#BEHOLD OUR KING OUR CAPTAIN!!

[silversoulsociety]

How beautiful he is! This appearance of his… He resembles a being in the old books… He resembles a god! The warrior of liberation who plays the fool and makes people smile! Also known as… The Sun God! Nika!

One piece E1100- “Powers on a different level! Luffy vs Lucci!”

[mothofmyth]

DC x DP

The Justice League summons the ghost king.

Unfortunately, the safest way JLD can find requires a host body to contain the being.

Obviously Superman, Wonder Woman, and Flash are out - who knows what this being would do with a super-powered body. They have no idea how Captain Marvel or Green Lantern type magic would interact with the summoning, so not them either. They need Constantine and Zatanna to perform the ritual.

Basically it's down to the bats.

Batman tries to volunteer - better him than one of his kids if anything were to go wrong.

That gets vetoed. As do a lot of his offspring. The safest options (ie the least contaminated by magic, lazarus water, time shenanigans, and everything else) are Red Robin, Spoiler, and Nightwing.

Nightwing pulls rank.

After a lot of arguing, everyone at least agrees to tolerate the arrangement.

Nightwing removes every possible weapon from himself, allows himself to be tied to a chair in the middle of a summoning circle, and waits for JL Dark to complete the ritual.

It's not long before he feels a surge of cold burning through him.

He expected to be unconscious while the Ghost King took over. That's what Zatanna said had been reported the last time this ritual was performed many years ago.

They had all expected a lot of things.

Pariah Dark was supposed to be terrifying to behold - a massive, cruel, FURIOUS dictator who turned to violence at the smallest sleight.

This was... definitely not that.

Dick was present. He had no control over his body, but he could see and hear in an almost dream-like state. Foggy and indistinct, maybe a little warped, but definitely present.

He felt his heart rate and breathing pick up in panic even though he felt mostly calm (or at least no more anxious than he had been, waiting for an angry deity to possess his body and all). It was a strange sensation.

He felt the vibrations of his own voice as it left his throat, high and confused.

"Wha... Where..." It asked, warbling and afraid.

He felt his eyes blink and his limbs struggle against the bindings.

His head tilted down without his say so, and he looked at his own body as if through rippling water, warped lenses.

"I'm not..." His voice came out, still confused. Still afraid.

"Your Majesty?" Zatanna asked from beyond the limits of the circle.

His head whipped up, and he felt his neck click at the abrupt motion.

His breathing picked up again. Dick felt the ghost (pun not intended) of anxiety, like it was leaking from the other consciousness inhabiting his body.

"We mean you no harm. Our associate has agreed to lend you his body for the duration of this meeting." She continued.

Dick felt the king's anxiety again, stronger this time. Other emotions too, guilt, sorrow, anger, and a strange sort of pressing-tugging sensation.

Suddenly, Dick was back in control. He could still feel the king's consciousness, stronger now than before, but he could also move and speak freely.

"What just happened?" He mumbled, speaking to the ghost, not the audience of heroes.

"Nightwing?" Someone called from outside the circle, but he ignored them for the moment, feeling instead the consciousness inhabiting his body push back fear, guilt, and apology.

"Yeah, it's me. He's still in here, though." Dick frowned, trying to figure out how to interact with the being.

He heard a voice in the back of his mind. It sounded like him. It sounded different. It was younger than him. It was small and afraid. It was neutral and quiet and him. But it wasn't. It was speaking. It was silent. It was emotions and thoughts and nothing.

"Oooookay, this is really weird. I think we're communicating. I don't know how to talk back, but if he's in the same situation I was a minute ago he should be able to hear us just fine. Is that right?" Nightwing tried.

The 'voice' (he figured he'd call it a voice for now. He wasn't sure what else he could call it) responded in the affirmative. Like a hand outstretched, flipping up and down in a 'kinda' type of gesture. Like a nod and a hesitant smile. The feeling of victory by default.

Dick beamed.

"Okay yeah he can hear us." He announced for the benefit of their audience. "Why didn't you stay where you could speak? Wouldn't that have been easier?" He looked at his own chest, as if he could somehow find a way to see the presence inside of him.

Disgust. Guilt. Fear. An unexpected step at the bottom of a staircase. Falling off a pier into tempestuous water. A stranger pinning your hands above your head.

"Oh." Dick breathed. "Thank you, but I can handle it."

Guilt. Guilt. GUILT.

"Okay. It's alright. You can speak through me or we can manage like this." He soothed.

"Nightwing, report." Batman demanded.

"Uhh, right. I think he's trying to be courteous? To me, I mean. From what I can gather, he doesn't want to possess me or take over. He seems pretty repulsed by the idea, to be honest. I think he can see and hear and generally experience everything I'm experiencing, he's just more passenger than driver? I can feel him, and he's communicating, he just can't speak through me without taking my autonomy again, and he really doesn't want to do that." Dick explained, looking at the various states of thinly-veiled bewilderment across the faces of the heroes.

"Ask him if he's Pariah Dark, High King of the Infinite Realms, Ancient of Rage and Destructio-" Constantine begins, before Dick cuts him off

"I just said he can hear everything we're saying. Ask him yourself."

Constantine huffs. "You heard me, mate. Are you him?"

Denial. Contemplation. A battle. Single combat. A crown made of black thorns and green flames. A throne too big for he who sits in it. Victory. Desperation. Insufficiency. A question.

"I think..." Dick starts, trying to understand. "I think he's the King... but he's not Pariah Dark."

Agreement. Apology. Questioning.

"He wants to know if we're looking for Pariah Dark, or if we're looking for the High King of the Infinite Realms." He glances between Zatanna and Constantine, uncertain of the answer himself.

Constantine pales.

"Whatever is inside you defeated the ancient of Rage and Destruction in single combat, Nightwing. It's a powerful motherfucker, and a total unknown." He warns cautiously.

"Get him out of there, now. Send it back." Batman demands.

TERROR. Pleading. Unbearable suffering. Shiny metal dripping with green blood. The end of love. Unfathomable loss. Death without release. Unending torment. Begging.

"NO!" The voice tears its way out of Nightwing without his consent.

Cowering. Apology. Apology. Guilt. Apology.

Dick clears his throat. "I don't think he wants to leave."

"All the more reason to send it back." Batman growls.

"Don't." Dick protests. "I know it's a risk, and there's a chance it's manipulating me. But, something doesn't feel right about all of this."

"Ghosts are well known for their skills regarding manipulation, mind control, and emotion tampering." Zatanna cautions.

"According to those dehumanising rags maybe," Constantine scoffs.

"Every source we have-"

"Two sources, Love. Both of which have a bit of a vested interest, wouldn't you say?"

Fear. FEAR. Frustration. Heartbreak. An unheard voice in a crowded room. A layperson lecturing an expert. Mockery. A spectacle of suffering. Lies. Hurt. Fear.

"He agrees with Constantine." Dick pipes in.

Exasperation. Reluctance.

"I don't think he's too happy about it." He laughs.

"Of course he agrees with Constantine, he's giving him what he wants." Red Robin huffs.

"He's afraid." Dick's voice cuts through the argument and the heroes turn to look at him. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but he's terrified of being sent back."

Zatanna sighs. "Let's do what we came to do, and then maybe we'll talk about letting him out."

(Something goes wrong and Dick and Danny end up stuck like this for a while.

Dick moves back into Wayne Manor while they try to figure out how to remove Danny from Dick's body without hurting either of them.

Everybody starts referring to Phantom as Dick's little passenger.

Eventually they repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts and find out all of the trauma Danny's been through via talking and dream/memory bleeding between him and Dick.

When Danny does finally manage to tumble out of Dick he is promptly adopted into the Batfam (what did anyone expect, he's a traumatised young teenager with black hair and blue eyes and barely any sense of self preservation).

In the meantime, however, Dick is happily going about his daily life with his little passenger, and Danny is still very traumatised but he's also contentedly curled up in Dick's chest, thrumming with happiness whenever Dick takes care of him.

Once or twice when Dick gets into Big Danger while vigilante-ing, Phantom forcibly takes over Dick's body to save him, using his ghost powers to fight the bad guy and escape the scenario. He cries afterwards because even though he needed to save Dick's life, he knows how terrifying and violating it feels to have someone else controlling your body (thanks Circus Gothica) and never wants to put anyone else through that.)

[misshoneyimhome]

What’s up, buttercups! 💕

Today’s serving, chapter nine: smut before the storm — or at least that’s the idea 😉💕 This chapter’s a bit of a slow-burn filler, focusing on our inexperienced!reader gaining a bit more confidence as things progress. A little step forward, but don’t worry — there’s still plenty more brewing beneath the surface *cough* Auston’s feelings *cough* 😏

Happy reading, darlings ❤️

Tropes & warnings: inexperienced!reader x Auston Matthews, meet cute, strangers to friends, fake relationship, language, smut 18+: fingering, orgasm denial, protected vaginal sexual intercourse, very light spank.

Word count: 7.2k Chapter one ; Chapter two ; Chapter three ; Chapter four ; Chapter five ; Chapter six ; Chapter seven ; Chapter eight

➼｡ﾟ

Chapter Nine: Work it, harder, faster, stronger*

::

“Dearest Toronto readers,

Nothing speaks louder than the whispers of social media, and my, what a symphony it has become. We all know who our Queen is now, don’t we? And one can only imagine the resounding applause she is receiving for captivating none other than our illustrious ruler, Auston Matthews.

But tell me, dear readers—what are her true superpowers? Beyond an ice-melting presence and an undeniable allure, what is it that has ensnared the King himself?

November has always been a rather dull month if you ask me. But with the hockey season in full swing and the holidays drawing near, one must wonder… how far will Toronto’s finest push their limits?

The Kingdom of the Leafs is aglow, undeterred by the grey November skies. And while the Ice King enjoys his streak of victories, others within the court have been keeping us entertained as well.

It seems that one particular Swedish prince has been caught up in whispers of his own. William Nylander has been making just as many headlines for his dazzling performances as he has for his late-night outings. And while he remains ever the enigma, one must ask—how long can a man avoid commitment before even the most loyal of suitors grow tired of waiting?

Meanwhile, our Magician, Mitch Marner, has been spotted indulging in a quieter sort of mischief, enjoying candlelit dinners with his long-time love. And yet, dear readers, even the happiest of couples are not immune to the storm of Toronto’s insatiable curiosity. Could it be that all this attention is beginning to take its toll?

As for our former captain—Mr. Steady himself—John Tavares remains the picture of composure, his devotion to both family and franchise unwavering. But in a kingdom where chaos reigns, will his calm be enough to keep the Leafs marching forward?

One thing is certain, dear readers: the ice is heating up. And something tells me that the next move in this ever-growing game of power, passion, and puck possession will be a spectacle to behold.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer

_

Friday -

Something was happening between you and Auston.

Neither of you knew exactly what it was, but it didn’t matter. What mattered… was the attention you had been receiving lately.

Your Instagram inbox had turned into a battlefield—messages ranging from admiration to pure jealousy. Girls telling you that you weren’t good enough for Auston, others dissecting your every move, every outfit, every post. But then there were the thirstier messages—the ones praising your looks, the ones calling you sexy, the ones claiming you were lucky to have scored Auston Matthews.

Some even went as far as to say that he was the lucky one. That you were out of his league.

That one made you smile.

And as for Auston? Oh, he noticed the comments too. He didn’t say much about them though, but you could tell he was paying attention. Maybe he wasn’t sure how he felt about it just yet, but one thing was certain—he kind of enjoyed the way men commented and looked at you. Enjoyed the way they wanted and desired you.

Because at the end of the day, you were his. Not officially, not yet, but…

Social media wasn’t the only thing buzzing with praise in your direction. At work, things had started to shift too.

Maybe it was the newfound confidence you carried. The way you walked into meetings now, your back straighter, your gaze sharper, as if you had already earned your seat at the table. Maybe it was the way people whispered when you passed by, how they spoke your name with a different kind of weight, as if they were only just now realising you existed.

Or maybe it was because Mr. Manion—your boss, the man who rarely spared anyone a second glance—had started actually paying attention.

It started small. Subtle. A nod in your direction during meetings. A casual reference to your previous work. A moment where he asked for your opinion, where the rest of the room quieted, waiting to hear what you had to say.

And then, it became something more.

Praise. Acknowledgment. A name-drop here, a pointed example there. You started hearing your own name in conversations that you weren’t even a part of. And Mr. Manion began calling on you more often, highlighting your skills, your ideas - even assigning you projects that were previously out of reach.

You were thriving.

And sure, you knew why all of this was suddenly happening. You knew that it had everything to do with your newfound status as the woman who was publicly dating the Auston Matthews. You knew that people saw you differently now—not just as a competent employee, but as her. Auston’s girl.

Maybe, you should have cared. Maybe in another world, another version of yourself would have resented it, would have felt like she was taking shortcuts, riding on someone else’s name. But right now? Right now, you didn’t care.

Because you weren’t just basking in the attention. You were leveraging it.

You had worked too hard for years, waited too long to be noticed, to have your talents recognised. So, if they only wanted to watch you now because of Auston, then fine—let them watch. Because you were going to show them exactly why you deserved to be here. Why you’d always deserved to be there.

And then, when Mr. Manion handed you the details of a new assignment—an upscale corporate event, the kind that would have never landed on your desk before—you barely contained your smile.

This was it. This was the moment. Your master plan was working. Or rather, Auston’s master plan.

Auston Matthews’ name might have gotten you through the door, but your talent, your ambition, and your skill? That was what was going to keep you there. You were sure of it.

_

The energy inside Scotiabank Arena was electric, charged with the raw intensity of a team that had found its rhythm. Every shift was faster, every play sharper, and the crowd responded in kind—roaring, chanting, their voices merging into one powerful force that fuelled the Leafs on the ice.

Auston felt it—the momentum, the push, the hunger. From the moment the puck dropped, it was clear this wasn’t going to be an easy game. Detroit had come prepared, pushing the pace, trying to wear them down. But Auston had been dialled in from the start. His body moved on instinct, his mind calculating every play before it happened.

The first period had been tight, a battle in every sense. Detroit came out aggressive, throwing hits early, setting the tone that they weren’t going to roll over. But the Leafs responded in kind. Marner worked the boards, Kniesy found lanes, and when the moment came—when the puck landed on Auston’s stick in the slot—he buried it. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Top corner, past the glove.

1-0 Leafs.

The building erupted, a deafening explosion of cheers echoing off the rafters. Auston barely had time to celebrate before he was mobbed by his teammates, sticks tapping his helmet, gloved hands patting his back.

The second period was grittier—the kind of hockey that left bruises. Detroit fought back hard, their forecheck relentless, forcing Toronto to adjust. But when they tied it up, Auston barely flinched. He skated back to centre ice, head high, jaw clenched.

Fine. Let’s play.

And the Leafs did. Robertson came in hot, his speed slicing through the neutral zone before snapping one past the goalie. 2-1. Holmberg followed shortly after, capitalising on a Detroit turnover, flicking the puck into the top corner with surgical precision.

3-1. Control re-established.

By the time the third period rolled around, the Leafs weren’t just playing to win—they were playing to dominate. The defensive pairings locked it down, Woll stood tall in net, and the final minutes ticked away with the kind of confidence that came from a team that knew they were the better squad tonight.

Final buzzer. Leafs win.

The celebration was immediate; sticks in the air, gloves clapped together in triumph. Auston tapped Woll on the head, offering a nod of respect before turning toward the bench. His teammates were all smiles, the energy high.

And once again, the highlight of his night wasn’t just the game. It was you too.

He caught sight of you immediately, seated just a few rows behind the bench, surrounded by a cluster of other partners, laughing effortlessly among them. And fuck—something about that sight made his chest tighten.

You fit. Seamlessly. Effortlessly. Like you had been there all along.

Auston had known you wouldn’t struggle to blend in, but actually seeing it like this? Watching the way, you leaned in to whisper something to Stephanie, the way Alana nudged you playfully, how you nodded along to something with a knowing smile—it threw him off.

This arrangement was never supposed to be anything but that… an arrangement. A deal. But the lines were blurring, and Auston wasn’t sure if that unsettled him or excited him. Because the truth was—he liked it. He liked you.

He had since the moment he first saw you at the gala, that damn outfit hugging your body in a way that had completely short-circuited his brain. But it was more than that. It was the way you carried yourself—poised, professional, unfazed by his status. You hadn’t fawned over him or sought his attention like so many others did. Instead, you challenged him, met his teasing with grace, handled him with respect rather than eagerness. And your smile… fuck, that smile had thrown him off more than he cared to admit.

So, when you had stumbled into his arms that night, something had sparked inside him. A flicker of something he hadn’t quite understood—still didn’t. But it had been there.

Even the next day, when the media spun that single moment into a full-blown narrative, Auston hadn’t minded. He’d liked it, actually. The way people speculated, the way they assumed there was something more between you. And yeah, it had stung a little when your first instinct was to shut it down. But then came his idea—the perfect solution. The fake dating.

And so far? It had been fun. Easy. Beneficial, even.

But this? Watching you seamlessly slip into his world, seeing the way you fit into it like you had belonged there all along? That was something he hadn’t expected. And maybe that’s what made it feel less like an arrangement and more like something unnamed.

Even the intimacy between you - Fuck. He almost couldn’t control himself when you were around him.

He’d always just been into meaningless hook-ups, but after you? After the way you let him guide you, the way you trusted him, the way your inexperience somehow made the whole thing even more thrilling?

Nothing else compared.

It made him want to teach you. To show you. To push you. To push both of you, and to test your limits. Even to test his own. He wanted to show you every angle and every shade of intimacy—what it could be and how far it could go.

And that turned him on more than anything ever had.

But what Auston also noticed—as he stole another glance in your direction, fingers curling a little tighter around his stick—was the way a few other men in the arena were looking at you.

Watching. Wanting.

Their gazes lingered too long, sliding over your legs, your mouth, the way his jersey hung off your frame like it belonged there. They weren’t even subtle about it, and for a moment, Auston felt something sharp twist in his gut.

He wasn’t sure what it was exactly—possessiveness? Irritation? Something territorial that flared beneath the surface before he could name it.

Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. But he brushed it off. Shook it away like water off his shoulders. Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

He was the one who got to touch you. He was the one who got to take you home. That was the deal—casual, uncomplicated, physical. You’d both agreed to that. This thing between you had rules. Boundaries.

So, they could look all they wanted. Let them fucking look.

Because at the end of the night, they’d still be fantasising—while Auston? He already had you.

And that was enough.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

After the game that night, Auston wasted no time.

He’d barely finished his media obligations, barely changed out of his gear before he found you waiting in the hallway. His eyes softened the moment they met yours, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, like just seeing you had eased something in him.

“Hey,” he murmured, stepping closer.

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, the warmth of his voice settling over you like a gentle pull. “Hey, yourself.”

Auston hesitated for a second, like he was choosing his words carefully. And then—he reached for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours, warm and steady. His grip was firm but gentle, the kind of touch that grounded you, that made you feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist for just a moment.

Then he leaned in.

It was simple, effortless—a soft press of his lips against yours. Nothing dramatic, nothing overly rehearsed. Just a kiss. Something someone you dated would do, right?. Something to sell the illusion. But the way his mouth lingered just a second too long, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your knuckles—it felt like more than just make-believe.

And when he pulled back, his gaze met yours, something flickering behind his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he murmured simply. Not a demand, not an order—just a quiet request. And just like that, the tension that had been clinging to you from the game all night melted away.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles as he led you through the tunnel, past his teammates’ knowing smirks, past the hum of the post-game chaos. The arena was still buzzing with excitement, but Auston wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His focus was on you.

The drive started in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, charged, humming with something unspoken. The air between you was heavy, laced with the kind of anticipation that made every second feel stretched too thin, every movement too deliberate.

Auston gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary, his knuckles flexing, his jaw clenching every time he stole a glance at you. The city lights flickered through the windshield, casting shadows across his face—sharp angles, darkened eyes, lips slightly parted like he was already picturing what he was going to do to you the second you walked through his front door.

You could feel it radiating off him—the restraint, the barely held-together control. He was tense in the way a man was before he snapped.

The first touch was subtle. His hand landed on your knee, fingers warm, firm, a casual possessiveness in the way they rested there. But then—then he started to move. His thumb traced over your skin, slow, deliberate, like he was testing the waters, seeing how much you’d let him get away with.

You swallowed hard, shifting slightly in your seat. And the movement only encouraged him, causing his hand to drift higher.

Your breath hitched. You should’ve known what a simple skirt and boots would signal—thanks, Jess, for the brilliant advice. You mentally kicked yourself, but the regret was fleeting, drowned out by the way Auston’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your thigh, barely skimming beneath the hem of your skirt.

“I like your outfit,” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher, rasping through the thick air between you.

Your body tightened in response. You nodded—barely, just enough for him to notice, just enough to encourage him.

“You wear this for me?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. But the way your thighs instinctively shifted, just the slightest bit, told him everything he needed to know.

Auston’s exhale was sharp, almost a growl. His fingers flexed against your thigh before he pushed up your skirt, his palm gliding along your bare skin, up, up, up—pausing just at the edge of your underwear.

Your body responded before you could even think—your thighs parting slightly, your breathing uneven, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

He smirked. “Mmm, that’s what I thought.”

His fingers dipped beneath the fabric, dragging along your heat, and you jolted at the sensation, a sharp gasp escaping before you could stop it. He was teasing you, barely touching, just enough to make you squirm.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his touch becoming firmer, bolder. “You’re already so wet.”

You bit your lip, your head tilting back against the seat as your body melted under his touch. Your hips tilted slightly, searching for more, and Auston hummed in satisfaction.

“Needy tonight, huh?” His voice was pure sin, dripping with amusement, with desire. “Should’ve known.”

You barely had time to process his words before he slid one finger through your slick folds, tracing slow, torturous circles against your clit. Your body arched involuntarily, your hand gripping the edge of the seat, knuckles white. “Oh…” a light moan escaped your lips. 

Auston chuckled, but it was strained. “God, you’re so fucking sensitive.”

He pressed a little harder, a little faster, and you bit back another moan, your nails digging into the seat. The way he touched you—controlled, practiced, like he knew exactly how to unravel you—was too much, too intense. Your body was burning, winding tighter and tighter with every slow, maddening stroke.

And then—just when you thought he’d finally push you over the edge—he pulled his hand away.

A whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it, and Auston let out a deep, knowing chuckle. “Patience, boss.”

You turned your head to glare at him, but the look in his eyes had your breath catching.

Dark. Heated. Possessive.

“You think I’m gonna let you come in the car?” he murmured, his thumb brushing your inner thigh in one last teasing pass before he shifted back to the wheel. “Nah. Not yet.”

You clenched your thighs together, the ache between them nearly unbearable. “You’re such an ass.”

Auston smirked, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel like he wasn’t the absolute worst person alive. “But you like it.”

You opened your mouth to fire back—but then he switched lanes, his foot pressing a little harder on the gas.

“We’re almost there,” he said, voice thick with promise. “And don’t worry, you’ll get to come.”

The second Auston’s front door shut behind you, it was as if a wire snapped.

You barely had time to register the heat in his gaze before he had you pressed against the wall, his lips crashing against yours in a way that left no room for hesitation. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your ass—pulling you flush against him, his body hard and ready as he swallowed the soft sound that escaped your lips.

You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly just to feel the low groan that rumbled in his chest.

“Bedroom,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick, dripping with want.

You barely made it there.

Clothes scattered in a reckless trail, your breaths coming in short gasps as his mouth moved along your neck, your shoulder, your collarbone. Every brush of his lips, every scrape of his teeth sent sparks straight through you, your skin burning with anticipation.

By the time you tumbled onto the mattress, completely naked, completely his, you felt invincible.

Maybe it was the way Auston looked at you—like he was about to devour you whole. Or maybe it was the confidence blooming inside you, built from a week of success—the validation at work, the attention on social media, the way men had been looking at you all night.

But Auston? Auston wasn’t just looking. He was claiming.

You exhaled, pulse racing as you lifted yourself above him. “Lie back,” you murmured.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by something darker—something primal. He obeyed, settling against the mattress, arms resting behind his head as his gaze raked over you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes tracing every curve, every inch of flushed skin. “You look so fucking good on top of me.”

Heat pooled between your legs at the roughness in his voice. Your hands skimmed down his chest, your nails scraping lightly against his taut muscles before you reached for him, wrapping your fingers around his already semi-hard length.

Auston inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as his darkened gaze roamed over you. His voice was low, teasing, but edged with something far more needy.

“You know what you’re doing?”

There was a flicker of amusement in his tone, but mostly? Hunger.

You did. Well… sort of.

Still, you met his eyes with playful defiance as you leaned over to his nightstand, fingers trailing over the sleek surface before pulling open the drawer. Your brows lifted when you saw the stash inside—a neatly arranged collection of condoms. Not just one or two, but enough to make you let out an incredulous huff.

“Seriously?” You turned to him, holding up a strip of foil packets between your fingers, amusement dancing in your expression. “Are you always this prepared?”

Auston’s grin was lazy, knowing. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with an undeniable smugness. “Can’t have any accidents, right?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but the way your lips curved upward betrayed your amusement.

Auston let out a slow, controlled breath as he watched you, his gaze dark with lust but laced with something softer, something unspoken.

“Wow. Responsible and reckless all at once. How very Auston Matthews of you.” Your voice was teasing, but there was an underlying admiration that didn’t go unnoticed.

A ghost of a smirk played at his lips, but neither of you dwelled on the banter for long. The charged air between you thickened, the pull undeniable.

You knew what you both wanted.

With deliberate movements, you straddled him again, the warmth of your skin pressing against his, every point of contact sending a shiver of anticipation through your body.

Auston watched, eyes hooded, as you worked to unwrap the condom. His hands gripped your hips loosely, his touch possessive yet patient, letting you take control. The foil crinkled between your fingers as you carefully rolled the latex down the length of him, ensuring a perfect fit.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his jaw clenching when your fingers briefly lingered. He hadn’t expected this to be so hot—watching you do something so simple, yet it sent a fresh wave of heat through his veins.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his tongue across his lower lip as he held his gaze on you, mesmerised by your focused expression.

You bit your lip, ensuring there was just enough air in the reservoir tip before wrapping your fingers around him again, aligning him with your soaked core.

The anticipation was dizzying. Auston’s grip on your hips tightened slightly as you hovered above him, the moment stretching between you, heavy with need.

And then, finally—slowly, purposely and in control—you sank down onto him.

A low groan tore from Auston’s throat as he felt the warm, tight slide of you taking him in, inch by inch. His head fell back against the pillows, his fingers flexing against your hips, trying to keep himself grounded.

“Jesus, boss,” he exhaled, voice thick with restraint, with barely concealed hunger.

You gasped at the stretch, the fullness, your nails briefly digging into his chest as you adjusted. Your thighs trembled slightly from the overwhelming sensation, but Auston was there—his hands steady, his touch grounding, his dark eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent another pulse of heat through your body.

“You good?” he asked, voice rough but tender, his thumbs stroking gentle circles into your skin.

You nodded, breathless, but your body said more than words ever could—the way you clenched around him, the way your hips gave an experimental roll, the way your lips parted on a soft, needy whimper.

Auston’s eyes followed your every move and breath, his patience hanging by a thread.

“Then ride me, boss,” he murmured, his grip tightening just enough to guide you. “Show me how bad you want it.”

You moved slowly at first, set a rhythm, rolling your hips, savouring the friction, the heat and the way his hands flexed against your skin. His praises came between breathless moans, the filthy words spilling from his lips only spurring you on.

“That’s it, mmm… just like that.”

“Fuck, you feel so tight—so good.”

“You’re fucking made for me.”

But you weren’t the only one in control. Auston let you lead—for a moment at least. Just until he couldn’t contain himself any longer and felt an urge to take over.

With a deep growl, he sat up flushed, gripping your jaw as he kissed you hard, swallowing the whimper that left your throat when he thrust up into you. The sudden force had your body shuddering, your nails digging into his shoulders as he set the pace, one that had you unravelling far too quickly.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice deep and commanding.

“Turn around.”

A shiver ran through you at the simple yet commanding words. But you didn’t hesitate.

The moment you moved, Auston flipped you onto your stomach, guiding you onto your stomach - knees and elbows. His hands trailed down your spine, his touch almost tender—until it wasn’t. A very light, experimental slap to your ass made you jolt.

“You’ve done this before?” His voice was rough, a hint of amusement beneath it.

“Once,” you admitted breathlessly.

Auston hummed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure you remember this time.”

And with that, he pushed into you, one deep, slow thrust that had your fingers gripping the sheets.

A gasp left your lips as your body adjusted, the angle deeper, hitting places you’d never felt before. 

Auston stilled for a second, as if savouring the way, you clenched around him before he pulled back and—Thrust. Again. A bit harder.

You cried out, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave as he set a pace that had you clawing at the bed. He held nothing back, his hands gripping your hips as he fucked you properly, dragging you against him with every thrust, determined to ruin you completely.

“Shit, boss—look at you.” His voice was strained, pleasure thick in every syllable. “So, fucking perfect—so good for me.”

You could barely form a response, barely think beyond the overwhelming sensation—the way he filled you, stretched you, owned you.

And then—his hand trailed lower.

You gasped as he found your clit, his fingers rubbing slow, tight circles that had your body tightening, your moans turning into desperate, broken sounds.

“Auston… I’m…” 

“You close?” he panted, his pace still relentless, chasing both of your highs.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling, pleasure coiling tight, tighter—

“Then come for me,” Auston growled. “Let me feel you.”

And that was all it took.

Your orgasm crashed over you, your body shaking, your walls clenching hard around him. You cried out, fingers gripping the sheets as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you completely wrecked.

Auston cursed, his rhythm turning sloppy and desperate. You felt so unbelievably good around him—tight, warm, all-consuming. He almost hated how quickly you could make him come. How easily you undid him. This wasn’t like him.

And yet, it felt so fucking good.

Like an addiction. Like you were his drug. His highway to a rush of pleasure he couldn’t get anywhere else.

So he kept going. Chasing it.

And then, with one final, deep stroke, he groaned—spilling into the condom, his grip on your hips bruising as he rode out the high.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Only the ragged sound of your breathing filled the room, the air thick with heat, satisfaction—and something else entirely. Something quieter. Heavier.

Then—gently—Auston slipped out of you, pressing a lingering kiss to your spine before disappearing into the bathroom. Seconds later, he returned with a damp towel, cleaning you up with a tenderness that felt… almost too intimate.

It was almost routine. So, natural like this wasn’t the first time. Like you’d both fallen into a rhythm without meaning to. And you knew what came next. You’d get dressed and then leave. Just like the other times.

Yet tonight, something shifted.

Instead of watching you reach for your clothes, Auston grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser—one of his—and handed it to you. “It’s late,” he murmured, running a hand through his damp hair. “You might as well stay.”

The words hung in the air like a quiet confession. Not romantic, but different.

Like something that blurred the lines between pretend and real. And maybe—just maybe—you both liked it that way.

_

“You’d have to be one of the three blind mice not to notice the lingering glances and hungry stares at tonight’s game.

While the Leafs put on a show with a commanding 3-1 victory over Detroit, it seems our Ice King is facing a different kind of challenge—one that has nothing to do with hockey.

For while Matthews was busy asserting dominance on the ice, securing yet another tally in the win column, certain onlookers in the stands had their sights set on something else entirely. Or rather—someone. Our Queen, it appears, has no shortage of admirers. And one must wonder, how does the King feel about the sudden competition?

Fortunately, Robertson and Holmberg remained focused on the task at hand, stepping up alongside Tavares to deliver a performance that kept the Leafs in control. And let us not forget young Joseph Woll—our steadfast guardian between the pipes—who once again proved that Toronto’s net is in capable hands.

So, tell me, dear readers, in what direction is this tale turning?” – The Benchwarmer

_

Saturday - 

The morning after was quiet.

Soft sunlight streamed through the half-drawn curtains, casting a golden hue over the bedroom. The sheets were tangled, evidence of the night before, and the air still carried the faint scent of sweat and sex, mingled with Auston’s cologne. It was warm beneath the covers, his body heat lingering even though he was no longer beside you.

You stretched, the ache between your thighs a pleasant reminder of how thoroughly he had taken you apart just hours ago. The room was silent except for the muffled sound of movement somewhere beyond the bedroom.

Auston.

You weren’t sure what to do. Stay in bed? Get dressed? Leave before he could say anything that would make this feel more real than it already did? The fake dating arrangement had its boundaries, and yet—those boundaries felt blurrier than ever.

You took a deep breath before carefully, slipping out of bed, allowing yourself a few minutes in the bathroom before you padded barefoot toward the door, following the distant sounds.

The kitchen.

Auston stood at the stove, dressed in nothing but a pair of loose grey sweats, the band of his briefs peeking just above them. His hair was still damp from a shower, unruly in the best way, and his broad, bare back flexed as he reached for a plate.

He looked good. Unfairly good.

As casual as possible, you leaned against the doorway; arms crossed as you took in the sight of Auston Matthews making breakfast.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” you mused, voice still rough from sleep as you drew Auston’s from his train of thoughts. 

He  glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I don’t. But I can do eggs and toast. Figured you might be hungry.”

Your stomach grumbled in response, and Auston chuckled as he turned back to the pan, flipping the eggs effortlessly. Slowly you moved forward and took a seat at the kitchen island, watching him move—casual, confident, domestic in a way you hadn’t seen before.

It was dangerous, seeing him like this. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. And more importantly, like you did, too.

He set a plate in front of you following one for himself—scrambled eggs, toast, and a few slices of avocado. Simple, yet thoughtful.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to impress me, Matthews?”

Auston leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest with a smug expression. “Is it working?”

You picked up your fork, taking a bite before humming. “Hmm… not bad. Could use some seasoning, though.”

He rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face was easy, unbothered, as he took a bite of his own food. 

For a moment, there was silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it was loaded—with unspoken words, with the weight of last night, with the reality of whatever this was becoming.

So, Auston did his best to break the lingering thoughts and questions you both might be thinking of. 

“So,” he finally said, in between bites of his own breakfast. “What’s on your schedule today?”

You shrugged, taking another bite. “Event prep for work. It’s a big one, so I have a lot to go over before next week.”

He simply nodded. “That thing next week? The corporate gala?”

You blinked in surprise. “You remember?”

Auston scoffed. “I listen when you talk, you know.”

Something about that statement made your stomach flip, but you covered it quickly, smirking as you tilted your head. “Are you offering to be my date?”

Auston simply shrugged. “I mean… isn’t that the whole point of this thing? You get work perks, I get media off my back.”

The words felt hollow. Like you both knew that wasn’t entirely true anymore. Still, you played along, leaning back in your chair. “And here I thought you were just being nice.”

Auston’s gaze lingered, his smirk shifting into something… something hungrier. His voice was low, teasing, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I’m nice in a lot of ways, boss.”

And once again, your breath hitched. This was dangerous. But neither of you seemed to care.

_

The day had started slowly, the residual heat from the night before still lingering on your skin even as the morning sun cast soft golden light across Auston’s bedroom. You’d spent longer than necessary in his kitchen, sipping on coffee while he moved around in nothing but grey sweats, making half-hearted attempts at cooking while throwing smug little glances in your direction. It had been… easy. Comfortable even.

So, as soon as you got home, you threw yourself into work, determined to shake the feeling that was creeping into your chest—the one that whispered this was more than just a game.

You set up at your desk, flipping through emails, reviewing event logistics, and trying to focus on the long list of details that needed your attention. The corporate gala was one of the biggest events you’d ever been assigned, and you weren’t going to let yourself get distracted. Not by Auston, not by The Benchwarmer’s latest post, and certainly not by the growing awareness that your so-called fake relationship was starting to feel very real.

For the next few hours, you worked with laser focus, replying to vendors, finalising guest lists, and double-checking social media strategies. You even managed to draft a detailed event plan that would’ve impressed even the pickiest executives.

And by the time evening rolled around, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction. Work was under control. You had a plan. And most importantly, you had an excuse not to overthink whatever was happening with Auston.

You weren’t going to the game tonight. You’d already made an appearance last night, and if you were being honest, you needed a break from the chaos that came with being Auston Matthews’ girl—even if it was all pretend.

Originally, you, Jess, Maya, and a couple of your other friends had planned a night out. A few drinks, a little dancing, an excuse to dress up and let loose for the first time in a while. But the universe had other plans in store for you.

Just as you’d rounded up today’s work, your period had arrived with all the grace of a wrecking ball, leaving you cramping, bloated, and in no mood to be squeezing into a mini dress and heels. At first, you considered just bailing, but before you could even send a second text, the girls had already adjusted the plans.

“Babe, if you think we’re letting you suffer alone, you’re delusional,” Jess had declared over the phone. “We’re coming over. We’ll bring the essentials.”

And that was how, instead of going out, you ended up on your couch in sweatpants, surrounded by your best friends and an array of comfort foods. Jess and Maya arrived carrying a mix of snacks — salt-and-vinegar chippies for your cravings, chocolate for when the inevitable emotions hit, and a pint of ice cream just in case. Jess immediately took control of the music, blasting an early 2000s playlist that had Maya singing along dramatically as she poured wine into oversized glasses.

“Oh, you’re missing his game for us?” Jess teased, handing you a glass of wine as she curled up beside you on the couch. “Are we that special?”

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I saw him play last night. He’ll survive without me for one night. Besides, the last thing I feel like right now is standing in a sea of fans, screaming while feeling like a whale, bleeding from my cooch.”

Maya snorted into her wine glass. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like a full-on massacre down there.”

Jess grimaced, but her lips twitched in amusement. “Honestly, I don’t know how you even function. If that were me, I’d be curled up in bed with a hot water bottle, mainlining chocolate, and cursing the universe.”

You shrugged, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I am mainlining chocolate,” you pointed out, grabbing another handful of the M&M’s scattered on the coffee table.

Jess wiggled her brows. “True. But let’s be real—if Auston knew you were suffering like this, would he really let you fend for yourself?”

You rolled your eyes again, determined to ignore the way your stomach flipped at their words. “You guys are so dramatic.”

Maya smirked. “Maybe. But we’re right.”

The conversation quickly turned into a deep dive into your relationship—or rather, what they thought was your relationship. They wanted details. How was Auston behind the scenes? Was he as cocky in private as he was in public? Had he always been this obsessed with you?

And most importantly, how was he in bed?

You answered carefully, sticking to the fabricated truths you had built. But it was getting harder. Because technically, none of what they were saying was wrong. Auston had been paying more attention to you lately. He had been more possessive, more… into you. And he was definitely good in bed.

But that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

However, just as Maya was launching into a theory about how Auston was definitely going to ask you to officially move in by Christmas, your phone rang. Saved by the bell, or?

Instead, you frowned at the screen. Mom.

“Ugh,” you muttered, setting down your wine. “Give me a sec.”

Jess and Maya barely noticed, too wrapped up in their hockey gossip, so you slipped into the bathroom, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Well, finally,” she huffed, her voice already carrying that familiar tone of disapproval. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to find out my own daughter is dating one of the most famous athletes in the country through an online gossip site?”

Your stomach dropped. Shit.

You knew your mother would find out eventually, but you had been really hoping to avoid this conversation for as long as possible.

“I was going to tell you,” you said, cringing at how unconvincing you sounded.

“Oh, really?” she scoffed. “Because your brothers were the ones who had to show me an entire article about how my daughter is apparently Toronto’s new hockey queen.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Look, it just… happened fast, okay? Auston and I weren’t sure how public we wanted to be, and then the media kind of ran with it.”

Your mother let out a dramatic hmm, the kind that told you she wasn’t entirely convinced but wasn’t going to fight you on it right now. “Well, regardless, we need to have dinner.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I want to meet him.”

Your heart stopped.

“I—”

“No excuses,” she cut in firmly. “I deserve to meet the man you’re spending all this time with. Your brothers want to meet him, too.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You loved your brothers, but the thought of putting Auston in a room with them was a disaster waiting to happen. They were going to grill him. Hard. And the last thing you needed was them poking holes in your fake relationship.

“Mom, I don’t know if—”

“Next weekend. Sunday dinner. You and this Austin. No arguments.”

You opened your mouth, searching for an excuse, a way out—anything. But your mother wasn’t having it.

“I carried you for nine months. The least you can do is bring your boyfriend to dinner.”

And with that, she hung up.

You stared at your phone, your mind racing.

Shit.

Auston was going to kill you.

Meanwhile, at Scotiabank Arena Auston was having one hell of a night.

Montreal came out aggressive—no surprise there—but five minutes in, he silenced them. A perfect feed from Marner, a lethal one-timer, and the puck was in the back of the net before the goalie even blinked.

By the second period, the Leafs were up 3-1. William danced through defenders like it was effortless, Marner stacked up assists, and Auston? He was on. Dominant.

Then, in the third, he sealed it.

A clean setup from Tavares, a flick of his wrists, and boom—4-1. The crowd erupted. His teammates swarmed him, the energy electric, but as he skated past the bench, his gaze flickered toward the stands.

And as the final buzzer sounded, sealing the win, he peeled off his gloves, letting the adrenaline settle.

However, as soon as he sat down in the locker room, he was greeted with a message from you.

“So… my mom called…”

Auston stared at the screen, brows lifting.

Oh, this should be good.

_

“Dearest Toronto readers,

Tonight, the Maple Leafs reminded us all why they are a force to be reckoned with. A commanding 4-1 victory over their eternal rivals, the Montreal Canadians, saw the team in peak form—Nylander weaving his signature magic, Marner dishing out assists like gifts under a Christmas tree, and Auston Matthews? Well, he continues to prove why he remains the reigning King of this city.

But even Kings can be distracted.

Our Ice King was untouchable on the ice tonight, but if you watched closely, you might have noticed a flicker of something else behind those sharp, calculated plays.

Something missing.

For while Matthews skated circles around the Habs, one had to wonder—was his mind entirely on the game? Or was there someone else occupying his thoughts tonight?

After all, our Queen was not in attendance.

And dare I say it, Toronto, but the Ice King? He noticed.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Until next time, dear readers.

Yours always,

The Benchwarmer”

[swifty-fox]

oh i wanted sci fi to win but i’m down and excited to read any fic by @swifty-fox :)

can you tell us anything about pirate au? any semi coherent thoughts? fantasy aus aren’t usually my thing but i’m sat

Yes low fantasy means that there are mild magical elements but mostly the story is grounded in reality!

The concept is one I've sat on for a while, I was developing it with @avonne-writes's help around this time last year

Here are some transcripts of our chatlogs that I will be referencing to develop the plot, but I can say it will be pretty low stakes low stress and mostly just fun. with SOME tragedy sprinkled in. because it is me. People will die. But john and gale will have little conflict in their falling in love.

Anyways, Notes:

Pirate au

Gale traveling w his dad through the Mediterranean and John who boards their ship, robs it kisses Gale and then vanishes into the night cue 10 years later it happens again but this time Gale goes w him bc now john is the FEARED pirate captain lmao idk and hes broader now and tanner now, sunspots on his cheeks and it makes his eyes blue like tidepools an he has feathers and beads woven in his curls

and gale is so put together, dutiful son with a serious face and a leashed animal inside him. wants to be free wants to be wild wants to chase the stars like he'd always dreamed

Gale when that young, reckless pirate finds him hidden in the captain's quarters:

steals from him like hes doing gale a favor and steals a kiss from him too

Oh!!! So John steals the kiss. Years later, when they meet again and things start to go in that direction again, Gale says he’s taking back something stolen and steals a kiss back -Avonne

Gale who has thought about him ever since

hates him for what he is and wants to be him fore the same reasons

John who....theres not something right about him. its like the oceans listen to him. SUmmons wind on a dead sea, sruvived shipwrecks when everyone else has been lost. Some say he's the devil himself, some say his mother was a siren

maybe the truth is somwhere in the middle

omg yeah hes so buttoned up and under his fathers thumb esp the first time John meets him

steals from him like hes doing gale a favor and steals a kiss from him too for good measure, in the dark of Gales cabin surrounded by his stars and charts and maps bc all he wants to be is a cartographer

vanishes into the night with a grin and a wink, over the side of the ship into black water like he came from the ocean itself

"be seeing you darling"

ten years later Gale says "you stole something from me and now im taking it back" and kisses him again

YEAHH and nobody knows thta it happened except for Gale and he literally thinks about john for TEN years. And then theres rumors of this new pirate king who is the son of the devil herself and gale is cautioned against sailing the waters but he fears no man or rumor

and then lo and behold this captain is a grown version of the dashing boy from ten years ago

he always knows the currents, knows whena storm is coming even if the seas are calm

it could be hes just a good sailor

could be

but sometimes theres just... no explanation

i think theres an instance where they get shipwrecked and gale is drowning and John saves him even though gale KNOWS he jumped from the other side of the ship

and proceeds to save half the crew despite the storming sea

sometimes his eyes are a bit too blue. late at night, early in the morning when its just them in bed

how he always smells faintly of salt and brine even if theyre on land

nobodys met his parents, nobody knows his lineage

he always jokes the sea itself spit him out and sometimes Gale wonders how much of a joke it really is

sea creatures never fear him, flock to him even sometimes

can hold his breath for a longgg time

gale likes that feature <3

a pirate must always have a great treasure

[thesquireinvictus]

‘He is watching. He sees much and hears much. His Nazgûl are still abroad. They passed over this field ere the sunrise, though few of the weary and sleeping were aware of them. He studies the signs: the Sword that robbed him of his treasure re-made; the winds of fortune turning in our favour, and the defeat unlooked-for of his first assault; the fall of his great Captain.

‘His doubt will be growing, even as we speak here. His Eye is now straining towards us, blind almost to all else that is moving. So we must keep it. Therein lies all our hope. This, then, is my counsel. We have not the Ring. In wisdom or great folly it has been sent away to be destroyed, lest it destroy us. Without it we cannot by force defeat his force. But we must at all costs keep his Eye from his true peril. We cannot achieve victory by arms, but by arms we can give the Ring-bearer his only chance, frail though it be.

‘As Aragorn has begun, so we must go on. We must push Sauron to his last throw. We must call out his hidden strength, so that he shall empty his land. We must march out to meet him at once. We must make ourselves the bait, though his jaws should close on us. He will take that bait, in hope and in greed, for he will think that in such rashness he sees the pride of the new Ringlord: and he will say: “So! he pushes out his neck too soon and too far. Let him come on, and behold I will have him in a trap from which he cannot escape. There I will crush him, and what he has taken in his insolence shall be mine again for ever.”

‘We must walk open-eyed into that trap, with courage, but small hope for ourselves. For, my lords, it may well prove that we ourselves shall perish utterly in a black battle far from the living lands; so that even if Barad-dûr be thrown down, we shall not live to see a new age. But this, I deem, is our duty. And better so than to perish nonetheless – as we surely shall, if we sit here – and know as we die that no new age shall be.’

— “The Last Debate”, from Book V of The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King

[orthodoxadventure]

Orthodox prayer for the intercession of Archangel Michael

O holy and great Archangel of God Michael, first among the angels that stand before the inscrutable and transcendent Trinity, overseer and guardian of the human race, who with thine armies didst crush the head of the most-proud Morning Star in Heaven and dost ever put to shame his evil and cunning on earth, to thee do we flee with faith and to thee we pray with love; be thou an invincible shield and a firm bulwark of the Holy Church and our homeland, protecting them with thy lightning-bearing sword from all enemies, both visible and invisible. Be thou a guardian angel, a most wise counselor and helper of Orthodox Christians, of our country, bringing them from the throne of the King of kings enlightenment and power, joy, peace, and consolation. Be thou the chief captain and companion in arms of our Christ-loving armed forces, crowning them with glory and victory over adversaries, that all who oppose us may know that God and His holy angels are with us. And leave not without thy help and protection, O Archangel of God, also us who glorify thy holy name today; for behold, even though we be great sinners, nevertheless we desire not to perish in our iniquities, but rather to turn to the Lord and be quickened by Him unto good works. Illumine, therefore, our minds with the light of God's countenance, which continually shineth on thy lightning-like forehead, that we may understand what the good and perfect will of God is concerning us, and know all that which we ought to do, and that which we ought to despise and abandon. Strengthen through the Grace of the Lord our weak will and feeble state, that, made firm in the law of the Lord, we may henceforth cease to be tossed to and fro by earthly thoughts and the lusts of the flesh, enticed away, like senseless children, by the quickly perishing beauties of this world, foolishly forgetting the eternal and heavenly for the sake of the corruptible and earthly. Above all these things, do thou ask for us from on high a true spirit of repentance, unfeigned sorrow before God and contrition for our sins, that we may spend the number of days that remain to us of this transitory life not in gratifying our senses and in slavery to our passions, but in wiping out the evil things we have done by tears of faith and heartfelt contrition, by struggles of purity and holy deeds of mercy. And when the hour of our end and liberation from the bonds of this body of clay draweth nigh, O Archangel of God, leave us not defenseless against the spirits of evil in the upper air, who are accustomed to hinder the ascent of man's soul on high, that guarded by thee we may attain without hindrance those most glorious dwelling-places of Paradise, where there is neither sorrow, nor sighing, but life everlasting, and be vouchsafed to behold the most radiant countenance of our all-beneficent Lord and Master, fall down with tears at His feet, in joy and compunction shouting aloud: Glory to Thee, our most dear Redeemer, Who, because of Thy great love for us unworthy ones, hast been pleased to send Thine angels in the service of our salvation!

[psalacanthea]

just cuz @iridescentnuances told me she wants to see the weirdest shit I've got in my files somewhere, have this bit of um...Mass Effect 2?

...

Scene:

The abandoned colony of Horizon, after an attack of the Collectors.  Shepherd, Garrus, and Miranda are speaking with a wizened Mechanic.

Enter Kaidan Alenko.

Kaidan: Commander Shepard was her name.  Thou speakest false, if thou dost speak of the Captain of the finest ship to pierce the heavenly veil.  The Citadel thrives yet on her device, and she did tread where no man dares to go.  But alas, that Shepherd of men was lost, and so I say I see a ghost.

Mechanic: Good men have died this very day, and thou, a wastrel yet remain.  Fie on your Alliance, and fie on thee; I depart now and leave you to your ill fortunes.

Exit Mechanic.

Shepard: A ghost am I? No, but Spectre do I be.

Kaidan: And yet I say that thou dost lie, among the cold and unyielding stars. What coulds't thou be but a figment? Commander Shepard died and was mourned by we, her true compatriots.

Shepard: Belike her death was but a jape.

Kaidan: A jape? Mock'est thou the pain of a billion souls who toil and strive yet in her fulsome shadow? Speak no falsehoods. I say it plain. If thou art she, then of thy legacy hast thou made a mockery.

Shepard: Life hath made a mockery of Commander Shepard, and so Commander Shepard maketh mockery of life. They say she lies in death; they say she lies with e'ery breath of that Reaper threat, and so I say to thee it is a jape. I speak to ears who listen now.

Kaidan: Tis truth then? No, it cannot be. Commander Shepard, bound to the word of the Hounds of Hell? Those damnable curs?

Shepard: A Fool hath the right to speak truth to kings, but cannot make them heed.

Kaidan: No fool, but a mad traitor thou hast become, leading good men astray into the arms of damnation. What say'st thou, Vakarian, to this witless quest?

Garrus: Into hell, say I.

Kaidan: Then traitor shalt thou also be.

Garrus: Betrayal? I am true to Shepard, and with Shepard shall I be.

Kaidan: I am true to mine oaths, to Alliance, and by their word I say aye. Thou art traitors both who serve Hell, not Heaven.

Shepard: The enemy of mine enemy may turn the tide of battle when goodly men do naught but scorn. Thou hast seen the enemy here today, and so I say to thee: if thou claim'st Cerberus doth wage war upon the colonies, then I relinquish my crown to thee.

Kaidan: A crown?

Shepard: Aye, the crown of fools, which better suits thy brow than mine.

Garrus Laughs.

Shepard: The Collectors work for the Reapers still, absconding colonies by their will, and the Hounds of Hell lend fang and claw to this noble cause. I am in service of Man, and it is the lives of Men I here protect, not tarnished Thrones of the Citadel on high, whose prayerful guise and temperate wisdom make mockery of Men's suffering.

Kaidan: I shall bear thy words to the seat of Heaven, but no more.

Shepard: Then for naught my thanks is given.

Kaidan: Then I thank thee in turn for this heartache.

Shepard: When next Death doth reach its loathsome hand across th'bounds of space to crush me in that withered fist, I shall be reminded to beg pardon first from thy graciousness.

Kaidan: Thy pilot of so apt a name should'st bend the knee and place the title upon thee. Capering jester!

Shepard: Better jester than sycophant be.

Kaidan: I've no stomach for thy barbs. Farewell, I leave this haunting ghost behind.

Kaidan Alenko Exits.

Shepard: Brave Alenko! Need I endure a loathsome prick, consigned to bleed ere I am believed?

Garrus: Let's away. Our might needs be prepared to strike the beast that lurks among the stars. Be they Heavenly or from depthless Hell, all arms must be duly calibrated ere they strike true.

Shepard: Where does thy allegiance lie? To the Shepard or the might of her arms?

Garrus: I'truth, tis a riddle.

Shepard: What marvel of Science do I here see? Behold! This lizard is an ass!

Miranda: Commander, swift and merciless Time cares naught for our banter and strife. We must away. The Man of Indistinction hath called upon thee and awaits 'neath the dome of light and shadow.

Shepard: What does that asshole want now?

Exeunt.

[mrssoapmactavish]

maneater - chapter one

"if you're in it for love, you ain't gonna get too far"

this is the 'first' part of the andromeda series! still working on an official title for it all, but when it's set in stone, that'll be how you can easily find these works :)

mdni at all times! ageless/empty blogs are not welcome here!!

steve harrington had always had a bit of a thing for the emotionally distant women, even if no one would dare point it out to the boy. maybe it's the abandonment from his parents, but it's most definitely not the healthiest thing in the world for him, in fact more often than not leaving him heartbroken, such is the case with the last 'girlfriend' he'd had, nancy wheeler.

after barb's disappearance, she had gone from interested like the sweet, naive schoolgirl falling head-first for the captain of the basketball team like his parents would've hoped for him– if they were actually around, mind you– to detached, then eventually very obviously palling around with jonathan byers.

after accepting the fact that nancy was never really his to begin with– and accepting the heart-aching sting of unrequited love, another emptiness in his life that swallows him whole with loneliness– things had mostly re-stabilized. he was back to hating classes, having tommy and carol still chirping in his ear like nothing had happened. like him and tommy didn't get into a fight last year around this time, before steve had been back into the endless cycle of girls throwing themselves at him, basketball, and feeling oh so alone.

and now, lo and behold, the year he's bound to graduate and he's been applying to colleges and universities left and right, he saw billy hargrove and his two sisters.

sure, he already had a bone to pick with billy himself– the kid had the whole bad-boy thing going on, all the girls that hadn't had a chance to get swayed or swooned over king steve were utterly enamored– but he was pretty indifferent about the young redhead, knowing that the kids would eventually have something to say and he'd get an earful secondhand from nancy.

no, his interest was in the dirty blonde in the leather jacket with cherry-red lips and a furrow in her brows.

she'd been cold and detached when he had first approached her. fine, cool, he totally gets it. but seeing the way billy had given him the nastiest side-eye for greeting his sibling? it lit a fire in him, something he hadn't really felt for a while, and seeing her in his first class of the day stoked it, the flames licking within him, even if he can feel the sting of guilt knowing that this new student is just as interesting to him as nancy had been.

his eyes were locked on her, even as he pretended to laugh along with whatever stupid jest tommy had made that had carol smacking his shoulder and lecturing him, and the way she shifted her balance from foot to foot in front of the class as the insufferable chem teacher continues to ask her about herself.

"we moved from orange county. me, my brother, our half-sister, step-mom and our dad." her tone is full of boredom; she'd rather be anywhere but here, he can feel it coming off of her in waves, but his curious mind swirls at all the possibilities of what she'd rather be doing.

the thought of the girl in a cheerleading uniform just didn't fit. no, she's not the type of girl to spell out a cheer, to shake those ruffled pompoms and get the crowd roaring with excitement. nor was she the sports type; the idea of seeing her in short volleyball shorts is being filed away for later, though, don't get him wrong.

no, the first thought that comes to his head about what she would be doing is something steve harrington would've avoided a year ago.

it's strange to him; he'd never been a big fan of heavier music, always preferring catchy, danceable songs about love, parties, and other light topics, but he could close his eyes now and hear music blasting from an amplifier. she's the type to smell like vanilla and cinnamon, mostly to cover the smell of nicotine from sharing a pack with that ratty brother of hers.

the longer he watches her clash against the teachers' attempt to integrate the outsider into the class community, the more he can imagine of her. the type to drink beer at a party, to hang around whatever friends her brother had because the girls bore her with their chatty nature and mindless gossip.

as much as he wants nothing to do with the 'hargrove' name, he'd give up as many practices as possible to get so much as a glimpse into this girls personal life.

watching the girl walk with confidence but no real anger in her gait to the back of the class, sitting herself down at a table with no other students to be left the hell alone, steve finds himself staring down at his watch. he could swing skipping practice today, maybe, just to see if she'd talk to him more.

"this kinda looks like your old girlfriend, hahaha!" - scotty, evil dead (1981)

steve is, quite honestly, indifferent about the fact that he didn't choose to just skip basketball practice today. on the downside, hargrove is here, smirking and snide and really just giving far too much sass, making him seem like a scrawny kid who only got called the captain of the team because he was king steve.

he'd be absolutely fuming and ready to bitch and moan about this all afternoon and evening to anyone who'll listen– tommy, probably, and try to tone it down a bit more when he's around nancy later– if there wasn't a certain cherry-lipped blonde sitting on the stands, flipping through some boring, keep-you-busy magazine.

sure, he knows the girl won't talk much with him, but it means that the very least he can do is focus more on the game, if only to selfishly hope he'll catch her eye and at least be talked to more than a scowled out greeting. he's dying to talk to someone who doesn't know him as the same prick he was throughout highschool, he's realized.

someone who doesn't, hasn't, or never will associate him with that horrid label of king steve. maybe someone who'll look at him, what he does hanging around the school and occasionally chauffering around some of the kids, and see someone interesting. valuable. worth her time.

too bad his train of thought distracts him from keeping his footing, because it makes it much easier for billy to knock him off his feet, leaving steve to slam down against the scuffed gym floor. now that's embarrassing, he thinks to himself, what a way to make a first impression.

he's not sure whether or not billy had seen the glances towards his sister, he assumes it's the reason for the abrupt shove to the ground, especially in a no-contact sport like basketball. one thing he's very well aware of, however, is the pair of eyes on him from high up in the stands, watching his movements. it makes part of him feel elated; the idea of finally catching her attention, even if it's just because of a loud noise and a human concern for pain, sends a ripple of excitement through his veins.

steve is helped up to his feet, but not before billy mutters something he doesn't quite catch or process right away. "should've planted your feet," the californian mutters, then continuing on with the game like nothing had happened, the jeering and taunts continuing.

steve is no fool; knows that billy hargrove is aiming to dethrone him as king of hawkins high.

a year ago, that might have irked him. his popularity was all that kept his facade together, the glue that kept steve harrington from being exposed as a kid, desparately seeking meaningful connection, something he'd never gotten from his parents. he doesn't like seeking external validation, but because he'd never truly gotten it unconditionally from his parents, he knows it's what he needs to survive. and christ, what's so wrong with him that he doesn't deserve even a single attaboy?

but now? now that he and nancy have been slowly falling apart and he's having to face the fact that he's lost his first love, who he's been turning around for, reforming from his old ways for? now that tommy hagan and carol perkins are only faking friendship with steve, all because steve wouldn't let them call nancy a whore for hanging around jonathan byers?

he couldn't care less. as long as he has something to keep his mind off of the loneliness that seeps into his bones, a reason to stay as far away from his empty home as possible, a reason to come to school every day.. he's alright. at least, he hopes he is.

as he puts on the facade of not being affected or rattled by this entire revelation from the floor of the hawkins high basketball court, he notices that billy hargrove's sister watches intently from the stands, no longer bored and flipping through her magazine to occupy her idle hands and mind.

it's strange, how even just that brings a smile to his face.

[walkwithgod07]

37 And king Zedekiah the son of Josiah reigned instead of Coniah the son of Jehoiakim, whom Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon made king in the land of Judah.

2 But neither he, nor his servants, nor the people of the land, did hearken unto the words of the Lord, which he spake by the prophet Jeremiah.

3 And Zedekiah the king sent Jehucal the son of Shelemiah and Zephaniah the son of Maaseiah the priest to the prophet Jeremiah, saying, Pray now unto the Lord our God for us.

4 Now Jeremiah came in and went out among the people: for they had not put him into prison.

5 Then Pharaoh's army was come forth out of Egypt: and when the Chaldeans that besieged Jerusalem heard tidings of them, they departed from Jerusalem.

6 Then came the word of the Lord unto the prophet Jeremiah saying,

7 Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel; Thus shall ye say to the king of Judah, that sent you unto me to enquire of me; Behold, Pharaoh's army, which is come forth to help you, shall return to Egypt into their own land.

8 And the Chaldeans shall come again, and fight against this city, and take it, and burn it with fire.

9 Thus saith the Lord; Deceive not yourselves, saying, The Chaldeans shall surely depart from us: for they shall not depart.

10 For though ye had smitten the whole army of the Chaldeans that fight against you, and there remained but wounded men among them, yet should they rise up every man in his tent, and burn this city with fire.

11 And it came to pass, that when the army of the Chaldeans was broken up from Jerusalem for fear of Pharaoh's army,

12 Then Jeremiah went forth out of Jerusalem to go into the land of Benjamin, to separate himself thence in the midst of the people.

13 And when he was in the gate of Benjamin, a captain of the ward was there, whose name was Irijah, the son of Shelemiah, the son of Hananiah; and he took Jeremiah the prophet, saying, Thou fallest away to the Chaldeans.

14 Then said Jeremiah, It is false; I fall not away to the Chaldeans. But he hearkened not to him: so Irijah took Jeremiah, and brought him to the princes.

15 Wherefore the princes were wroth with Jeremiah, and smote him, and put him in prison in the house of Jonathan the scribe: for they had made that the prison.

16 When Jeremiah was entered into the dungeon, and into the cabins, and Jeremiah had remained there many days;

17 Then Zedekiah the king sent, and took him out: and the king asked him secretly in his house, and said, Is there any word from the Lord? And Jeremiah said, There is: for, said he, thou shalt be delivered into the hand of the king of Babylon.

18 Moreover Jeremiah said unto king Zedekiah, What have I offended against thee, or against thy servants, or against this people, that ye have put me in prison?

19 Where are now your prophets which prophesied unto you, saying, The king of Babylon shall not come against you, nor against this land?

20 Therefore hear now, I pray thee, O my lord the king: let my supplication, I pray thee, be accepted before thee; that thou cause me not to return to the house of Jonathan the scribe, lest I die there.

21 Then Zedekiah the king commanded that they should commit Jeremiah into the court of the prison, and that they should give him daily a piece of bread out of the bakers' street, until all the bread in the city were spent. Thus Jeremiah remained in the court of the prison.

[lfthinker]

Good afternoon.

On this, the first of April, I’d like us all to engage in a moment of respectful silence for that most underrated of all heroes in Gotham City.

I am of course referring to the man, the myth, the legend….

George ‘Digger’ Harkness, also known as Captain Boomerang.

“But wait!” I hear some of you saying. “A Gotham Hero? I thought he was the Flash’s greatest adversary!” Well he is, but many Donny know that his greatest feat was done in Gotham City, when he gave his life to rid the world of one of the most loathsome child abusers it had ever seen.

Behold the monster. Jack Drake, father of the third and most super deep duper bestest Robin, Tim Drake.

Boo! Hiss!

Jack Drake was, as anyone who sleeps, breathes and reads Batfamily fanon, a vile beast of a man. He ruthlessly neglected Tim by leaving him to be raised by the help while he and his wife, (who isn’t important, because she is a woman,) gallivanted around the globe. When he was home, he was most cruel to poor widdle Timmy, forcing him to eat shrimp when he was deathly allergic to it, causing him so much anxiety that he developed a crippling addiction to coffee, and worst of all, taking his tv!

I should be upfront that I haven’t read many Tim Drake Robin comics, but that’s ok, because I did a lot of research by reading Tim Drake fics on AO3, and AO3 would never lie to me!

The extent of Jack Drake’s abuse was well known, but no one did a thing about it, because Jack Drake was rich, and rich people are above consequences. Not even Batman lifted a finger, less it draw attention to his own questionable behavior with minors.

Quick, light the CPS signal!

Salvation was soon at hand for poor widdle Timmy-Poo. One day, the good Captain Boomerang heard about Jack Drake’s mistreatment of his perfect, precious, hyper-competent yet strangely unlucky son, and was spurned to action. He traveled to Gotham in the dead of night to rid the world of this disgusting POS once and for all.

That story about how actually, Jean Loring hired him to do it in order to scare heroes back to their loved ones? SLANDER AND LIES. How could Jean Loring have possibly found out Tim Drake was Robin? That would be stupid and convoluted even for DC comics.

Digger did it on his own volition. Unfortunately, Jack Drake was lying in wait and shot him because he was a BITCH AND A COWARD.

This tragic event was later adapted in universe as that modern classic ‘The Assassination of Captain Boomerang by the Coward Jack Drake.’

With the last of his strength, our brave, courageous Captain managed to throw a boomerang right into the heart of Jack Drake and slew the vicious beast once and for all.

RIP King.

At last, Timmy Wimmy Pimmy Poo was free. Free to follow his heart and allow his life to devolve into an endless spiral of misery and shame while being coddled by everyone around him, as God intended. Never forget the noble sacrifice of Captain Boomerang.

Also, the post is absolute bullshit, just like everything else in the Batfandom tag. Read actual comics for Christ’s sake.

[around-in-space]

Lost in the Sea, Lonely

Rating: Not Rated

Categories: M/M F/F F/M

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The ArchivistGeorgie Barker/Melanie King

Characters: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The ArchivistTim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)Sasha JamesGerard KeayGertrude RobinsonMartin BlackwoodPeter LukasAlice "Daisy" TonnerBasira HussainMelanie KingJonah MagnusThe Admiral (The Magnus Archives)Georgie BarkerOliver BanksAnnabelle Cane

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - PirateCanon-Typical ViolenceThe Fear Entities (The Magnus Archives)PiratesCaptain Gertrude RobinsonFirst Mate Gerard KeayCannon Typical KidnappingPlanned Plot

Summary:

For the past ten years, Jonathan Sims has served as the Captain’s Scribe on ‘the Beholding’ after escaping from the King’s grasp. Now, he’s just doing his best to keep a relatively stable life aboard the pirate ship. But all his careful work is torn apart when he’s kidnapped on behalf of the king by a rival privateering crew. If he wants to not only survive his kidnapper’s eerie ship and avoid the king’s plots, he may just need to find it within himself to form an instead alliance with a very lonely man.

Title from ‘Lost in the Cosmos’ by the Mechanisms

Finally got around to publishing my first fic on ao3!! It’s a TMA Pirate AU

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

David and Goliath

1 The Philistines make war against Israel. 10 Goliath defieth Israel. 17 David is sent to his brethren. 34 The strength and boldness of David. 47 The Lord saveth not by sword nor spear. 50 David killeth Goliath, and the Philistines flee.

1 Now the Philistines gathered their armies to battle, and came together to Sochoh which is in Judah, and pitched between Sochoh and Azekah, in the coast of Dammim.

2 And Saul, and the men of Israel assembled and pitched in the valley of Elah, and put themselves in battle array to meet the Philistines.

3 And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a mountain on the other side: so a valley was between them.

4 ¶ Then came a man between them both out of the tents of the Philistines, named Goliath of Gath: his height was six cubits and an hand breadth,

5 And had an helmet of brass upon his head, and a brigandine upon him: and the weight of his brigandine was five thousand shekels of brass.

6 And he had boots of brass upon his legs, and a shield of brass upon his shoulders.

7 And the shaft of his spear was like a weaver’s beam: and his spear head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him.

8 And he stood, and cried against the host of Israel, and said unto them, Why are ye come to set your battle in array? am not I a Philistine, and you servants to Saul? choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me.

9 If he be able to fight with me, and kill me, then will we be your servants: but if I overcome him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us.

10 Also the Philistine said, I defy the host of Israel this day: give me a man, that we may fight together.

11 When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were discouraged, and greatly afraid.

12 ¶ Now this David was the son of an Ephrathite of Bethlehem Judah, named Jesse, which had eight sons: and this man was taken for an old man in the days of Saul.

13 And the three eldest sons of Jesse went and followed Saul to the battle: and the names of his three sons that went to battle were Eliab the eldest, and the next Abinadab, and the third Shammah.

14 So David was the least: and the three eldest went after Saul.

15 David also went, but he returned from Saul to feed his father’s sheep in Bethlehem.

16 And the Philistine drew near in the morning, and evening, and continued forty days.

17 And Jesse said unto David his son, Take now for thy brethren an Ephah of this parched corn, and these ten cakes, and run to the host to thy brethren.

18 Also carry these ten fresh cheeses unto the captain, and look how thy brethren fare, and receive their pledge.

19 (Then Saul and they, and all the men of Israel were in the valley of Elah, fighting with the Philistines.)

20 ¶ So David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a keeper, and took and went as Jesse had commanded him, and came within the compass of the host: and the host went out in array, and shouted in the battle.

21 For Israel and the Philistines had put themselves in array, army against army.

22 And David left the things which he bare, under the hands of the keeper of the carriage, and ran into the host, and came, and asked his brethren how they did.

23 And as he talked with them, behold, the man that was between the two armies, came up, (whose name was Goliath the Philistine of Gath) out of the army of the Philistines, and spake such words, and David heard them.

24 And all the men of Israel when they saw the man, ran away from him, and were sore afraid.

25 For every man of Israel said, Saw ye not this man that cometh up? even to revile Israel is he come up: and to him that killeth him, will the King give great riches, and will give him his daughter, yea, and make his father’s house free in Israel.

26 ¶ Then David spake to the men that stood with him, and said, What shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away the shame from Israel? for who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that he should revile the host of the living God?

27 And the people answered him after this manner, saying, Thus shall it be done to the man that killeth him.

28 And Eliab his eldest brother heard when he spake unto the men, and Eliab was very angry with David, and said, Why camest thou down hither? and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness? I know thy pride and the malice of thine heart, that thou art come down to see the battle.

29 Then David said, What have I now done? Is there not a cause?

30 And he departed from him into the presence of another, and spake of the same manner, and the people answered him according to the former words.

31 ¶ And they that heard the words which David spake, rehearsed them before Saul, which caused him to be brought.

32 So David said to Saul, Let no man’s heart fail him, because of him: thy servant will go, and fight with this Philistine.

33 And Saul said to David, Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him: for thou art a boy, and he is a man of war from his youth.

34 And David answered unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father’s sheep, and there came a lion, and likewise a bear, and took a sheep out of the flock,

35 And I went out after him and smote him, and took it out of his mouth: and when he arose against me, I caught him by the beard, and smote him, and slew him.

36 So thy servant slew both the lion, and the bear: therefore this uncircumcised Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath railed on the host of the living God.

37 ¶ Moreover David said, The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine. Then Saul said unto David, Go, and the Lord be with thee.

38 And Saul put his raiment upon David, and put an helmet of brass upon his head, and put a brigandine upon him.

39 Then girded David his sword upon his raiment, and began to go: for he never proved it: and David said unto Saul, I can not go with these: for I am not accustomed. Wherefore David put them off him.

40 Then took he his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones out of a brook, and put them in his shepherd’s bag or scrip, and his sling was in his hand, and he drew near to the Philistine.

41 ¶ And the Philistine came and drew near unto David, and the man that bare the shield went before him.

42 Now when the Philistine looked about and saw David, he disdained him: for he was but young, ruddy, and of a comely face.

43 And the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to me with staves? And the Philistine cursed David by his gods.

44 And the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the heaven, and to the beasts of the field.

45 ¶ Then said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield, but I come to thee in the Name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the host of Israel, whom thou hast railed upon.

46 This day shall the Lord close thee in mine hand, and I shall smite thee, and take thine head from thee, and I will give the carcasses of the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the heaven, and to the beasts of the earth, that all the world may know that Israel hath a God,

47 And that all this assembly may know, that the Lord saveth not with sword nor with spear, (for the battle is the Lord’s) and he will give you into our hands.

48 And when the Philistine arose to come and draw near unto David, David hasted and ran to fight against the Philistine.

49 And David put his hand in his bag, and took out a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sticked in his forehead, and he fell groveling to the earth.

50 So David overcame the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him, when David had no sword in his hand.

51 Then David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his sword and drew it out of his sheath, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. So when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled.

52 And the men of Israel and Judah arose, and shouted, and followed after the Philistines, until they came to the valley, and unto the gates of Ekron: and the Philistines fell down wounded by the way of Shaaraim, even to Gath and to Ekron.

53 And the children of Israel returned from pursuing the Philistines, and spoiled their tents.

54 And David took the head of the Philistine, and brought it to Jerusalem, and put his armor in his tent.

55 ¶ When Saul saw David go forth against the Philistine, he said unto Abner the captain of his host, Abner, whose son is this young man? and Abner answered, As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell.

56 Then the King said, Inquire thou whose son this young man is.

57 And when David was returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, then Abner took him and brought him before Saul with the head of the Philistine in his hand.

58 And Saul said to him, Whose son art thou, thou young man? And David answered, I am the son of thy servant Jesse the Bethlehemite. — 1 Samuel 17 | 1599 Geneva Bible (GNV) Geneva Bible, 1599 Edition. Published by Tolle Lege Press. All rights reserved. Cross References: Genesis 35:19; Genesis 37:13-14; Genesis 42:15; Numbers 13:31; Deuteronomy 5:26; Deuteronomy 20:1; Deuteronomy 28:26; Joshua 10:10; Joshua 11:22; Joshua 15:11; Joshua 15:16; Judges 18:21; 1 Samuel 7:7; 1 Samuel 8:17; 1 Samuel 14:6; 1 Samuel 14:12; 1 Samuel 16:6; 1 Samuel 16:11-12; 1 Samuel 16:19; 1 Samuel 18:4; 1 Samuel 18:17; 1 Samuel 19:5; 1 Samuel 20:6; 1 Samuel 21:9; 1 Samuel 25:18; 1 Samuel 26:5; 2 Samuel 2:12; 2 Samuel 21:19; 2 Samuel 21:21; 2 Samuel 23:21; Psalm 27:3; Jeremiah 46:4; Amos 3:12; Matthew 10:10; Matthew 10:36; 2 Corinthians 1:10; Hebrews 11:32-33; Revelation 19:17

[mxmasked-alien]

TRR in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Gotten obsessed with Skyrim again lol. But what if in this AU of Skyrim, there were 2 hero Dragonborns and they were twins? Behold, Bosmer (wood elves) Dragonborn twins, Raelyn the mage and Riley the warrior.

The Dragonborn Comes:

Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.

With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.

Its the end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.

You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn comes.

Hana as an Altmer (high elf).

Both Liam and Drake would be Nords. Liam an unmarried High King of Skyrim while Drake is his Captain of the Guard and closest friend. I think Maxwell would make a good khajiit, lol or a Breton. Lena could take Ulfric Stormcloak's place (but without the whole shouting Liam to death like Ulfric did to High King Torygg) they're siblings fighting for control over Skyrim. Olivia would be the head of the Dark Brotherhood 🤭

Hana is a noble Altmer visiting the Thalmor Embassy that her parents are closely connected to. But on her way through Skyrim, a dragon attacks! Thankfully the Dragonborn twins save her and she finds herself falling for the Bosmer mage. ❤️

[thecatholicbozo]

"Take courage, my brethren, let us go forward together, Jesus will be with us. (Heb 12:1)

For the sake of Jesus we took up His cross; for the sake of Jesus let us persevere on the cross.

He will be our helper, who is our captain and our leader. Behold our King marches before us, who will fight for us.

Let us follow Him manfully; let no one shrink through fear; let us be ready to die valiantly in battle, and not stain our glory by flying from the standard of the cross. (1 Macc 9:10)

-Thomas a Kempis, Imitation of Christ

[ryanmeft]

Movie Review: The Boy and the Heron

12 year old Mahito watches as bombs fall on Tokyo in 1943, and the hospital housing his mother is incinerated. He and his father promptly relocate to the countryside, where he marries his late wife’s sister and runs a munitions factory, but Mahito has little interest in these things. He is not disrespectful. He simply wants to be by himself. During one of his wanderings in the grounds, he spots a mysteriously behaved gray heron who leads him to a ruined tower hidden in an out-of-the-way corner. There his aunt eventually disappears, and though he doesn’t liker her that much, his father does. So he, the dutiful son, must find and rescue her.

Many of the films of traditional animation master Hayao Miyazaki start this way, with a disillusioned and lonely child discovering something magical. Few, even among his storied filmography, lead us on a journey like this one. The tower was said to either have been built by his great grand-uncle or fallen to earth in a star, but either way, when Mahito follows the heron inside while looking for his missing aunt, he enters one of those worlds only Miyazaki can deliver.

By this point the heron has hinted at his true nature, via a nose and a pair of eyes peeking out from its long beak. The interior of the tower it leads Mahito to is a ruined staircase, but much like the abandoned amusement park in Spirited Away, there is more here than there appears. Here I will stop describing the plot and begin feasting on some of the visual delights.

Within is a gate to a world somewhere between life and death. It is a water world where the sun seems never to fully rise or set, where gigantic fish prowl an underwater realm, and where even desolate swampland is beautiful to behold. It constantly surprises us. Mahito encounters a neolithic tomb behind a golden gate, a gaggle of white, joyful spirits that look a little like the video game character Kirby, throngs of hungry pelicans and multi-colored giant parakeets wielding forks and knives, and another tower that seems to exist in an ethereal reality, filled with randomly numbered doors that tantalize our curiosity.

To say Miyazaki, and his Studio Ghibli, are known for visual beauty is an understatement at this point. Multiple museums and coffee table books are dedicated to it. Yet in his latest the master and his crew top themselves, and deliver his most gorgeous film to date. Every frame is worthy of being isolated and studied as a piece of art. My favorite bits include those afore-mentioned Kirby Spirits ascending into the night sky and that giant tomb calling to something deep inside the viewer, but it’s so hard to pick and choose that I will have to watch the film a few more times so I can implant them all in my mind.

The movie does not only have visuals going for it. After a couple movies in which appearances trumped depth, Miyazaki made the more subtle The Wind Rises, about an airplane designer during the war. He has now returned to the glory days of Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke, with a film as moving as it is beautiful. I dare not reveal all the secrets of all the characters, but helping or hindering Mahito are a daring female sea captain, a mysterious woman with power over fire, a regal parakeet king who serves his people first, a mysterious man who harbors important information, and always that strange heron-man. They all factor into an emotional finale that leaves us holding back tears. This is a stunning achievement of both splendour and emotion, and the best film from Miyazaki in over 20 years.

Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use star ratings. Here are my possible verdicts:

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid Like the Plague

[lightfromthelighthouse]

Good Morning!☀️

Turn again, and tell Hezekiah the captain of my people, Thus saith the LORD, the God of David thy father, I have heard thy prayer, I have seen thy tears: behold, I will heal thee: on the third day thou shalt go up unto the house of the LORD. 2 Kings 20:5 KJV

Hezekiah had received the word from the Lord through the prophet Isaiah that he was to die from the illness he had. As Isaiah left him, he prayed and cried out to the Lord. Before Isaiah could leave the courtyard, God sent him back to Hezekiah.

God let Hezekiah know that his prayer had been heard and his tears seen and healing was on the way. He was told what to do, and God added 15 years to his life.

God hears our prayers and sees our tears. He may not respond as quickly as he did with Hezekiah, but he will respond!