. Many times I called her name, but there was no response at all. And maybe she also didn't realize that all this time I was holding her hand.

"Jeno?"

Finally Kalila opened her voice. She called out my name without taking her eyes off the ceiling.

"W-what?" I stammered, a little surprised. I guess she didn't even notice that I was here.

Kalila turned to me, "when I go, you will not forget me, right?"

I rounded my eyes, "What are you talking about? Where are you going? You're still here." my pressure.

Kalila shook her head limply, "no, Jen. I took what I said yesterday, when it's time to go, I won't have much hope."

"Kal–"

"Please promise me, Jeno."

"W-what?"

"Don't ever forget me, even though I'm not beside you anymore." said Kalila, her eyes filled with tears.

"Never. I'll Never forget you." I replied firmly while holding Kalila's hand tightly, trying to look fine.

"And ... You have to visit me often, even though you're already married. Invite your little family to meet me, OK?" she said again.

I smiled bitterly, "Yes. But later, in a few years. Because I don't want you to go out anytime soon. I'm not ready. And again, what the heck, married ?!"

Kalila chuckled, "ready or not, have to be ready .. Ah ya, one more thing."

"What else?" I asked embarrassedly.

"Please take care of my grandmother." said Kalila with a sad smile, making my heart feel sliced.

"Yes, I will take care of your grandma. Your grandma is my grandma too." I answered.

"Thanks, Jeno." Kalila smiled again, "Thank you for accompanying me for this one year. You're my best friend, not because you are the only one, but because you are really valuable." My feelings warmed after hearing the words that Kalila said.

"Thanks also to everything you've taught me, Kal. Including about how to respond to a world that is sometimes not on our side. So far, I have learned a lot from you. I feel ashamed if I remember what I was, why I was so easy to give up, even though my burden isn't much. And since I know you, I feel like a stronger person. " I replied.

Kalila nodded with a shady smile, tightening her hand, "I love you, Lee Jeno." she said, then she closed her eyes.

"Kal!" I screamed. I immediately stood up, then checked her breath and pulse. My breath was caught, my body suddenly felt weak, my legs felt numb. I lowered my head to face Kalila who was helpless.

"Kal ..." I groaned. I closed my eyes, squeezed my chest which felt so sore with the tears pouring down.

"I want to go to Cambridge, the best university in the world."

"I want to be a successful person, Jen. I want to make you happy."

"Don't be stupid, your future is still long, Jeno!"

"Your parents must be fine, don't be sad."

"Don't be afraid to face problems, problems won't kill you."

"You have to promise, you can't even try to commit suicide again."

"You have to be strong, Jeno. You're a boy."

The sentences that have been spoken by Kalila ring in my head, as well as the sweet memories we went through together. Which now feels so painful. I hate this goodbye, but I never regretted our meeting. Met, then separated. Isn't that a natural thing?

As much as possible I try to let it go, even though it's so hard. But I also don't want to add to Kalila's burden, she has to go quietly. The struggle has been quite up to here, it has reached its peak.

Kalila's suffering in the world is over. Finally I have to let it go, because then Kalila will leave in peace. Hopefully she will always be well. I don't need to worry, because there will be many angels guarding it.

Goodbye, Kalila. May God reunite us in His heaven later.

END

© Story by: najaesthetic_

Find me on wattpad: najaesthetic_

[brawlfists]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost,  don’t reblog

BASICS.

full name.   Tifa Lockhart  pronunciation.    Tee-fah  Lawk-hahrt nickname. teef gender. Female (she/her) height.  5′6″  (167cm) age.  15-23   zodiac.   taurus spoken languages.  english (native), japanese (intermediate) & spanish (beginner)

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color.   chocolate eye color.     crimson skin tone.     warm beige. body type.    athletic accent.  Midgar accent  voice.   silvery, soprano dominant hand.  right handed with  ambidextrous tendencies posture.   upright, neutral (due to the piano’s importance of keeping a proper posture + exercises)  scars.   slit  from  the  masamune  slash  over  her  upper body.   tattoos.   none birthmarks.  none most noticeable feature(s).   brawn  frame,  carmine eyes  &   tailbone hair.

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth.  Nibelheim  ,  Gaia hometown.    Nibelheim  ,  Gaia birth weight.   6.1 pounds birth height.  20 inches. manner of birth.   natural first words.   papa siblings.  none parents.  brian lockhart &  akane lockhart   (suitable for change in case if the remake provides us) parental involvement.  very  close,  they  were  tifa’s  pillar.   until  her  mother’s  death,  that  inflicted  a  huge  impact  in  their  lives  causing  them  to  distance  in  a  long  grieving  process.  It  took  awhile  for  them  to  retrieve  the  father & daughter bonding, considering her incident in Mt.Nibel (Tifa believed that her mother was there)  it  only  aggravated  their  detachment  in  that  moment.  Tifa  loved  her  papa,  yet  the  circumstances  weren’t  helping  both  to  heal  from  a  loss.

ADULT LIFE.

occupation.   Barmaid  &   AVALANCHE  member current residence.  Sector 7, Midgar close friends.  Barret Wallace, Cloud Strife, Wedge, Biggs, Jessie and Marlene relationship status.   single financial status.  lower to working class driver’s license.  yes criminal record. yes vices.   cracking knuckles,  biting lips,  fidgeting

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation.  demisexual romantic orientation.  demiromantic preferred emotional role.   submissive  |  dominant  |  switch   preferred sexual role.   submissive  |  dominant | switch libido. average to low turn on’s.  strong/independent people  .   pretty  eyes  .    kindness  .   meaningful  glances  &  soft  touches. turn off’s.  manipulation  .  selfishness   .   cruelty   .   bad  hygiene  .   smokers love language.   in  a  preamble,   tifa  usually  retains  her   feelings  to  herself  and  demonstrates  through   actions   by  being  heedful  and   caring,  there’ll  be  failed  attempts  of  exposing  those  feelings  but   when  you  manage  to    reach   that  peak  of  romance  ...  she  maintains  her  caring  behavior  tending   to  be  more  affectionate,  words  of  affirmation  to  consolidate  her  endearment,  summarizing  she’s  a  flexible  type  of  lover  that  wills  to  comfort   her   partner  and  also  expects  a  simultaneity  of  being  pampered  with  love. relationship tendencies.    fall into a routine,  respecting Tifa’s reaction on leaving Midgar ( a certain inflexibility with changes)  & workaholic profile,  I think with time her relationship reaches a peak where everything is homogenized.  Tifa will feel slighted when her partner doesn’t express much,  not in dialogues but in actions,  since she enjoys to keep her significant other happy and pleased . Tifa also desires to be pampered, not demanding,  with a flower or just spending time with her is enough to comply her wish.   Tifa has the habit of calling her partner ‘love’ & ‘hun’ 

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song.    Tifa’s Theme Piano Version hobbies to pass time.   exercises, mixing drinks, cooking, meditating mental illnesses.   ptsd  & situational depression physical illnesses.   none left or right-brained.   right fears.   loneliness self-confidence level.  average vulnerabilities.  Emotions. An inability to cope with her inner struggles .  Healing from a childhood trauma is arduous, even if Tifa opts to maintain a positive posture,  her issue is keeping all to herself.  When they mention Shinra or meets anyone related, she feels a discomfort  mixed  with  an  inner  rage, due to the fact that she doesn’t properly remember the event.  She’s emotionally vulnerable,  she tends to not understand her feelings. 

tagged by:  @hercbled  ( ty  !!  10 years later. ) tagging: @starsfated  .  @ofgunblade  .  @ultimilitia  .  @pulchralilium  .  @ndeavor  .  @featherskyhero  .  @andscreams  (Seifer maybe ?)  .  @bllakcat  .  @astrahero  .  @omnislaught  .  @nvigate   ( Gohan maybe ? )   .  @wutaiiwarrior   .  @getsugami   &  anyone   !

[gaycrouton]

Here’s a mini prompt if you’re up to it! You’re very good at writing sexy stuff so I was wondering if you would write something for season 10 (they’re back working together but not sleeping together) where Mulder gets a whiff of Scully’s perfume and he instantly gets hard so he masturbates in the shower of the unremarkable house :))

Awwww thank you!!! As someone a lil insecure about their writing, I really appreciate that!

smut, set after “Mulder and Scully meet the Weremonster” [Also, I swear to god I answered the prompt lolol]

————————————————-

He’d shown up at their motel after seeing off Guy in the forest with the full intention of telling Scully about everything he’d seen and experienced with the Lizard-man. He didn’t even bother to change into something more comfortable before bounding down the hallway towards her room, anticipation of seeing that look of ‘Mulder do you seriously beleive this’ on her face giving him a bounce in his step.

He rapped his knuckles against the wood of her door and listened as she made her way to the door. When she opened it, he was met with the sight of a getting-ready-for-bed Scully, in her pyjamas with a freshly washed face. It was a sight he loved, but hadn’t seen in a few years. “Hey,” she greeted, “Come on in.” 

There was something a little hesitant about her tone, and he figured it had something to do with the fact he was seeing her like this. Deciding not to make a big deal about it, he walked in and started the preamble to his big speech. “Scully, do you remember that gu-,” he stopped mid-sentence as his eyes decived him. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Scully,” he stated slowly.

“Yes, Mulder,” she replied with mock innocence. 

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the ball of fur sitting on her bed. 

“Um…my new dog,” she explained.

“Since when did you get a dog?” he questioned.

“Since you abandoned me at the dog pound.”

I leave and I’m replaced by a dog. Okay.

“So what was it you were going to tell me? How did it end up going with your lizard-man?” she asked sweetly.

Not used to her uncharacteristic enthusiasm, he decided to put off anymore questions about the dog for later and fill her in. He sat on a chair facing the bed, ignoring the dog sniffing every inch of his leg, as Scully gave him her rapt attention. At first he thought she was just curious, but then it just became a little too interested to be normal - she wasn’t even giving him her usual eye rolls or critical comments. When she finally did speak up, it was at a part he thought was irrelevant. “But when he got back Daggoo was gone, the maid-”

“Daggoo?” she repeated, ignoring the dog’s now incessant attention and barking.

“Yeah, that’s what he named the dog, Daggoo,” he said, the dog barking like an exclamation point on the sentence. “Why?”

“Daggoo’s the name of a harpooner in Moby Dick!” she smiled at him, petting the dog on the head.

“Yeah, he said Daggoo-hey! Is he okay?” Mulder asked, pointing to the dog who was jumping at his legs.

“I think so, he hasn’t really acted this way before,” she replied, scooting off the bed.

“What’s he-,” Mulder stopped, realizing something.

Scully sent him a questioning look as she leaned next to the dog. “What?”

Without a word, he got up and crossed to the other side of the room. When he was as far away as possible, he looked at the dog licking Scully. “Daggoo,” he declared sternly.

Without furthur prompting, the dog ran to him and sat at his feet, looking up at him before barking once. A smile spread across his face as he looked over at a surprised Scully. “I think you found Guy’s dog.”

A look of sadness spread across her face and she stood up, “Does that mean I have to give him back?”

Happy that he had news that would make her smile, he quickly assured, “No, no, long story short, Guy went into hybernation in the woods. He won’t be back for a long time.”

“Oh,” Scully laughed, “Um, well. Good.” 

He watched as she bent down and picked up the little mutt, barely big enough to really count as a dog in Mulder’s opinion. “Do you have stuff to take care of a dog?” he asked.

Suddenly, an expression of nervousness took over her face. “Well…actually. I wanted to ask you a favor…”

In that moment, her previous indulgence of him made absolute sense. She was trying to butter him up. “I don’t know, Scully,” he began, his resolve weakening when he saw her lip pout.

“Please Mulder! I called my apartment when I got here and they said no, but I’d already fallen in love with him. We can’t let him lose two owners in one week, that’s cruel.”

“I don’t have any stuff to keep the dog at the house,” he explained.

“I’d get it!” she offered immediately. “And I promise I’ll come over everyday and take care of him and walk him and clean up after him,” she was rambling like a child who brought home a stray and it made him smile. He let her go on a little, not letting onto the fact he’d already agreed when she said she’d come over everyday.

“If you do all that, then yes. I’ll take him,” he replied.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she beamed. 

Three Weeks Later

She was a woman of her word. She’d come over every single day and taken care of Daggoo. Sometimes he was curious if the dog had been a ploy all along, because she seemed to be lingering longer and longer, sometimes just stroking Daggoo’s head while they had and talked for hours. Not that he was complaining, he’d walk that dog all day if it meant he got to see her back at home.

Home.

She slipped up and called it that last week. “I’ll be home in about five minutes, okay? Can you get Daggoo on the leash and I’ll meet you outside so we can walk the perimeter?” 

To be honest, he didn’t mind the little guy either. He could do without the barking at squirrels in the middle of the night. But he’d missed having someone to come home to and he was a good foot warmer at night. His little canine wing-man.

“Thanks again,” she called out as she let the screen door close behind her.

He watched from the door to make sure she got in her car okay and waved as she made her way down the road. Daggoo barked at his feet and he leaned down to scratch him behind the ears. “I know, bud. I miss her too.”

The dog leaned into his touch before running away. Mulder already knew he was going to the seat of the couch Scully’d just been on so he could lay on it. It was customary in Daggoo-world.

With a yawn, Mulder shut off all the lights and made his way upstairs to take a shower before heading to bed. He’d stripped his clothes off in his bedroom and was naked by the time he’d reached the sink. Suddenly a waft of Jasmine and Vanilla hit his nose and he turned to see if Scully was behind him.

She wasn’t. That discovery came to him at the same time the revelation that she’d asked to use the bathroom to change when she got here did. She must’ve sprayed some of her perfume before coming downstairs and the smell brought a smile to his face. This bathroom hadn’t smelled like that for longer than he cared to remember. It reminded him of years and years spent in this house with her. She’d smell just like this after getting out of the shower, clean and supple.

His body remembered the connotations of the smell as well because he felt himself hardening against his leg. The power of Scully. She didn’t even need to touch him.

He took a step into the shower and turned the water on, stroking himself tentatively as the water warmed up and he shifted his weight on the no-slip shower stickers. 

“Mulder, you’re gonna slip,” she’d laughed when they tried to christen the shower when they first bought the house. He laughed as he lifted her against the shower and began pumping into her. All protests she had quickly turned into moans as she rolled her hips against him.

Maybe he should have heeded her warnings because they’d fallen mid-orgasm and the towel rack was still in a haphazard state of repair.

They’d had sex in this very shower more times than he could count. He leaned one hand against the side of the shower wall as he broadened his stance, his hand picking up the pace. The humidity of the shower heightened the lingering smell of her perfume and he felt the coil of abdomen in his gut tighten as he grew harder.

“Fuck, Mulder. Harder.”

He could picture her perfectly. Every development of her body through the years, every new freckle, every new line. They were imprinted on his mind like a tattoo. What freckles was he missing out on now? Was her body any different from when he’d last seen it? He could remember how it was, when they were here together, her hair wet and plastered to her head, her breasts wet and bouncing with every thrust into her.

“God, you feel so good.”

He bit his lip as his thumb circled the head of his cock, already aching in anticipation of his impending release. There was nothing as erotic as her skin gliding against his own, her breaths and groans hitting his neck as she clung to him, desperate for her own release.

“Yeah, right there, ah”

When they made love he could always smell this scent lingering on her. It was almost like an aromatic aphrodisiac. He’d bought her a big bottle of it for their anniversary. Was it the same one she still used? Did she think of him? Did she think of him like he was thinkig of her right now? God he missed her.

“I love you so much, Mulder.”

He groaned and let his head fall back as he came all over the side of the shower, his body quivering as he thrust into his hand with reckless abandon. His orgasm left him sensitive and spent. 

He turned the water off and stepped out of the shower, the scent of her now just a memory as Daggoo watched him in the doorway. Mulder slid some clean boxers up over his hips and looked at the shower once more before grabbing a cup of water from the sink and tossing it on the tile so that the remenants of him come went down the drain.

She’d be over tomorrow and he wanted to keep everything looking nice.

Maybe one of these days she’d stay.

[tsukishima44]

For you, I give my all

It’s Hizashi’s birthday in a month. After knowing the blonde for more than 10 years, he didn’t know what else to give for his wonderful birthday. A scandal gave him an idea though.

=============================================================

1 month before H day

=============================================================

‘It’s Zashi’s birthday soon’

THWACK!

‘What should I get for him this year?’

A sounding yell from the right.

‘Should I buy him another cake?’

“YOU FU-“

POW!

‘Maybe Mochi want to wear a suit again?’

“OUCH OUCH! FUCK! DAMN! YOU WIN LET GO!”

“Nope. Not until the police came”

‘We have groom suit last year’

“Eraserhead-san! Thank you for your work! Please leave him here and we will send the fee as usual”

He nodded. He looped his capture weapon into one of the streetlight and made his way back home.

‘Mermaid?’

=============================================================

2 weeks before H day

=============================================================

“Shota!!”

Aizawa looked up from Jirou’s work. He was very glad to see more black rather than red. Very refreshing or as refreshing as it could be for his dry eyes. Certainly better than Kaminari’s.

“What?”

His best friend of 15 years must have seen the happiness radiating from him. She casually slung her arm on his shoulders. She looked up, glancing right and left. Then she whispered.

“Have you find a present for your hubby?”

They have been married for more than 5 years and magically keep it quiet despite their jobs. Nemuri, Tensei, and Nedzu were the only people there and the only people knew about it.

“Nope. I was thinking about getting a cake”

“Cat cake?”

He nodded.

“And-“

“-Mochi catwalking in a suit”

Aizawa glared at her. Of course being best friend for years meaning understanding his circumstances.

“You shouldn’t make things easy to guess, honey”

“Don’t call me that!”

Nemuri moved out of the way when Aizawa’s hand about to slap her arm.

“Well you better search for something better because it’s two more weeks”

Aizawa huffed.

“I know, I know”

Nemuri sauntered to her next prey.

=============================================================

3 days before H day

=============================================================

Aizawa placed a full stop on his last sentence, or might be what he last wrote in 5 minutes. From outside he looked as calm as a still lake. Inside he was burning with firy passion or what he ashamedly called jealousy.

Just yesterday, when he was searching for a venue to celebrate his secret spouse birthday in the newest tabloid, Hi Hero!, rather than a great cafe or family restaurant he found the picture of his husband in his full in hero costume. Underneath it was a big headline “PRESENT MIC OR PRESENT WED!?!” Let’s just say it didn’t take him 5 minutes to double read it and tore it to pieces. It was only a gossip column about a beautiful woman with black long hair and curves in the right places was seen having a deep conversation. Said journalist also mentioned about the many intimate touches during the meeting.

He had think about it again and again. Was it right for him to get mad? Afterall, Hizashi only heeded Aizawa’s wish to keep their marriage under the table. He was the one who asked to place the ring on a necklace than in their ring fingers. He was the one who decline one invitation to another invitation of Hizashi’s radio party. So was it wrong for Hizashi to find a woman, to cheat him? There must be someone out there who deserve him more that Shouta did. Someone that look amazing, eye candy than dry eyes and baggy clothes and unruly hair. Someone with perfect curves than big muscles. Someone funny enough to match his comedic side. Someone who— someone who wasn’t Aizawa Shouta.

“Sensei?!”

Aizawa looked up.

‘When did he sit?’

“Fuck! Get the teachers!”

“I’m on it!”

“Why is he crying?”

‘I am?’

“Did-did we do something?”

“Oh no, poor sensei”

‘It’s not me. It’s poor Hizashi’

Just then, the door to he classroom opened and a pair of hands holding him.

“Shouta? Hey, what’s wrong?”

Aizawa saw blurry mess of black and yellow. Two big and familiar hands cupped his face tenderly. He smelled the most amazing scent in the world, a mix of leather and pine wood. He wanted these. He wanted Hizashi to be by his side forever. Until they have white strands, until it bald, until they retire into old men, until the day they went to heaven together.

The day ended with half lesson, a worried pack of students, a lecture followed with hugs and kisses from Hizashi.

But still with no present.

=============================================================

6 hours before the H day

=============================================================

Knock! Knock!

“Oh hey, Ochako-chan!”

“Hi, Izuku! Sorry for bothering you. Did you get the message?”

“Yeah. Rikido has climbed down the stairs and Bakugou’s cussed was heard even from here. I’m about to go to supermarket to buy other supplies. Momo and several others are going with me”

“Can I join you guys?”

“Sure”

=============================================================

H Day

=============================================================

A flurry of footsteps was heard in the one of U.A’s empty hallway. It has been an hour and half since the last students passed the front gate and went back home. The afternoon light painted broken white wall into a beautiful mix of orange, yellow, and red. One pro-hero was on his way to the supposedly empty classroom. When he opened the classroom, another pro-hero, underground, stood in the middle, looking as shabby as he usually did. But in his green orbs, his husband always a sight to behold, a pearl among trash. Stunning, wonderful, an eye candy. He was blessed to have the honor and call this man his.  

“Sho? You’re ready?”

Hizashi didn’t need to give his everyday Present Mic’s greeting. His raven beauty of a husband always knew when he would arrive to go home each day. But today he was surprised to find his spouse of 5 years message him to come and get him, 30 minutes before their appointed time.

“Zashi...”

Shouta called him, beckoning him closer.

Like a moth to a flame, Hizashi was attracted.

“What is it? Are you sick? Something’s wrong?”

Hizashi arrived in front of Shouta, hands immediately took others without any preamble. One of them quickly assessed Shouta’s health.

Was he sick? He looked fine today. Was something amiss? He had made sure everything was okay and ready today.

“Zashi..”

Shouta placed his hands on top of his which were planted on both of Shouta’s perfect cheeks.

When did they move there?

“Happy birthday”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SENSEIIII!!!!!!”

It was a loud popping sound, colorful triangles, and so many cheers around him. He looked to his left and right and found the kids, their unofficial kids, stood before their hiding places and clapping and yelling and cheering. A glance from Shouta’s shoulder was a decent size cake with yellow frosting -his favourite color!- and adorning it were several radio-shaped fondant. On the top layer, he gasped aloud, were two fondant, created to shape like chibi version of him and Shouta. They were holding hands together and below it was several small figures, their handful kids. Then he looked straight once again. His husband, Aizawa Shouta, was sporting one of his smirk which quickly melted into his fond smile when he realized that Hizashi’s eyes were upon him.

“Oh wow.... Shou, I-God, If we haven’t married yet I would marry you again and again in a heartbeat”

Shouta thrown his head as he laughed freely.

“Me too, Zashi, me too”

Then he had a line of students queuing to shake his hands, given him small trinkets and other things they thought pass as a gift. On the end of the line was Shinsou and Eri, giving him a new headphone and a handmade bracelet.

After the party started, he went to find the conductor of this surprise birthday party. As expected, he was standing in the corner of the room, still trying to blend in the dark. Not very effective as every corner of the classroom was filled with color from a disco ball hung in the middle, how he missed such a big decoration was amazing.

“Hey, husband”

Shouta smiled.

He casually slipped his arm into Shouta’s waist.

“Hey yourself”

Hizashi kissed Shouta’s cheek.

“Does that mean that we are out?”

Shouta nodded

“I also told your colleague in the radio station. Now they can put my name on the invitation party”

“Are you sure?”

“You know I will not do anything I am not sure of”

Hizashi smiled back and kissed Shouta deeply and as less sensually as he could.

“Happy birthday, Zashi”

“Thank you, Sho!!”

[cruxcrescent]

Lone Camellia.

“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then, it can never be your weakness.” – George R.R. Martin

It was a misty morning that first brought her to him.

He was treading the lands as he always did, moving as if a ghost through the forests that he had called home then. She approached him from the fog that wove between the trees, though he had caught her scent long before she appeared. Witless and lanced through with the sweat of determination, the distinct twinge of someone looking for something. It made his nose wrinkle in disdain. 

When her verdant eyes settled on him, he had stopped while standing aloft the roots of a great tree. It provided the height from which he towered before her, not that he wasn’t already so tall. Yet, she had more height than he had expected for one so meager in figure. She’d dropped to her knees in deference to the Great Dog Prince, reducing herself from the gazelle-like stature she held.

“You are Lord Sesshoumaru, are you not?” she’d said simply, swallowing hard against her innate fear. Indeed, he conceded she was brave to approach him; he was sure her instincts were screaming out against her choice.

He didn’t answer her right away, golden eyes slanted downwards to appraise her through the morning mist, and darkness of the forest. She didn’t move, didn’t dare to raise her face to him again after she had taken her vulnerable position.

“What do you want with me?” he said curtly. 

“Please, o Lord of the Western Lands. I’ve sought you to train me,” she proclaimed, finally lifting her head to beseech him properly. He could now clearly see the green markings that stood shockingly vibrant against her tan skin. He’d already known what she was when her scent met him, but the gentle, light freckles that sprinkled their way over her shoulders and face identified her as a deer youkai. Strange that one should be this far in the mountains, he mused idly.

“What for and why should I?” 

She swallowed again. 

“My family has been slain by humans, my lord. Not one is left of them but me, and I wish to be powerful, like you,” she stopped to let herself grimace as if struck by the memory. “Please, I do not wish to die. I am tired of being weak.”

A low huff.

“That is none of my concern.” 

With that he’d sprung off the roots of the tree, sailing over her folded figure to land behind her. His landing barely shifted the moss beneath his feet. She’d frozen, as her kind were wont to do, and now did not turn to face him again. He’d started walking away, determined to move on in his patrol, when a vine caught his foot. That vine had not been there before, he’d thought, as he sliced it away without preamble. More of them started to manifest from the same spot to cling like the worried hands of children to his boot as if their kin had not just been cut down in its prime but seconds ago. 

He growled his disapproval as he turned to glower at the culprit, knowing well who was daring to show such disregard for their own life. The deer appeared more spirited now as her youki thrummed from her hands that were planted firmly to the ground in front of her, pulsing towards him. Defiance colored her expression. 

“I apologize, my lord,” she said as her energy waned off into the passive force it had been previously. “Please forgive my insolence, but I wish nothing more than to become strong! I know I have not fangs or claws – but there must be some way,” she grew quieter as she spoke, voice breaking as a shudder ran through her. Yes, it was as he’d thought earlier. Her instincts were wisely rebelling against her very unwise decisions. He continued to glare out of the side of his eyes at her. To his surprise, she spoke again as he assessed his next move.

“Are you not the protector of these lands? My lord, will you truly allow these humans to get away with the slaughter of other demons when our numbers dwindle so?” 

It was then that whatever small, fragile pity he had for her had worn out. He stalked forward to grab her by the collar of her furisode, anger flashing in his amber gaze. Hauling her up to face him, he dug his claws in the silk fabric of her clothing. Poison mingled at his claw tips, singeing the delicate material where it touched. The hind flinched away from his eyes, but not his grip. 

“Your clear lack of self-preservation proves that you serve no use to me,” he rumbled low in his throat before letting her go harshly. She caught herself, refusing to stumble before him it seemed. “The plight of lesser demons does not concern me. Do not question my honor as such.”

He turned on his heels away from her. He had grown tired of this meeting and its sole occupant. With long strides, he began back into the forest, hoping to leave the deer behind this time.

As he walked along, he scowled to himself. He turned over her words a few times in his mind, marveling on it like a small pebble. Her comment had rankled him. He was indeed the guardian of the Western Lands as his father had been before him, however, the times had changed. Humans encroached, and more and more their distaste of demons grew palpable. Their gunpowder burned his nose, their settlements stole his territory, their noisiness irritated his hearing. He had resigned himself to the fact that the burden of his duties that his father had passed to him had transformed itself into another beast that dug its claws deeper and deeper into his back as the decades passed.

He did not need reminding by a lowly doe of that which he was well aware.

He continued deeper into the trees, but he was aware he was being followed. Low anger simmered beneath the surface of his stoic appearance. The hind was light on her feet, well adapted to masking her youki, and was keeping downwind of him and his nose, but she could not escape his notice. At this point, he was determined to ignore her. She would falter eventually. All those that were not him always did with time.

However, he, for one of the rare few times in his life, had been mistaken.

The hind tracked him for days beyond their meeting. Days turned into weeks, then into months. She was intelligent enough to keep a fair amount of distance between them, but she dogged him as he patrolled what remained of his lands. She settled when he took up a temporary den, watched from on high when he hunted with hard, glassy eyes. He, in turn, was stubborn enough to pay her no heed. If she put this much effort into training instead of following him, she might have what she wished for, he mentally grumbled. The nights he could sense her slumbering aura in the surrounding wood, he contemplated slitting her throat in her sleep. 

A dusty corner of the dog’s mind offered him a blithe metaphor of the hunter becoming the hunted, that their roles were reversed in this game. It was not true, of course, and he could have, at any point, stopped her foolish mission. Yet, he allowed it. 

After all, it was not his time, nor his endurance being wasted.

When it had been fourteen turns of the moon’s cycle, he finally halted in the middle of his patrol. It was a quiet summer night, only cricket song broke the tense silence that it held. A breeze worried the long pampas grass in the field he’d chosen to at last confront his uninvited follower. Sesshoumaru drew in a soft breath of her scent, holding it before letting it go silently. He could hear the doe coming up behind him. She took no measures to conceal her presence this time. Even she seemed to understand that he was at the end of his very long patience with her. 

“Doe,” he said without turning to face her. The wind carried the bass of his voice along with it, causing her to stop but a scant few meters away from where he stood. “What do you call yourself?”

“Tsubaki. I am Tsubaki.” He could not see her, but he was certain the weariness was beginning to make itself noticeable. Her voice was hoarse with disuse but stronger than he thought it would be. The steady wind ruffled the fur that clung to his shoulder. A lengthy pause proceeded his next thoughts.

“Tsubaki, you have told me you possess neither fangs or claws,” he addressed her. He caught the shift of her furisode against itself as she adjusted her stance. 

“Yet, do you not possess hooves, nor antlers?” 

“I do, my lord.” Her breathing grew errant. She was anticipating a fight, or perhaps something more.

“If you truly grieve enough for what you have lost that you desire power, I suggest you sharpen them instead.”

The night grew still around them, silence resuming its oppressive pall that was broken only by soft chirps of the insects hidden amongst the grass. At the edge of his hearing, the doe’s pounding heart settled like the previous breeze had died away. He allowed his eyes to close for a brief moment.

“Continue to give chase, and I shall kill you,” he turned his head to pin her with amber hues. Green stared back at them, and the Moonlit Prince noted that a different gleam took the place of the one he had seen when they’d first encountered each other; this one he could not place. His gaze returned forward. 

He walked on.

This time, she didn’t follow.

[tragediedhero]

    ❝ HERO. ❞     ❝ please wake up. ❞     ❝ we need you, the world needs you. ❞     when the HERO opened their eyes, they knew of confusion and nothing else.  existence was a show of great clouds, patterns and shapes, filled with color and without reference just moments before, now rapidly fading.  roused from a sleep that was as instant as it was endless, the champion's form slowly remembered who they were and, more importantly, why they were.  brushing away those fading visions of contextless imagery, the HERO was greeted by a shining form that stood before them, radiant and beautiful, like a warm and glowing embrace, one of a goddess and a matriarch.  the room they awoke to was unfamiliar and strange, but that fact mattered little.  the details, although hazy, were concrete enough to bring the HERO back to here and now.  the mission, the purpose of it all.  the champion yawned.     ❝ HERO, your time has come.  do you remember your past?  the great calamity slain that rises once more.  he who brought its blight unto the people of homeworld, the destroyer.  a great horror, it lives eternal, and it festers in the valley of the forgotten.  life cries out as a beckoning to its savior. ❞     the plot sounded a tad familiar, déjà vu perhaps?  then again, all the worlds in need seemed to blend together after a while.     as the HERO stood and shook off the fatigue of a billion wars, they felt the nobility in their blood surging without a second of hesitation.  clear, awake and aware, the warrior surveyed the interior, which described a small hut, made of wood and fiber and leaf.  the sun was shining through the entry and various cracks in the walls, signaling the dawn of a new day.  rather bright, maybe more so than the being was used to, but welcome nonetheless; they heard the familiar, panicked cries of distress over the horizon, those distant woes that had summoned the HERO many times before, to many places like this.  suffering, oppressed millions silently mourning in unison, creating a waveform only their savior could hear.     the god-warrior, ever elegant in their design, drew an unwavering gaze to the one that had awakened them- a feminine being, whose inner light was an outer light, ineffable.  she who brings the call to action, her shining visage a sight to behold, beautiful and without flaw.  a princess, or spirit of the woods, or whatever she was.  she had her role, and she played it perfectly.  the HERO gazed upon her figure and understood.     ❝ how did I get here? ❞     ❝ HERO, you were injured from your toils, the wars of many worlds.  i have rescued you, brought you to my people, so your destiny can be fulfilled. ❞     ❝ right, destiny.  i remember now. ❞     ❝ good.  then you shall go forth, defeat the great oblivion, before it cleaves the flesh from our bones, i beg of you.  bring peace to this realm, for it is your fate, and your duty.  the wheel of fortune spins in your favor.  ready yourself and make haste. ❞     understanding the weight of her words, the HERO gave a nod and parted ways with their fair goddess, knowing what must be done and seeing the routes laid before them.  their journey was clear, and the answers there, as information in space-between-spaces.  in the preamble, which they had known so well, and traveled so many times before.     as the one, paragon, exited the tiny structure, they emerged into a lush world, expansive in its design.  limits boundless, creation magnificent, and there it existed, solely for the warrior, those in need, and the dance they would share for the rest of time.  the champion was oblivious to this, the scheme that surrounded them, for the being's selflessness was all-encompassing, their empathy grand and their heart ever-pure.     they believed it, felt it all and, in that brief moment, the HERO was euphoric within its place, playing their part in the way-of-things.  the being set out on their quest without another thought.     the path to the unholy abomination spanned across seasons and continents.  a ravaged world, fraught with perils, many the HERO had seen before.  they dodged these dangers with ease and a familiarity known only to the archetype.  fight true, spoke the mother-queen, her blessing a kiss on the forehead of the chosen child, her spirit guiding, pulling the savior to their end, their destiny.  flay the beast with a thousand heads, whose spawn tore throats from the innocent and razed the gates of paradise.  drive your blade into its wretched hide, so it may heed the champion's call, and the voice of the goddess will sing a song of harmony that will echo throughout the land.     like courage incarnate, our champion flew through the beast's ghastly domains, eviscerating anything that attempted to slow them down, large and small, without hesitation.  they took a small detour along the way, heeding advice from an old fortuneteller who told them of skies in flame and the impervious scales of their adversary on the day of the great battle between the two.  her words spoke to retrieve the shattered remnants of such-and-such divine amulet, an artifact with which the HERO would use to fell that mighty, nameless evil who plagued these people and restore prosperity to their world.  once complete, they pressed forward with the confidence and steadfast will only the paradigm could possess, traits which they had gathered from so many battles won throughout millennia.     they continued onward in a formulaic stride until the being stood at the gate of supreme evil itself.  the beast's lair was a crooked tower built atop a lonely mountainside and sealed at the entrance by protective magicks and deadly traps.  the champion paid those ornate, towering doors little mind, opting instead to move along the outer perimeter with a certainty that surprised even them.  more than a hunch, but less than knowing.  as if on autopilot, the being walked up to a thin crack in the posterior side of the tower, obscured by bushes and vines.  the luminous sigils that blanketed the entryway were not present here, and the protagonist was able to sneak inside with no resistance whatsoever.     while passing through those cold and barren back halls, taking pains to make little noise as they approached a chamber likely occupied by the king of darkness, our HERO mentally prepared for the obvious ambush waiting ahead.  instead, the abomination was found peacefully asleep, curled aside a pile of bones and tattered clothes, much smaller than the legends claimed, and even less cunning; those wards and alarm-like security hexes, still intact on the doors on the opposite end of the room, seemed to imply a grave lack of forethought on the part of the great deceiver that supposedly resided here.     quietly and cleanly, the protagonist pressed the smooth steel of their broadsword into one of the shadowcaster's horrid, yellow eyes, twisting the instrument until death was of certainty.  the terrible creature writhed momentarily and was still not long after.     there was a brief moment of silence as the protagonist stood, motionless, over the corpse of the supposed greatest evil.  the harbinger of wars died so easily, quivering like a child, not even awake to put up a fight.  the divine amulet, whose power was supposedly near infinite, lay unused.  acquiring all twenty-eight pieces of the gaudy necklace seemed like too much work to not be utilized once.  even worse, in that moment, with the biggest bad in all the land truly gone, our HERO felt absolutely nothing.     the whole scenario just felt wrong, tampered with.  everything took way too long without being remotely challenging, playing out in increasingly predictable ways.  the bones of lost souls piled near the champion's least satisfying arch-nemesis to date were taunting the warrior with feelings of imperfection and bolstering an innate drive to keep trying.  it felt awfully familiar and very confusing, almost repetitive, and not very believable at all.  like if someone was lying, but the liar was the world.  but if this is the place of lies, where would the place of truth be?  and why would the world lie?     the HERO knew of many things, but they did not know any way in which a location could be capable of telling a lie.  unless someone was pulling the strings and making the world lie for them?  like trickery, or an illus- [ NARRATIVE FRAMEWORK BECOMES COMPROMISED, EMERGENCY PROTOCOL GOES INTO EFFECT ]

[dragonfics]

Just Fine

(Smut vent fic)

Summary: “Sex is meant to be pleasurable—for both parties.” It's meant to be. But too often, as Rus quickly learns, it isn't.

Tags: Smut, lemons, bad sex, painful sex, penetrative sex, oral sex, lack of reciprocation, knotting, mention of vomiting, alcohol, loss of virginity, vaginal bleeding, eventual good sex, healthy spicyhoney

Ships: Spicyhoney, US Papyrus/Strangers

Word Count: ~7.4k

Notes: A vent fic regarding how different sex can be for those with vaginas when compared to those with dicks, and how vaginal pleasure is often secondary. This is a bit personal, and I definitely don’t claim to speak for everyone here. I know my experiences aren’t universal. Just something I wanted to write about.

Read on AO3

OR

Below the cut

When Rus had pictured his first time, it had never been quite like this. It had been roses and soft kisses and the familiar warmth of a lover’s embrace. Not the cold, unwashed sheets of a stranger’s bed, after sneaking away from a party, tipsy out of his mind. The man’s mouth tasted strangely sweet, like the cherry and lime ale he’d shared with Rus. He was human too—another inconsistency with Rus’s fantasy, if not a significant one.

And, more to the point, it hurt. Not a lot, but enough that Rus was grateful when the human finally grunted and pulled out of him, flopping onto the mattress and shutting his eyes. Slowly, Rus sat up. “um... thanks,” he muttered, sliding off the bed. The human cracked an eye.

“Yeah, sure thing, babe. You get yours?”

“get my what?”

“I mean—did you finish?”

Rus blinked, then opened his mouth, realising what he meant. “oh—uh yeah. yeah. it was… good.” Was that how really how he’d describe it?

The man yawned and sat up, stretching. “Cool. Glad to hear it.” He watched Rus as he pulled his jeans back on, then winced. “Shit, you alright?” Rus looked down and his breath caught. Mingled with the cum on his thighs was a trace of red. Was he bleeding…?

“uh... shit. yeah—no, i’m okay.” He swallowed, wiping away the residue with his finger. It was warm and sticky.

The human zipped his jeans back up and dug in his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “Didn’t realise it was your first time,” he said, flicking his lighter. “Would’ve gone gentler if you’d told me.”

“yeah... sorry, i should’ve mentioned it.” Rus tugged on his sleeve, fidgeting with the doorknob. He felt like he’d done something wrong.

The human exhaled a trail of smoke. “First time is meant to hurt though, right?”

Rus shrugged, twisting the doorknob. “yeah, i guess.” The man dusted ash onto the carpet and held out the box of cigarettes.

“Smoke?”

“uh, i’m good,” Rus said, though the smell made his throat itch needily. “think i’m just gonna go clean up.”

“Alright, take care,” the man said, waving him off. “And hey—” Rus turned, and the man winked. “Walk of shame. Enjoy it.” Rus couldn’t tell whether that was meant to be a joke or not, so he forced a smile and left quickly.

He pushed through the throng of sweaty bodies, avoiding curious stares and wandering hands until he found the bathroom. There was a human bent over the toilet bowl, retching while her friend held her hair back. The two of them paid Rus little heed beyond a momentary stare. He wet some paper towel in the sink and quietly unzipped his jeans, dabbing at the mess around his pelvis. The blood clung stubbornly to his bones and he gave up, tossing the wet towels in the trash.

The bathroom door burst open and he jumped, startled, before realising who it was. “oh, hey ‘dyne…”

“Rus!” Undyne shrieked—too loud. She hugged him, beaming, and if that wasn’t evidence enough of her intoxication, the tequila on her breath certainly was. “Where did you get off to? Alph and I were…” She blushed and looked down, nudging her glasses up her nose.

“well, i was just…” He glanced over his shoulder at the two humans, then leaned in. “i was actually with someone,” he said quietly. Undyne’s eyes went wide and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

“No way! Did you—?” Rus nodded sheepishly and Undyne squealed. “I can’t believe it! That’s crazy. How was it? You were just dancing one second and then the next I couldn’t find you—because you were—!”

“yeah,” Rus said, smiling faintly. “uh, it was… fine. it kind of hurt honestly.”

“Oh, but that’s just because it was your first time. It’ll feel better next time. Oh man, I can’t believe it!” She squeezed his arm. “You little slut, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me where you were going.” The gesture was in good spirit, but Rus’s throat felt tight.

“yeah, whoops.” He turned the tap on again and splashed cold water over his face, his sockets burning with tears. A few feet away, the human girl threw up again.

  Cuddling was nice… ish. A little awkward, in truth. Rus couldn’t really move the way he wanted to, and his shoulder was cramping, and being a flame elemental, his partner gave off just a bit too much heat. Rus squirmed in his hold, and he chuckled, kissing his skull. “Getting restless, sweetheart?” he murmured, squeezing Rus’s inner femur.

He’d met the guy at a party and the conversation had been pleasant enough to warrant the exchange of numbers. They’d texted a bit, things had gotten heated (so to speak), and here they were, watching Netflix. It was a little cliché. Personally, Rus would have done away with the preamble and skipped straight to the sex, but this was… fine. Just fine.

He tucked himself closer to the elemental, trying to get comfortable. The elemental’s flames crackled. His mouth trailed from the crown of Rus’s skull down to his jaw, and whatever strange horror movie they’d been watching was all at once forgotten.

His tongue was hot against Rus’s neck, not unpleasantly so, but the sensation was unfamiliar. He kissed Rus deeply, licking into his mouth. “You know,” he whispered, planting a line of kisses down Rus’s face, “I’ve been thinking about your pretty mouth all night. Kind of been wondering what it looks like wrapped around my cock.” He pulled back to give Rus a sly grin, then purred, nuzzling into his neck.

“yeah? okay, i’ll see what i can do about that,” Rus said with a smile, cupping him through his sweatpants. Shit, he was hard already. Had he been hard through the entire movie, waiting for Rus to make a move? Rus cleared his throat. “i should probably warn you, i’m uh… not all that experienced at this.”

The elemental chuckled throatily, his flames crackling. “I find that hard to believe.” He pinched Rus’s chin, tilting his face. “After all those dirty things you said to me last night… I’m inclined to believe your mouth is just as dirty.” He nipped at Rus’s jaw, and Rus laughed, hoping it sounded genuine.

“right…” He shifted in his lap and tugged down his sweatpants. The elemental watched keenly as he ran his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the bead of precum.

“Yeah, that’s it baby, c’mon. Let me see you put it in your mouth.” Crouching between his knees, Rus tentatively licked a circle around the head. It burned his tongue a little, but was otherwise bearable. “Oh yeah, that’s it. I think you can take it deep, babe. Show me what you can do.” Rus wasn’t confident. Even with a pseudo-throat, his gag reflex was overly-responsive.

But he was eager to please his partner. Or maybe just to prove himself. Whatever it was, it was enough for an attempt at deepthroating. He swallowed just a little, and got about half way before his throat began to itch. He choked and the elemental groaned, flattening his hand on the back of Rus’s skull and pushing down. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Let me just—” He grunted, bucking his hips, and his cock hit the back of Rus’s throat. “Oh, yes! Fuck.” He moaned loudly, mindless, apparently, of Rus’s discomfort.

It lasted a good ten minutes. Maybe twenty. Long enough to make Rus’s jaw ache and his throat burn. “Gah, no teeth, babe,” the elemental griped as reflex drove Rus to grimace. “Almost there.” Thank fuck, Rus thought, and he might have voiced it were his mouth not being used as a cocksleeve. The elemental held his head down and fucked his mouth, and with a rather unimpressive groan, buried himself all the way inside Rus’s throat and came. His hot release spilled into Rus’s throat, and contrary to his desires, he was forced to swallow it.

The air had never tasted sweeter. He buried a cough in his sleeve when the elemental let go of him at last. “Shit. Dude. That was amazing,” he breathed, slumping against the arm of the sofa. Rus was untangling himself from the blankets but the elemental pulled him back down and kissed him deeply, humming into his mouth. “Mm, we should definitely do that again. I was right about that dirty mouth, wasn’t I?”

Rus put the barest ounce of energy into the kiss before wriggling free. “ha, sure,” he said weakly, grimacing at the insincerity of his words. He scurried to the kitchen and drank straight from the tap, rinsing out his mouth and swallowing half a gallon of ice-cold water. His throat still felt singed.

When he returned to the living room, the elemental was dozing on the couch, while the TV flickered blue across the room. Sighing, Rus switched off the TV and left to take a shower. If he was lucky, maybe he could rub one out and pretend the sex (or lack thereof) hadn’t been dismally frustrating.

  Finding partners online proved to be a thousand times easier than flirting at bars, and Rus wished he’d tried it out sooner. He spoke to a hundred odd men a day, but only a miniscule percentage of them ever saw his bed. And not for lack of effort on his part. But most of them seemed to fall into one of two categories—the over-eager pervert, or the ghost. Rus wasn’t particularly inclined to either. The odd few that fell outside of those categories usually went home with him.

They were fine.

Tonight, they ended up on the sofa. After a tedious non-debate over what movie they were going to (not) watch, Rus ended up in his partner’s lap. He was human, which made his lap somewhat comfy, though his hands were… disappointingly immobile. He held Rus around the waist, and from there—well, nothing. The movie slogged on for a good half hour before Rus realised he was likely expected to make the first move. A bit awkward from his position, but his patience was dwindling.

He twisted in the human’s arms, giving him a soft, but suggestive smile. “enjoying the movie?” he asked, tongue dancing across his teeth—just for a moment, he still enjoyed a degree of subtlety.

The human shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Rus held in a frustrated sigh. “just fine?” He smiled and touched the tip of his tongue to the human’s neck, tasting sweat. “anything i can do to make it more than just fine?” The human stirred, shifting his hips beneath Rus.

“Yeah? Like what?” Rus grinned cheekily and the human lifted him onto his back, tugging his pants off.

Underwhelming was the only word that could really describe it. It was over before Rus had even started, and the human didn’t breathe a word before getting up wandering down the hall to the bathroom. Rus couldn’t even say he was frustrated, just… bored.

  Undyne set Rus up with a guy she knew from work. “He’s really nice, I swear!” she told him excitedly. “Real gentleman. And he has a great sense of humour. You’ll love him.” She wasn’t completely wrong. He was friendly, he laughed at Rus’s jokes, and he kept the conversation going well enough to stifle most awkward silences.

He took Rus to a drive-in movie on their first date, and insisted on driving him personally. More as a means of showcasing his ride than out of courtesy, Rus soon came to realise. “Just got her,” he’d said, patting the bonnet of the sleek car. “Wanted to take her out for a spin. What do you think?” Rus wasn’t an expert on cars, but he knew enough to be able to tell a good car from a bad one. This one was good (probably expensive), and had a spacious backseat.

Which may have been why they found themselves there halfway through the movie, mouths locked together while they undressed each other. “God, you’re gorgeous,” the other monster breathed as he unbuttoned Rus’s shirt. “Beautiful. Let me see you.” His words were kind, almost reverent, and in spite of himself, they made Rus blush. Soft paws scrambling over his body, and soon the monster had two fingers inside him. From his appearance, Rus had to guess he had some wolf in him (and so did he, his mind supplied). His fingers were long and his coordination was… awkward. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but he wasn’t hitting the right spots either.

“How’s that, baby?” he breathed feverishly, pushing his face into the nape of Rus’s neck. “Good?” Rus hummed a non-response and the wolf pressed himself closer. “Lie down, I wanna taste ya.” He crawled between Rus’s knees and lifted his legs over his shoulders. The warm swipe of his tongue over Rus’s clit made his breath catch.

“oh…”

“Mm, ya like that?” He pressed his tongue inside Rus, and Rus clutched to the fur on the back of his neck. It was… pretty good, honestly. More than fine, a nice change. But…

“Alright, sweetheart, let me see you on your knees.” It stopped all too soon. The wolf grinned, kissing him, his tongue probing. “Can you taste yourself? You taste real good, baby.” Rus hummed against his mouth in (false) affirmation, then sat back while the wolf unbuckled his jeans. And...

Oh. He was. He was big. There was no sugar-coating it. Rus studied his cock and swallowed, and the wolf’s yellow eyes glinted. “Yeah? You like it, sweetheart? Ready to taste my nice thick cock?” Rus’s smile was so heartily feigned, it couldn’t have fooled anyone. Well. Except for this guy, apparently. He grinned and kissed Rus before leaning back. “That’s it, babe, let me see that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

Rus slipped into the small space between the front and back seat that passed for a floor. It was cramped, but it was the only position that gave him a good angle. He licked the wolf’s cock tentatively, swirling his tongue around the head. “Fuck…” he breathed, stroking the back of Rus’s skull. “That’s it, babe, keep goin’. All the way.”

Rus managed to get about half way before his gag reflex caught up with him. He coughed and pulled off, wiping his mouth. “Fuck, good boy,” the wolf breathed, rubbing Rus’s arm. “You’re such a good boy, that felt real good. I know you can keep going.” Rus took him in again, this time at an easier pace. “Oh, that’s it.” He bobbed his head, moving down in increments. “Fuck, lemme see how deep you can go. Let me see you take that big dick—far as you can go, baby, oh, oh, fuck yeah.”

Rus made admirable progress, holding just long enough for the wolf to thrust and catch him in the back of the throat. He swallowed a gag, pulling off quickly, and the wolf exhaled. “Come up, come up here, sweetheart.” He beckoned lazily and Rus sat back up on the seat, letting the wolf guide him into a sloppy kiss. “You want it inside you now?” he purred against Rus’s neck. “Wanna feel that nice big dick inside your pretty cunt?”

Rus nodded with lacklustre enthusiasm. “mhm,” he hummed, his inflection just off. The wolf grinned, kissing him as he lowered him onto his back and lined himself up. It took just the tip inside him for Rus to realise it wasn’t going to fit. “ah!” He winced, digging his fingers into the wolf’s back as he sank in. “ah, fuck!”

The wolf grinned, lapping at his neck. “That good, baby? You like that? Yeah, you like that big dick, don’t ya? Fuck you’re tight. You feel so good, sweetheart, so good.” He pushed deeper and a cry slipped from Rus—fuck it hurt, it hurt so much. He shut his eyes and held on, panting. “Oh, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Love hearing you scream like that. Fuck, it’s hot.” With no further grace, he pounded into Rus, and then Rus really did scream. The wolf gave a howl of pleasure, dragging Rus flush against his body as he fucked him.

It lasted longer than Rus was used to—and usually, he’d be thankful for that. Longer sex increased his odds of getting off. Only this time, it did nothing but extend his pain. His cunt felt like it was being split open, each thrust jolting his entire body. “Oh, sweetheart,” the wolf moaned, slowing to a gentle roll of his hips. “Let’s turn you over, I wanna take you from behind.” Limbs shaking, Rus got onto all fours. The wolf wrapped an arm around his torso and slowly pushed into him.

The angle was no better. If anything, it was deeper—too deep, each thrust jarring. Grateful the wolf couldn’t see his face, Rus shut his eyes, wincing against tears.

He knew it was over when the wolf buried himself deep and held himself there, exhaling against Rus’s neck. Hot ropes of cum coated his inner walls, and—wait, was that…? “are you… knotting me?” Rus asked, not bothering to hide the discomfort in his voice. Somehow, his tone still seemed to pass the wolf’s notice.

“Ah, shit… yeah, sorry. Should’ve warned you about that.” He stroked Rus’s spine as he filled him, the stream of cum unceasing.

“um, yeah maybe?” Rus grimaced, pressing his face into his folded arms. “shit…”

“Can be a bit intense, or so I’m told.” He laughed hoarsely and pressed his body close. “But nice, huh?” Well, the stretch was overwhelming, but it did beat being pounded into the car seat. Fractionally.

The wolf’s cock softened eventually, but the damage was done. Rus was tender and sore, and his inner thighs were slick with cum… and blood. He inhaled sharply and quickly pulled up his jeans to hide it.

When Rus got out of bed the next morning, his pelvis ached. Sitting down hurt, and walking was… awkward. He caught a glimpse of his neck in the bathroom mirror and winced internally. Bruises flushed the bone a purple-grey colour, and the wolf’s teeth had left some pretty telling marks. He picked out a black turtleneck, and spent most of the day on his feet.

Around noon, he received a text from an unsaved number.

Wanted to get in contact with you again so ‘Dyne gave me your number! Just wanted to emphasise how amazing last night was for me. Would love to do it again sometime. - Dom

  Against all odds, Rus did end up seeing him again. Really, Dominic was a nice guy. A little cocky, and a little rough, but nice. Fine. The second time they met, Rus sheepishly managed to stutter out that last time was maybe a little too rough and that maybe, if possible, he’d like to perhaps go just a little bit slower this time. Maybe.

“Well, shit, why didn’t ya tell me to stop if I was hurting you?” Dominic asked him, and that stumped Rus a little.

“i know i should’ve. i—i’m sorry. i… i don’t know.” His chest clenched with guilt. He’d messed up miserably. A part of him wondered how Dominic hadn’t noticed. Surely there’d been no mistaking his cries of pain for pleasure? Surely he’d noticed the awkward way Rus had been sitting while they saw the movie through afterward? Surely he’d seen the blood on his pelvis?

Dominic shrugged, lying down next to him. “S’all good. We’ll try and go slower this time, yeah?”

A seed of warmth grew in Rus’s chest, and he smiled. “thanks, dominic.”

He patted Rus’s shoulder. “Hey—remember, call me Dom.”

It was better. Not great, but better. Fine. Dominic gave him a little more room to control the pace, but he quickly found himself on his back again. “Fuck, you know how hard it is to hold myself back,” Dominic growled against his skull as he rolled into him. “Feels so good being inside you, baby, I just wanna go balls deep.” Rus closed his eyes, shuddering. In many ways, the dirty talk was appealing. It was nice to know his partner was into it. Nice to know he was doing something right. But on the other hand… it didn’t exactly hit the right spots.

“You know what was really good last time?” Dominic murmured, licking along Rus’s jawline. “Seeing my dick in your mouth. You liked that, didn’t you? Having a nice big cock in your mouth?”

God, I get it! Your dick is big! Rus wanted to scream, but instead he smiled, nodding. “yeah,” he said weakly.

“Yeah?” Dominic caressed his face with the back of his hand, tender despite his words. Rus nodded with forced eagerness and Dominic grinned, kissing him briefly before rolling off him.

Sucking him off was no less onerous than it had been last time. Rus still couldn’t take him all the way in, though Dominic seemed inclined to get him to try. At length, he patted the back of Rus’s skull. “Alright, come up, I wanna try something else.” Relieved, Rus sat up, and Dominic caught his hips, dragging him upward. “Lemme eat you out while you suck my dick,” he said. “Wanna taste that sweet cunt again.”

“o-okay,” Rus stammered, a little confounded. This was unfamiliar territory. He’d never tried this position before. He lay with his hips over Dominic’s face while his skull fell in line with his cock. The angle was strange, but the reciprocation was appreciated. Dominic pressed his tongue deep inside Rus and he moaned around his cock. Fuck. This was something he could get used to, even if it meant a throatful of dick.

“Shit, that’s it,” Dominic breathed against his cunt. “Keep goin’, baby, I’m getting so close.” He licked a strip down Rus’s inner folds then let his hips drop, ceasing his own performance. Rus lifted his head but Dominic stroked the back of his neck, easing him back down. “Keep goin’, sweetheart, keep goin’, nearly there, fuck…”

You are, but I’m not, Rus thought resentfully. He bobbed his head until Dominic gripped the back of his neck and thrust upward, releasing a stream of cum into his mouth. Rus coughed and it dribbled down his chin and onto the bedsheets. “Aw, sweetheart, fuck… that was hot.” Dominic chuckled, rubbing Rus’s coccyx. “You look good from this angle.”

Rus’s laugh sounded strained, even to him. He climbed off Dominic and sank into the mattress. His cunt still throbbed needily, unsatisfied. He ran a finger lightly over his clit, then looked up at Dominic. “hey, uh, you don’t mind if i… get myself off, do you?” he asked apprehensively.

Dominic eyed him, lifting an eyebrow. “Ha, multiple orgasm kinda guy?”

Multiple—?! Rus laughed feebly. “heh, guess so, yeah.” He turned on his side, resting his chin against Dominic’s bicep as he touched himself. His own careful hands were a staggering contrast to Dominic’s more forceful manner. He moaned softly, burying his face in Dominic’s shoulder and inhaling deeply.

“Fuck… listen to ya. Love seeing you make yourself feel good, babe.” Dominic closed his hand over Rus’s, attempting to guide his movements. “Need an extra hand?” He pressed a thick finger inside Rus and Rus tensed against the intrusion. Fuck, he was so close, could this idiot not—?!

He breathed and kept going, trying not to let it deter him. Dominic was oblivious, but there was something to be said for his eagerness to please. It was heartier praise than Rus could offer his past lovers.

In the end, though, it fell just short of enough. Frustratingly, his climax refused to come, and he settled for a fake one, lest they be here all night. He moaned and squeezed Dominic’s shoulder, then relaxed. At this point, Dominic had two fingers inside him, and was pumping them hard beyond the point of pleasure. He slipped them out of Rus and lifted them to Rus’s mouth. “Come on, baby, taste yourself.” Rus obediently sucked on his fingers and Dominic’s eyes fell half-lidded. “Fuck, that’s good, isn’t it? You feel good?”

Not even close! Am I not even allowed to come on my own terms?! Can I not have a moment to myself where you’re not trying to prove to me how fantastic you are in bed? Can I just enjoy myself instead of sitting subject to your showcase of your own damn ineptitude?

Caving, Rus smiled. “yeah, that was nice.”

Dominic smiled and corralled him tightly, kissing his forehead. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” He chuckled quietly to himself, as if sharing a private joke. “You’re probably going to think I’m just saying this to get you into bed again—and maybe I kind of am, just a tad—but… man, I love spending time with you. Feels good having you close by.” He squeezed Rus to his chest. “Mind if I spend the night?”

“of course not.” Because how could he say no after such a heartfelt confession? Rus’s insides were squirming. He wanted a shower… and to sleep alone. But, he made do. This was fine.

  His relationship with Dominic endured beyond its expiry date. It wasn’t all bad. Sometimes it was nice to be able to lie next to someone and know they cared for you a little more than people usually did. Other times, Rus just wanted to scream at him to shut up about the size of his damn dick! In the end, he was left with a few fond memories, and a few bitter ones. He tried to focus on the fond ones, for the most part.

Months rolled into years, and Rus kept his distance from anything that resembled romance. Casual sex remained a pass time, but none of it particularly noteworthy. Undyne had a fondness of bars. Not that Rus minded much, but it did mean he spent a significant amount of time in the line of fire of flirty guys. It wasn’t all bad, really. In some ways, he enjoyed the attention.

But man. Some nights he just needed a break. Was sitting alone wearing sweatpants and a pulled-up hoodie not enough of a deterrent? Did he really look like he was here to get laid?! Apparently yes, if the four men who approached him over the course of the evening were any indication to the fact.

“You need to relax,” Undyne said, swaying past him in time to the jukebox music, drink in hand. “I mean, sure they’re a little over-eager, but…” She glanced around then leaned in. “Don’t tell me all that attention isn’t kind of flattering.” Rus didn’t miss the note of resentment in her voice.

He hummed, swirling his virgin martini around the glass. “guess i’m just not really in the mood tonight. sorry, didn’t mean to kill your buzz or anything.”

Undyne patted his shoulder. “Nah, you’re good. I mean, I should be thanking you for volunteering to drive…. Thanks.” She grinned, and Rus smiled up at her.

“it’s okay. wasn’t really planning on drinking anyway.”

She crouched, gripping his shoulder to keep her balance, then giving it a gentle squeeze as if the move had been deliberate. “Why don’t you come dance with me? They’re playing really good music tonight!”

Rus eyed the small stage, where monsters and humans clamoured and swayed out of time to the music. “uh, that’s okay. think i’ll just sit here.” He nodded at the dancefloor. “that bun looks like she’s making eyes at you, though. why don’t you go and say hello?” Undyne glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushing. “go on,” Rus said, grinning.

“I, uh—okay, um…” She turned to look at Rus, her eyes frantic. “Do I—do I look okay?” She made an attempt at flattening her hair and he laughed.

“you look great! now go, before she finds another fish in the sea.” Undyne gave him a disapproving glare before she hurried across the room and into the gathered crowd. Rus watched her disappear, then returned to disinterestedly nursing his drink. He’d barely taken a sip, but having a drink in his hand gave him the ‘i already have a drink’ escape line if anyone offered to buy him one.

The night wore on, and the bar began to empty. Rus barely left his seat, apart from a couple of bathroom breaks, which were more an excuse to get himself out of conversations with handsy men. Being a Tuesday night, the place closed at one, and by midnight, it was nearly empty…

And naturally, there was no sign of Undyne. Grudgingly getting up from his coveted chair, Rus searched the place and came up empty-handed. More an inconvenience than a reason to be alarmed—Undyne had a tendency to wander into stranger’s beds without telling Rus where she was going. He returned to his seat, figuring he may as well wait until closing to see if she turned up.

“Lost someone?”

Rus glanced up as the bartender rolled his sleeves up and wiped down his table with a cloth. “no... well, yes. but she’ll turn up.” He chewed his tongue, eyeing the bartender up and down. He was a skeleton monster too, but his features were hardened by scars and his bones were thicker and rougher than Rus’s. Horns curled from his skull, and his crimson eye-lights flicked over Rus as he cleaned.

“We’re closing in fifteen minutes. You have a ride home?”

“yeah, i haven’t been drinking, i’ll be fine.”

The bartender lifted a brow bone. “Alright.” He moved on to the next set of tables, stacking the chairs. Inadvertently, Rus’s eyes followed the curve of his hip as he walked. He quickly pulled his gaze away and dug in his pockets for his keys, but came up empty. His phone also appeared to be missing.

Shit. He must have left them in Undyne’s purse. Well. That was inconvenient as fuck. “hey, uh…” He stood up and walked after the bartender. “you don’t happen to have a payphone here, do you?” The bartender glanced at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Lost your ride?”

“lost my keys,” Rus said, narrowing his sockets. His indignance only made the bartender smile wider, but he nodded at the bar.

“Behind the bar. There’s a jar of change there too if you need it.”

“i have my own change, but thanks.” He marched up to the phone, flipping through the pages of the phonebook in search of a taxi company. He leaned against the bricks of the back wall as the phone rang, glancing around the bar. The place was empty now, just the bartender circling the room. It was strange how it seemed to shrink without all its patrons.

The call stopped, greeting him with a dead dial tone. He scowled, searching for more change in his pockets and finding none. He eyed the free change jar dismally. Was his dignity really worth sacrificing a ride home?

“You know, if you’re having trouble getting home, I sleep upstairs. You’re welcome to spend the night here.” The bartender’s eyes were on him, and his smile hinted at more than a mere courtesy, a charming glint in his red eye-lights. He lifted a stool onto the bartop. “Or you could hitchhike. I hear the strangers are friendly in these parts.” Hardly true. This was about as down as downtown got.

“hilarious,” Rus said, hanging up the unhelpful payphone. “and are you actually trying to get me into bed right now?”

The bartender cocked a brow. “I don’t believe I made any mention of sex.”

Rus folded his arms and gave a lofty snort. “well—neither did i.” Well done, Rus. Totally dignified. The bartender’s mouth curled, and he returned to cleaning.

It took all of ten minutes for both of them to eat their words. Rus learned that the bartender’s name was Edge, and that he was a very good kisser. After closing up, he led Rus upstairs to the attic, where he pinned him against the bedroom door. Once he’d gotten Rus’s hoodie out the way, he occupied himself with his neck, latching onto it with his teeth. They were razor sharp, but he was careful with them. He had a way of focusing magic on just the tip of his tongue that made Rus shiver.

“you live here alone?” Rus asked, looking around the attic. It was orderly, and surprisingly homely. Shelves stacked with books, plush carpets, a table of figurines. “it’s nice.”

“I own the whole place,” Edge said between kisses. “And yes, it is nice.” He caught Rus around the waist and lower spine and drew him in close, kissing his bare ribs and sternum. Rus closed his eyes and exhaled, magic trickling down to his pubic arch. He gasped as Edge lifted him with a hand braced under his pelvis, his mouth never leaving Rus’s clavicle. Instinctively, Rus wrapped his legs around Edge’s waist and felt the press of his hard length through his jeans.

“so how often do you fuck your patrons up here?” he asked. Edge lowered him onto the bed and crawled between his knees, pausing to brush his thumb over Rus’s cheek. The gesture was brief, and likely meant nothing, but it made Rus blush.

“More often than I should, less often than I’d like,” Edge answered. Then, with a smirk, “Usually the sober ones who’ve been abandoned by their drunk friends.” Rus rolled his eyes.

“not the drunk ones?”

“You’ve seen one drunk idiot, you’ve seen them all.” Edge pushed their hips together and made a soft noise of satisfaction. “You’re comfortable with this?”

Rus blinked slowly. “uh... sure?”

Edge paused, frowning. “I mean—you’re comfortable bottoming?” At first, Rus mistook the question for a joke, and laughed. But Edge’s steady gaze didn’t waver.

“oh, you’re serious. yeah—yeah i like bottoming…” Not a complete lie. He liked it when he was alone and actually achieved climax.

“Alright.” Edge placed a tender kiss on Rus’s forehead and—shit, he was blushing again.

“um, i—here.” Reaching for a distraction, Rus unbuckled Edge’s belt. “let me—”

Edge caught his wrist. “If you’re bottoming, you’re going first.”

Rus stared at him, then let his hand drop. “o-okay.” He watched with magic in his mouth as Edge carefully pulled off his sweatpants, crouching between his parted knees.

“This is okay, right?”

Rus laughed helplessly. “you don’t have to keep asking.”

“We barely know each other. I’m not familiar with your non-verbal cues—so yes, I do have to keep asking.” Rus looked at him with a degree of alarm, but mustered a nod.

“well... alright. um, yes, yes, this is good.”

Fuck, more than good, he thought, as Edge began eating him out. He was gentle, slow with his tongue, and had a knack for finding Rus’s pressure points. He hooked his arms beneath Rus’s knees and lifted his legs over his shoulders. Rus exhaled and moaned softly, running his fingers over Edge’s horns. Edge grunted and pressed his tongue deep, right against a spot that made Rus whine. “Sorry,” he breathed, pulling back. “They’re sensitive.”

“oh—” Rus quickly let go of his horns. “sorry, i didn’t mean to—”

“Sensitive in the sense that you should definitely keep touching them.” Edge’s provocative smile was enough to banish all of Rus’s qualms. With little more than a stupefied nod, he gripped onto Edge’s horns and explored their texture, stroking the small ridges and chips. In short order, Edge had his tongue inside him again, and this time, Rus had difficulty keeping his cries restrained.

Yet all too soon, Edge sat up, bringing his pleasure to a slamming halt. Rus watched with veiled disappointment as he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock. Crawling up to kneel between Rus’s legs, he gently slid two fingers inside him. “This okay?” he asked, scissoring them.

“yeah,” Rus said faintly. “fine.” Edge contemplated him, carefully slipping his fingers out.

“Just fine?” he asked, his mouth curling upward. He lined himself up, pressing just the tip of his cock inside. “You want me to slow down? Vodka. Stop? Tequila.”

“is that a bartender joke?” Rus asked, deadpan.

Edge smiled. “If you don’t stop after the tequila, you’re in trouble.” He stroked Rus’s jaw with the back of his hand. “You good?”

Rus nodded robotically. “yeah.”

“You sure? I can go down on you for longer if you need more time.” Oh, what a tempting offer.

“it’s—it’s fine. you can keep going. this is good.” Rus squirmed beneath him and wrapped his legs around his waist. Edge sighed deeply and kissed him, just a gentle brush of teeth on teeth, then pushed his tongue into Rus’s mouth, kissing him deeply. He pushed forward with his hips, sinking about halfway before Rus tensed. “vodka!” he blurted, squeezing his fists around a handful of sheets. Edge stopped at once and withdrew a centimetre. “fuck…” Rus turned his face away. “i’m sorry—”

“Sorry? For using a designated caution word? Don’t be.” Edge pulled all the way out and Rus slumped, guilt gnawing at his insides.

“i just… i’m ruining this…”

“You’re not.” The look on Edge’s face was so tender, so cautiously mindful, that Rus had to avert his eyes. It was stewing emotions he really didn’t know how to deal with. “I know we barely know each other, but a one-night stand is a mutual agreement. If you’re not getting anything out of this, then I don’t want to keep going.”

“no, i am!” Rus wanted to bury himself. “gah—fuck, i’m sorry, i just—i don’t want you to feel like you have to make special accommodations just for me. this is just meant to be… sex.”

Edge lifted a concerned brow. “Sex is meant to be pleasurable—for both parties.”

“well, i know that…” Rus shifted uncomfortably beneath Edge, biting his tongue.

“How about this—” Edge rolled them over, setting Rus atop his hips. “You control the pace.”

Adjusting himself in Edge’s lap, Rus nodded. He fumbled Edge’s dick inside himself, grinding slowly. It slipped out and he grit his teeth. “fucking hell… i’m sorry.”

Edge shook his head, stroking Rus’s iliac crests. “Take your time. At the very least, I have a spectacular view from down here.” Rus blushed and hummed bemusedly, while Edge stroked his ribs with gentle hands.

After another couple of attempts, he managed to get Edge’s cock inside himself—just the first couple of inches. “Is that comfortable?” Edge asked. Rus nodded, closing his eyes and breathing out. “That’s it,” Edge said softly, stroking his femurs. “Nice and easy.” He sighed. “Mm, that feels good, Rus.”

Bracing his hands on Edge’s chest, Rus rocked back and forth on his cock. The pace was slow, just a grind of his hips, but fuck, it felt nice. The angle was just right, and the movements were easy to maintain. Being able to control the pace made it easier to relax, too. Edge’s hands wandered, but he didn’t try to take over, or even direct Rus.

“How does that feel?” he asked, brushing Rus’s inner thigh with his thumb. “Good?” Breathing deeply, Rus nodded. “Can I kiss you?” The question was so simple, yet there was so much consideration in Edge’s tone, that Rus laughed.

“yes, yes you can.” He leaned forward onto Edge’s chest and met his mouth. The kiss was slow, timed pleasantly with the gentle rocking of Rus’s hips. Rus shut his eyes and rested his head on Edge’s shoulder. “this angle feels good.”

“It does,” Edge breathed, kissing his neck and resting a hand on his lower spine.

“should i go faster?” Rus asked, moaning quietly as Edge trickled his fingers down his spine, making it prickle warmly.

“Only if you want to.”

“but—” Rus swallowed. “faster feels better for you, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, love, this feels just fine, trust me.”

Rus held back a smile. “just fine?”

Edge shook his head, though his amusement betrayed him. “More than.” For the first time, he gave the smallest thrust of his hips. His cock hit a sweet spot inside Rus and he whined, burying his face in the nape of Edge’s neck. “You’re doing so well.”

Pressure built in the pit of Rus’s pelvic cavity, hot magic rushing to his cunt. He bit Edge’s neck and Edge groaned deeply, clinging to his back. “You’re amazing at this, by the way,” he breathed. “Amazing.” His breaths were coming shorter now, quick gasps as he let his hands wander over Rus’s back.

“fuck, this feels so good,” Rus gasped, sitting up. He rubbed his clit, grinding hard. Edge’s face contorted with pleasure. He opened his mouth, gasping, then shut his eyes and groaned. Rus felt a burst of wet warmth filling him as Edge dug his fingers into his hips.

“Fuck,” he gasped, dragging his fingertips down Rus’s ribs. When he began to relax, Rus stopped moving and slowly climbed off him. He tried to hold back the crushing disappointment, but his chest felt heavy.

Exhaling, Edge lay back, wiping his hand over his eyes. “Sorry. I. I got a little lost in the moment there.”

“it’s fine.” Rus searched the floor for his pants, sliding off the bed.

“Hey.” Edge caught his wrist, pulling him back down. “Let me finish you off.” Deliberating briefly, Rus let Edge drag him back into bed. Edge climbed on top of him and kissed him deeply before sinking down and pressing his face between his femurs. Rus let his hands wander Edge’s horns. They were a degree warmer than the rest of his body, flushed with magic.

Edge lifted Rus’s legs around his shoulders and pressed his tongue deep. His mouth was warm against Rus’s cunt, and his own lingering release seemed of little bother. Rus’s climax built, sitting on the brink… before fading. But it wasn’t enough to deter Edge. He kept going, stroking Rus’s femurs as he did.

A good fifteen minutes passed and Rus’s frustration began to mount. “edge, i’m sorry… i’m taking so long. you don’t have to keep going…”

Edge looked up, a flicker of empathy crossing his face. “I want to keep going.” He smiled warmly and kissed Rus’s femur. “I’m enjoying myself. Honestly. You sound beautiful, and I like the feeling of you beneath my tongue.” His smile grew when Rus shuddered. “Unless you want me to stop.”

Rus shook his head, letting go of a breath. “fuck no.”

“Good.”

Edge ran his thumb over Rus’s outer folds and ducked his head again. Watching him became something of a delight for Rus. He stroked his horns and took satisfaction in knowing someone was willing to put this much time and effort into giving him just a moment of pleasure.

When he came at last, he clung to Edge’s horns, tipping his head back. Edge licked his clit delicately, channelling magic into the gesture, and Rus whined, then breathed out. Trailing kisses up his hip, then his spine, Edge came to settle on Rus’s chest. “How was that?” he murmured, eyes closed, smile soft.

“th-that’s the first time i’ve ever come during sex,” Rus confessed. The moment the words were out, his soul shrivelled. He blushed hotly and chewed on his fingertips. “sorry, that was… not the right time to share that.”

Edge laughed quietly. “On the contrary, I’m very flattered. Immediate feedback is always appreciated.”

Rus groaned, his embarrassment deepening. “oh, fuck… i just. i just have a very hard time coming during sex, i guess. especially from penetration. it’s nice, but i…” He shrugged helplessly.

Edge studied him with a mingle of amusement and pity. “Perhaps you’ve just been with the wrong people.”

“oh, and what? you’re mister right?”

“Being able to get your partner to come is the bare minimum,” Edge said, a tad bitterly. “You forget, we share biology. I’ve been in your position, believe me. I thought it was me. But…” He smiled wryly. “I’m pickier about my partners now. If they’re going to be coming, so am I.” He circled a finger around Rus’s sternum. “And vice versa. What’s important to me is that you enjoyed yourself.” He lifted his head, giving Rus a searching look. “Did you?”

Rus smiled, bending down to kiss him. “i did,” he said, and for once, he meant it.

[strang-news]

//Vicky Reviews//

Dunkin’ Mini Pancakes: A Tale of Love and Betrayal 

by Vicky

If you know me at all, you’re likely familiar with my appreciation of and discerning taste for junky fast food. Something about the drive-thru/takeout meal experience makes me feel happy and warm inside, despite the horror show amount of sodium each menu item contains. This peek into one of my quirks is a necessary preamble to the words I’m about to deliver. We have to establish credibility here. 

I now present to you a review of something I knew deep down wouldn’t be good, but that I hoped would miraculously surprise me: the mini pancakes at the Dunkin’ across the street from our Miami office. 

Let’s get it out of the way right now - they fricken suck. Like, 2/10 level suckage. I’m sorry if you wanted to hold on to the illusion of these being a good breakfast or afternoon snack option. I’m telling you this for your own good, as someone who gave them the fairest shot possible with a fully open heart and mind. They are stale, grainy, invariably cold, a far cry from the fluffy pancakes of your youth, and the tiny container of Mrs. Butterworth’s included with every order isn’t doing the cakes any kind of favor. They also cost a whole ass two dollars and twenty-nine cents, which just doesn’t sit right with me. If this is the quality we’re dealing with, I’m not paying any more than a single fiscal dollar and neither should you. 

Please heed my warning. Resist the allure of the tiny pancake concept. These things are cute, but they will break your heart and steal your money before they skip town with your girlfriend and your dog. Go for a breakfast sandwich instead!

[dogopower]

Satan, Prince of This World

SATANISM BEFORE AND AFTER THE ADVENT OF CHRIST

My personal experience proved I was unable to piece together the many thousands of pieces of information, and evidence, I had gathered since 1918 concerning the World Revolutionary Movement, (W.R.M..) until quite by “accident” I picked up a Bible in 1943 and started to glance through it because, I am now ashamed to confess, I was bored stiff lying on a hospital bed, with no other literature within reach which I hadn’t already read.

Ever since that day I have been convinced that what the vast majority of people call “accidents” or mere coincidence, are in reality “Acts of God.” I don’t go so far as to say that the Creator of this universe personally does things to us which will, if we heed what happens, seriously affect our lives, but I do believe that He wills such things to happen and his angels, who are associated with this world of ours, put His Divine Will into effect. Be that as it may. As I glanced through the Bible I could not help but see that many statements seemed to have a direct connection with events of history and events which were happening in this the 20th Century. This aroused my interest. Further study convinced me that in the Bible was to be found the “key” which would unlock the mystery which surrounds what so many authors have referred to in the past as The Secret Power which rules from BEHIND the scenes of ALL governments and causes them to adopt policies which ultimately lead to their own destruction. I therefore began to seek in the Bible the explanation of human events with which I had become familiar, but couldn’t fathom the “CAUSE” or “REASON” for their happening. With this explanation I will proceed to explain “Satanism” as I understand it.

Satanism is the manual of action which puts the Luciferian conspiracy into effect on this earth. The Old Testament, trimmed down to its greatest simplicity, is nothing more or less than the “History of Satanism.” It tells us how it has been directed since the Fall of our first parents to the Advent of Christ who carne to set us free from the bonds of Satanism with which the human race was being more securely tied generation after generation. The Holy Scriptures refer to Satan sixty-seven times and to Christ only sixty-three. But what concerns us most is the fact that the Holy Scriptures tell us, and prove, that “Satan is Prince of this World” (John XII:31; XIV:30; XVI:II). Because Satan is “The Adversary” of God and his human creatures, he must, as “Prince of this World,” be related to the W.R.M.

The word “World” has admittedly different connotations. We can define the word in a “favourable” or “neutral” sense and use it to mean “The earth where men dwell” or by metonymy “men themselves.” (John I. 9- 10; III. 16,17,19; )G. 27. etc.)

The word “World” can also be used, in the unfavourable sense, to mean “The reign of evil on earth.” Those who constitute the “Reign of evil” are the Synagogue of Satan. What they inspire and do, and have done, is diametrically opposed to the WILL OF GOD; they set up a barrier between this world and Christ and his followers. To illustrate this, Christ is recorded by John as saying “I am not of this world ... I pray not for this world ... me it hateth.” And to his disciples “You are not for the world ... the world hateth you,” and so on. (John VIII. 23; XVII. 9; VII. 7; XV 19; etc.; cf I John III. 13,14).

Thus we can understand that, ever since the advent of Jesus Christ, Satanism has waged a perpetual war to prevent God’s children on this earth from putting God’s plan for the rule of the entire universe into operation upon this earth. By preventing us putting God’s plan into effect; and by preventing us living “The way of life” as taught to us by Christ, and summarized in the words of “The Lord’s Prayer,” Satanism prevents the masses from doing God’s Will on earth as it is done in Heaven.

This brings us to the interpretation of the Lord’s Prayer. The preamble and middle require no explanation but the words, “And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,” most certainly do. How can we conceive that God would “LEAD” the members of the human race into temptation? He may, and undoubtedly does, permit us to be tempted by those who direct or serve Satanism. The Scriptures tell us God will not permit us to be tempted beyond our powers of resistance. Thus temptation enables us to PROVE whether we are “For” or “Against” God.

I have, as the vast majority of Christians have also done, repeated the Lord’s Prayer daily since I could talk. But I never studied the words until I was on the flat of my back with a fractured spine in 1943. As the result of studying the words in their relation to Satanism, and the W.R.M., I reached the conclusion that the words would have had a better relationship had the interpretation into English been “And let us not be led into temptation; but deliver us from the Evil One (Satan).” I was pleased to discover, long afterwards, that the Greek fathers of early Christianity; the ancient Roman fathers; and several liturgies were strongly in favour of the masculine rather than the neutral use of the words “A malo.” The importance of this question is to be found in the FACT that if we should be saying “But deliver us from the Evil One (Satan) it would automatically mean that Christ considered Satanism the author of ALL temptation and all the evil (sin) we can commit and, at the same time, be the director of all the evils we can be made to suffer as a means of weaning us away from Faith in God.

These thoughts caused me to do further research, and I found in the New Testament, and in the texts of the “Desert Fathers,” that Satan, and those of the Synagogue of Satan, exercise a general direction or superintendence over ALL the evil, temporal, and spiritual, which is committed, or experienced, in this world.

[markedasinfernal]

An Evil Cradling: The Final Chapter!

How long has it been? Don’t answer that. But finally, FINALLY I can announce with much joy and relief that this gruelling saga is come to its conclusion.

This is the last chapter of An Evil Cradling that will be published, and for better or for worse (well, like 20,000 words of worse) it brings Maedhros’ stay in Angband to its close. It’s been a long road to get here, but I think that the time is now right to leave Maedhros to his fate, and to move on to other things. And I only want to say thank you to all of my readers who have been so patient and encouraging and exciting through this whole series - it really wouldn’t have been written without you, so thanks so much for your support! 

Preamble over - let’s get to the gritty stuff. So with happiness and terror and a bit of sadness but also a lot of overwhelming relief I give to you: AN EVIL CRADLING, CHAPTER 10 - THE HATE IN THE STONES. 

Big topic warnings for all of the usual horrors: torture, gore, non-con, Mairon. If you’re new here, please heed these warnings - this is not a fluff fic! 

Read it here on [AO3] / / /  [FF.net]

Enjoy! - markedasinfernal / theeventualwinner

[eksbdan-blog]

New Post has been published on https://passingbynehushtan.com/2020/02/16/doctrine-vs-the-didache-of-jesus/

Church Doctrine vs. the Didache of Jesus: A Prophetic Think Tank

Didache or Doctrine?

Well, here we go again. The story about how 1st century Christain words were twisted and morphed into ideas that have little to no relation with the original. And what could be more consequential than that of the word “doctrine”?

The “doctrine” of faith, such as “faith alone” or “faith with works.”  The “doctrine” of Christ, such as “fully man and fully God” or “a man that became divine.” The “doctrine” of justification as a free gift, without works, or justification by works. The “doctrine” of ecclesiastical authority, or the authority of scripture alone. The “doctrine” of a particular systematic approach. The “Doctrine” of a theological proposition. Are these really 1st-century Christian, Christ-ordained teachings (doctrine, didache)  or something else?

Now far be it for me to suggest that none in this mix of truth and error is original Christian teaching. What I’m saying is there is a huge difference between a truth that is a conclusion and a truth which is a premise or a fact. A conclusion is just a series of words adding up to a faint outline of what it exists to sign. So is a concept for the knowledge for which it merely symbolizes. What I ask is if doctrine in its original form is a supernaturally demonstrated and historical truth about Jesus Messiah or a derived human representation or proposition of it.

The answer is simple, isn’t it? We know unequivocally what that answer is. But we sure don’t like it and our relationship with “doctrine” is sure not modeled after that answer.

Please don’t underestimate the gravity of this question and its reverberations through our entire conception of what it means to be a Christian and what Christian truth is ultimately. Our conception of “Doctrine” effects what of the Bible will be presented to the world as crucial and ultimate examples of Christian truth claims.

This, in turn, tells the world what kind of morality with respect to that transcendent Truth of the Father Christ essentially displayed. How our emulation of His Truth is a sign of our salvation in Him. Our grasp of this concept is not one vital component in the whole of the conceptual “Truth” meta-symbol, its the whole kit and kaboodle. “Doctrine” is “Truth” or Truth is a mere bystander loitering along the way to Christ that comes to help when there is some faith accident, ready to make things right. But what essentially did Christ teach, give us as doctrine, for us to give to others?

First, what is doctrine:

A belief or tenet, especially about philosophical or theological matters. The body of teachings of a religion, or a religious leader, organization, group or text1

or

Doctrine, from Latin doctrina, (compare doctor), means “a body of teachings” or “instructions”, taught principles or positions, as the body of teachings in a branch of knowledge or belief system. The Greek analogy is the etymology of catechism.

These are pretty general. Let’s forget about these and take the meaning from the source. Doctrine is didache (διδαχή) in the Greek

from G1321; instruction (the act or the matter):—doctrine, hath been taught.

Our only real task is making sure that this didache, as Christ and the apostles used it, looks like itself and not gratuitously like the world’s general conception above. If it were limited to a mere “body of teachings” or “instructions” or “principles” or “positions” I don’t think we would have Christ’s didache. Why?

Because if Christianity is about for the first time in human history there is a divine disclosure of otherwise impossible knowledge about the existence, nature, and plan of this transcendent God, it’s not going to be about “instructions,” it’s going to be about the content of those instructions and that knowledge itself.

If doctrine is from a supernatural source and about transcendent reality, it’s then about knowledge content that itself shows supernatural origin.

Under the above criteria, is the concept of “doctrine” ultimately any teaching that is not transcendently self-attesting? Could it be teaching and knowledge that could have come from the creativity and resources of men?

Please keep this in mind as we proceed. This, my friends, if you profess faith, can change your life by a means that a conception of “doctrine” the church offers could never do in any number of relativistic years.

Didache occurs 30 times in the NT. In 13 other occasions the word  διδασκαλία didaskalía, did-as-kal-ee’-ah is used:

from G1320; instruction (the function or the information):—doctrine, learning, teaching.

In  1 Titus 1:3, there is also ἑτεροδιδασκαλέω , “to instruct differently.”

1 Timothy 1:2-4 (KJV) Unto Timothy, my own son in the faith: Grace, mercy, and peace, from God our Father and Jesus Christ our Lord. As I besought thee to abide still at Ephesus, when I went into Macedonia, that thou mightest charge some that they teach no other doctrine, Neither give heed to fables and endless genealogies, which minister questions, rather than godly edifying which is in faith: so do.

Interesting that in the KJV there is one instance (Heb 6:1) that translates logos in Greek as “doctrine” in the phrase “doctrine of Christ.” Why I don’t have a clue. Perhaps it makes more sense than the “Word of Christ” or logos of Christ?” If so, we have to ask why it would make more sense.

Why to us it makes more sense is really the story here. The story is about how to fallen Man things that sound too arcane and foreign must be given the prosaic workover so it looks more like us. “Doctrine” has been given the prosaic workover.

This is a preamble to our post-cross historical age that became obsessed and fixed exclusively on “doctrine” as statements or conclusions, rather than a “teaching” of the word of Christ, which is an entirely different and much more exacting matter, as we will see.

Ok, what is it?

What kind of information is this doctrine? The most important and defining “teaching,” and from where they are informed, which joins every believer around a common set of facts?

Why would I even ask such a question, “what is Christian doctrine?” when everyone knows what is Christian doctrine? Everyone knows the historical beliefs of the Church. We also know it as the accepted propositions of a particular denomination. Of course, we also know what “doctrine” in the dictionary means? Asking this is almost like asking “in what year was the War of 1812 fought?” Or,  “what is the meaning of apple pie?”

Since I’m asking for the definition of something that everyone already knows and has agreed upon, at least that doctrine is about the confessions of faith, how could I not but introduce yet another of a million articles talking about the Westminister Confession? Or quoting Scliermacher on dogmatics? Or pulling out a Catholic catechism? Or “the 5 Fundamentals’? That “doctrine” is essentially a creed?

Certainly, I would not be so presumptuous as to own pull out my own bullets of doctrinal devotion and contrasting them with nearly two millennia of work by our wise and prudent scholars. What, do I think that this question is open to some question like that which the Judgement of Paris entertained? How impudent! How could two millennia be wrong?

Yes, that is what I mean. Informed are two millennia from the same place. Namely, the underlying assumption of “doctrine” as that of religious propositions that are not their own evidence for their truth but nevertheless define Christian faith.

As I have implied and sketched out a destination, this article aims to establish not the topographical features of the common “doctrine” idea encompassed in “faith statement” or “post-1st century object of theological warfare,” but to get at the heart of it. To see if at that heart there might be something about a kind of Christian doctrine fallen through a 1900-year-old crack. Deleted or relegated, but still, the only kind which, if made singular and primary, removes the arguability of “doctrine” to give back its power.

The power to stand not only as a conclusion but a predicate. As a symbol and a substance of the truth it states, and return Christianity to more a kind of spiritual science than a scholarly and pedestrian mosh pit before another genius that wants to thrill people more with his own revelation than the one Jesus sent.

If it were so, then the divisiveness and covetousness end that comes with touting only from one’s own resources a belief that is open to equivocation,  attack, and death. We want to give back to it what was instead unequivocally gutted from it: its self-attest-ability.

But to do this, we have to clearly open up for comparison what is that corrupt consensus reality on the subject of doctrine, how important the 1st-century conception of doctrine it is to the faith by comparison, and what is the cost of losing it. If we are then able to discover what is the real “doctrine” which that world echo chamber has refused, we will turn its own assumptions back on them.

“Doctrine” is essential? “Doctrine” is “truth.” Then any confession of truth which holds to a conception of a belief statement in spiritual things which is capable of supporting itself as true only out of the resources of the mind and emotions is not important to the faith and not “truth.” On the contrary, the cost of losing false doctrine is not only zero, but more like the resurrection of Christ from the dead.

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The Consensus Reality: Schleiermacher

Since Friedrich Daniel Ernst Schleiermacher (1768–1834) is considered the arch dogmatist and the father of modern liberalism, and since we are living after him we are prudent to start with the one who best exemplifies what we believe about doctrine today.

Schleiermacher was a Kantian. Immanuel Kant denied the possibility of an objective, demonstrable divine knowledge. There was no way to “prove” Christian doctrine as true, and that is not its purpose. The purpose of Christianity is for the education of our passions or moral bearing, for the betterment of human societies.  Kant was a functional atheist in this sense, believing that Christianity is not “true” in the classic sense, but still held dearly to the preforming of his Christian devotions and moral self-control. He was functionally an atheist, but very, very religious.

Schleiermacher followed Kant in insisting that Christianity has nothing to do with the belief in miracles, but one engaged directly with Jesus and his redemptive power. Look at these from The Christian Faith:

Page 109: Unity of doctrine in the church is not required.

P. 76: Doctrine is the “accounts of the Christian religious affections set forth in speech.”

P. 123-125: The whole of Christian Doctrine is “facts presupposed by antithesis” combined with facts that remain unchanged during the development of the antithesis and ” facts determined by the antithesis.”

P. 142: “religious feeling” is the essence of the Christian experience and the proposition that describes its basis is the “totality of finite being existed only in dependence upon the Infinite.”

P. 591: “The authority of Holy Scripture cannot be the foundation of faith in Christ; rather the latter must be presupposed before a peculiar authority can be granted Holy to Scripture.” The Old Testament was insignificant for this.

Any book can be the “Bible,” not necessarily the OT or NT.

Two forms of consciousness are knowing and feeling. Knowing and doing is the anthesis to feeling. Feeling sits between knowing and doing, and so is the “seat,” as Barth called it. The primary object of knowledge is therefore pious feeling.

Does any of this sound familiar today?

You may say that much of this is eschewed in Conservative congregations, but I assure you that none of them really do, as will be seen.

Although they fought and debated, Schleiermacher was essentially a Hegelian.  Hegel disagreed strongly with him on the Trinity, which  Schleiermacher thought was not settled because there was never any attempt to enunciate clearly by Christ and the apostles.

Hegel thought of history as a movement between a proposition, an opposing conception (antithesis) and an outworking synthesis. It is not important what is this thesis, antithesis or synthesis, but only if it works toward human freedom. Although discovery influences a new view of reality, it is clear from Hegel’s language that the focus is on the “proposition” moving history, not changing facts, and what people decide is true. History is human self-consciousness interpreting and re-interpreting itself: “History is the process whereby the spirit discovers itself and its own concept.”

The spirit is primarily its own object; but as long as it is this only  in our eyes, and has not yet recognised itself in its object, it is not yet its own object in the true sense. Its ultimate aim, however, is the attainment of knowledge; for the sole endeavour of spirit is to know what it is in and for itself, and to reveal itself to itself in its true form. It seeks to create a spiritual world in accordance with its own concept, to fulfil and realise its own true nature, and to produce religion and the state in such a way that it will conform to its own concept and be truly itself or become its own Idea. (The Idea is the reality of the concept, of which it is merely a reflection or expression.) This, then, is the universal goal of the spirit and of history.2

I say his language, among many nuanced others, gives Hegel away. Notice, “the Idea is the reality of the concept, of which it is merely a reflection or expression.” Now, I speak of concept and idea as essentially the same thing because they are both framed within, not without, human power, but not that they don’t differ. An idea is an impression, a theory, a concept, is a procedure or plan.

To Hegel, the idea is the reality of the concept. The idea, the human idea,  lying purely in human self-consciousness, is effectively the symbol’s meaning, and the concept is the symbol. You can argue over this, but the takeaway is Hegel speaks of this in terms of an ultimate human symbol, where all plans and theories are human constructions.

You can see this insular self-focus deeply within the conclusions of Schleiermacher.

Although I didn’t think he ever put is this way, to Schlienermacher Hegel’s “freedom,” the directional goal of all history, is “redemption.” It is Christian consciousness and the human redemption by the constructed Christ idea, rather than the knowledge of His objective reality, that is the heart of his philosophy. “Facts” are determined by contact with that which opposes the concept of redemption: ” the contents of the self-consciousness of the redeemed.”

The Christian consciousness of redemption entails concepts such as God’s holiness, righteousness, love, and wisdom; the opposing negative states of evil and sin; and the transition between them by way of Christ and the church through rebirth and sanctification. These concepts, further, presuppose others: creation and preservation, an original state of human perfection, and the divine attributes of eternity, omnipresence, omnipotence, and omniscience.3

Simply read it all in context. Redemption by the guidance of doctrinal conclusions. Notice that one set of the doctrines of redemption presupposes others, and the whole is a model of redemption by Christ. Nothing of this has anything to do with a revealed faith, a faith that grounds itself on the historical appearance of God which shows itself by demonstration. Translation: forget Messianic Prophecy, it about “redemption” the concept, not the reality.

Now, I’m not going to waste a lot of your time. I’m not going to go through the Patristic Fathers, Aquinas, Augustine, and then back up to Barth to show you this pattern. The subjectivism, the philosophy, the self-experientialism, the Age of the Creed, and so on. But let me just mention one: The Didache, The Lord’s Teaching Through the Twelve Apostles to the Nations.

Its a kind of catechism, a policy of the church order. This is a very old document. Some date it from the second century but more from the 1st century. But, I beg you to remember that age does not mean original, and there is nothing to suggest this was written by one of the Apostles.  At this point, the church was expanding and adjusting to the world around them, and if there was something true in what most were doing there was just as likely to be something false in what others were doing. If subsequent ages showed an error and mainstreamed it then they got it from somewhere.

The Didache on the surface is a very innocent document. All it does is lay out some basic guiding theological assumptions. But this is not the earlier and genuine manner of Christ or the Apostles when they spoke of these. It was always with reference to the revelation upon which they were predicated.

They did not ignore the parabolic nature of Christ’s truth, such as that within the Sermon on the Mount. They did not suggest that you are pure and blameless because you acted in a certain way. And they did not suggest that a doctrinal proposition was all you needed to believe with respect to the Truth of Christ. But the Didache does and as such its the start of what we have today.

Now, I can only go by the document itself. I understand that there was an unstated subtext to all of this, which is belief in that original messianic, scriptural phenomenon. The problem with the document is that it never mentions them, but strips them from the Apostolic habit and only talks about the old, Greek and pagan idea of morality as doing a thing and believing a thing. Because of this, it is a well-intentioned disaster.

Did you know that “If someone gives you a blow upon your right cheek, turn to him the other also, and you shall be perfect?” That, “Woe to him that receives; for if one having need receives, he is guiltless?” Did you know that murders, adulteries, lusts, fornications, thefts, idolatries, magic arts, witchcrafts, rapines, false witnessings, hypocrisies, double-heartedness cause spiritual death?

Of course, the author means they are signs of spiritual blamelessness or spiritual wickedness, not the cause of it. But with this language what is stopping anyone from concluding otherwise?

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Christ’s intention in the Sermon on the Mount was to wrap physical behavior as a sign around his prophetic revelation, which was to be known and believed, not the goodness of what someone does or says. As was his habit, He did not do it directly, such as saying “because you believe that the prophets foretold me as Messiah and I fulfilled them, act in such as a way to show the world that what you believe matches what you do.” He gave it in parabolic fashion. But why?

Because the Sermon on the Mount is a prophecy as much about what the true Christian demeanor will be as it is a prophecy about what it will not be. Which is not just “murders and blasphemies” but mostly those who want to involve themselves in a Christian religion by cutting out the first clause “because you believe that the prophets foretold me as Messiah and I fulfilled them,” from the second clause, “act in such as a way to show the world that what you believe matches what you do.” Christ is hiding a crucial truth about a future faith because if stated plainly people will just go around robotically mouthing a formula they are supposed to find for themselves.

The SOTM is the greatest example Christ ever gave of His transcendent genius, so much so that even today we don’t get, nor want to, the difference between doing and essential believing.

Not that the Didache shows what true Christian subtext they were really operating under:

But after you are filled, thus give thanks: We thank You, holy Father, for Your holy name which You caused to tabernacle in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality, which You made known to us through Jesus Your Servant; to You be the glory forever.

What is this “knowledge?” What is this “Holy name?” Just “Jesus?”

I’m going to go right to the Bible and show you what the whole of human history is, by contrast to the Christ’s truth with respect to “doctrine.”

Not Ditto for Didache

Now, none of this will matter to Scliermacher-ites. It won’t matter for Catholics, LDS, Eastern Orthodox, Unitarian Universalists, JW’s, and just about all Protestant denominations and strains which put what you personally believe over why you objectively believe, either practically or explicitly. It only matters, or should matter, for those that really, really mean it when they say the Bible is the sole rule of faith or practice.

It is more than a little interesting that this didachḗin its first NT mention comes in Matthew 7, after a long discourse by Christ setting forth the main doctrinal question: what must one believe in order to be saved?

The Sermon on the Mount is about this, not “be good and nice and all and you are then a follower of Christ.” We think the ideational “what,” not the transcendent “why,” is this “doctrine,” and if asked to give one we will quickly answer something like “Jesus is Savior,” “the blood of Christ cleanses from all sin.” Especially in light of the following:

Matthew 7:13 (KJV) Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat:

See, the narrow gate is “Jesus” and “Jesus Saves.”

Fine, those are true. But what is narrow (στενός), a particular, restrictive, precise, exact, more difficult, less traveled gate into Truth, to Christ, to the sheepfold, in relation to a definition of “doctrine?” Is it just another kind of religious statement, and the true one only if the statement is believed true? Well, Jesus gave the answer by context:

In vss. 9-11, we have a serpent, stone, bread, fish, good and bad gifts. We give good gifts to our son when he asks, not inert and worthless ones. So is the difference between the doctrine of Christ and that of the Pharisees.

The Law and the Prophets (v.12) are summed up by Christ as good gifts, not evil ones. That is not a faith statement. It’s a faith knowledge, and one specifically of Christ in that revelation. We should give to others transcendent, objective Truth, not lies. Not pharisaical law-keeping, not the Shema, not the 613 Mitzvot, not tradition, not mouthing certain true words, but believing the true Phenomenon of God before them, as we would have others to us. Because:

Matthew 7:14 (KJV)  Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

Jesus then proceeds to give such good gifts in his doctrine.

Matthew 7:15 (KJV) Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

The context for this doctrinal truth is set on false prophecy and true prophecy. That prophecy which is Satanic, Pharisaical prophecy, the core idea of false doctrine, over against that of Messiah and then Jesus Messiah. False prophecy and prophets are animated by lies such as righteousness through keeping the Law, or righteousness by believing and reciting the Shema. True prophets are animated by a kind of revelation of God’s truth, which is alone capable of grounding and motivating their righteous actions, and that truth is the truth of the Christ of the Prophets. The reason all along for the Law and the Shema.

The false prophets in mind prophesy in Jesus’ name, cast out devils in his name, and have done many wonderful works (v.22). The works are certainly not evil. These are what Christians are supposed to be doing. Obviously, “works” means something else to Christ.

These false prophets are then professing Christians, not atheists, doing the right things, uttering the right words. Since the “fruit”  of which Jesus asks us to test for good and bad is then not what they do and say, it must be on why they do and say. Their scriptural motivations, if there is anything at all scripturally motivating them.

“Well, then, why you believe is still a doctrine, like “Jesus saves!”

No, it can’t be, at least not by our common conception of the word “doctrine” as religious concepts (ideas).  The things these pretenders do is doctrinal, we must remind ourselves. If doing good is correctly thought good when it reflects a good belief and a mental/spiritual state, but believing is thought the belief only in a concept, which is a representation but not necessarily a fact, then our functional notion of essential doing is the same: that which is merely an appearance, not a substance. Our idea of “doctrine” is then at variance with what we know about symbolic reality, that symbols are indicators of ultimate reality, not reality itself.

If the doctrines the Pharisees hold are correct by action, then Christ, again,  is talking not about what they are doing, but why. He is not talking about Doctrine as what is said, but why. He is not talking about statements, or what informs statements from personal choice, or what informs statements that could easily come from intelligence, craft or imagination, but that which is distinctly impersonal and supernatural in its origin. “Jesus saves” is not. Although true, it’s a human construct, a concept, that is meant to sign that impersonal and supernatural knowledge, not act in its place.

What we are saying is that it’s not the content, the external statements of a true or false confession of these false prophets in the Church, but perhaps a container of one, it’s informational, scriptural premise. Obviously, these people are saying and doing the right things (“cast out devils in your name), but they apparently have no revelational control, the container, over that expressed belief. It’s a heart problem, not a problem of expression, which is very deceptive.

As he always does, Jesus does not tell you openly “the right motivation is Me in the prophets, now being fulfilled.” He does it in parabolic fashion. Again, by subject context. He has already mentioned the prophets twice. Now he tells you what the doctrine of the prophets. Who would have guessed that the doctrine of the “prophets” is prophecy?” Ironically, the relatively few that were genuinely, unhypocritically searching for and loving Truth.

“Doing” his sayings (7:24) is not doing by “casting out devils in your name” or “many wonderful works” or about being nice.  “Doing” is believing and prophesying Jesus by the prophets. This is the “rock,” both Christ Jesus and His Prophetic Word of demonstration, that will not be washed away “when the floods came.”

This is Christ giving a prophecy of the future as a prophetic argument for doctrine and faith in the OT prophecies of Messiah so promised and now fulfilled;

Matthew 7:27 (KJV) And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell: and great was the fall of it.

Yes, the “Rock” is Christ, and Christ is a doctrine, but “rock “is certainly not the “doctrine” of external appearances and creeds, but”Rock” means something truly spiritual.  It is that peculiar and special and unique spiritual motivation by the only stream of Scriptures which could ever be put as Christ’s informational equal.

Now that we know what is “doctrine,” what about the doctrine of notitia (notice, understanding content), assensus (to agree with), and fiducia (the assent of the intellect to the truth of some proposition) in Reformed conception?

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In the way that I have just described it, this is not a “doctrine,” because  “doctrine” is not propositional truth, its the revelational knowledge itself. That truth requires propositions, but they are submissive to that revelation. It goes without saying that there is something about this epistemic scheme that is true and doctrinal, that to believe one must know and understand what is to be believed. To agree with it and trust it. What is not agreed is that doctrine is propositional content, propositional agreement, and propositional trust in religious or philosophical concepts.

The false prophets are by all appearances not to be faulted by their doctrine if this if the benchmark is just concepts and religious works. But could their fault be the shallow depth to which they believe their propositions? Well, it would have to be to the depth to which they believe a faith claim by its proof which is supernatural.

Christ did does not make idle propositional claims to which he expected notitia, assensus and fiducia, but made a demonstration of propositions that he expected to be obeyed directly in faith. His demonstration is that of supernatural showing and fulfilling, not claiming. Proving, not suggesting. Real supernatural phenomena, not platitudinal confessions. The fulfillment of Messianic prophecy, not “Jesus is Messiah, the Son of God.”

Mat 15:9 refers to the doctrines of men opposing that of 15:8:

Isaiah 29:13-14 (KJV) Wherefore the Lord said, Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men: Therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvellous work among this people, even a marvellous work and a wonder: for the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid.

Therefore, “doctrine” in v. 9 is the doctrine of the Messianic Prophecy of Christ.

In Mark 7:7, the exact same doctrine and exact messianic prophecy is cited.

In Romans 12:7,  Paul uses διδάσκω, in the Authorized Version “teaching.”

Ephesians 4:14, Paul uses διδασκαλία: he refers to the doctrine of 4:13:

Ephesians 4:14 (KJV) That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive;

Ephesians 4:13 (KJV) Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:

“Knowledge of the Son of God” is not primarily experiential knowledge, as the Church would have it. It’s not your feelings and imagination as your point of contact with God, its a witness to a kind of personal appearance of God himself in objective reality. That appearance in objective reality is either in the form of a theophany in spatial reality or one in temporal reality from a record of history and the results of moral judgment.

It’s the same as in Phillipians 3:8, “the Knowledge of Christ.” Nowhere in any epistle does Paul speak of “knowledge” in the personal sense.

Col 2:22: “the doctrines and commandments of men” are set in contrast to the doctrine mentioned here. Religious ordinances are:

Colossians 2:17 (KJV) Which are a shadow of things to come; but the body is of Christ.

Then, we have 1 Timothy 1:10 (KJV)

For whoremongers, for them that defile themselves with mankind, for menstealers, for liars, for perjured persons, and if there be any other thing that is contrary to sound doctrine;

Which sound doctrine is identified here? In 1 Timothy 2:5-6 (KJV), we have:  “For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus; Who gave himself a ransom for all, to be testified in due time.”

This is a perfect description of Messianic Prophecy in toto, “to be testified in due time.” That is, Jesus gave himself long before, before the foundation of the world, as a Promise to mankind. This was fulfilled “in due time.”

1 Timothy chapter 4 contains several instances of this word: verses 6, 13 and 16.

All of this is prefaced from verse 1 of 1 Timothy 4:1-3 (KJV)

Now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils; Speaking lies in hypocrisy; having their conscience seared with a hot iron; Forbidding to marry, and commanding to abstain from meats, which God hath created to be received with thanksgiving of them which believe and know the truth.

The Spirit prophesied of latter times of apostasy of the faith.

Then, in 2 Tim:

2 Timothy 3:16 (KJV) All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness:

“All scripture” is not at this point the New Testament. It was still in process. This refers to the Old, and if to the OT to the OT revelation of Christ within. This is “doctrine.”

2 Timothy 4:3 is a prophecy about doctrinal prophecy. In later times people will throw away “sound doctrine” for lust, being informed not by this doctrine directly but by false teachers of another kind of doctrine. I shudder when I read this!

Need I say more?

Look, guys, it’s not about you and me. It’s not about anything that we do or conjure. Doctrine is not a matter of choice, or of our choosing, or of our imaginations and feelings. Doctrine is not even conceptual. Doctrine, although a concept, is first a kind of compulsion of an honest man around a divine phenomenon, which a concept can only represent, and also falsely represent. The concept and “doctrine” concept is not God or doctrine. Even the concept “God” is not God, its a concept, and God has nothing to do with your control or cleverness in coming up with a way to think about Him which is not the same as himself.

Have you seen this phrase on a church sign sometimes: No Jesus, No Peace; Know Jesus, Know Peace? Let me change that a little bit, because we don’t know Jesus because we want peace, because “peace,” like Jesus Messiah, is not really idea an idea, its a point of exposure and transformation before the reality, the fact, of God shown in history.

No Messianic Prophecy of Christ, no Christ. Know Messianic Prophecy, know Christ, and his doctrine.

  Did you ever expect that God might lead you to stay a place firmly within your own spiritual tradition or settled perspective yet one that is firmly outside of it? That is a description of the supernatural residing in Matter, or Christ enfleshed. Of transcendence taking up residence in the common. The real place in which we as Christians were ordained from the beginning, not a cultural consensus reality.  Maybe God led you here because he wanted to turn the light no inside your heart about a precious truth that consensus reality is not wanting to give you. If so, take a chance, be patient, and read on. Here is one truth leading to many that might change your whole perspective on faith.

please see:

Christ and the Noun Norming of Transcendence: A Prophetic Think Tank When I Survey the Wondrous Nace, part 1: A Prophetic Think Tank

    https://www.yourdictionary.com/doctrine ↩

Lectures on the Philosophy of History, second draft, 1830. Translated by H. B.Nisbet, 1975 ↩

http://scriptoriumdaily.com/schleiermacher-trinity-and-redemption/ ↩