#I HAD TO MUTE ASH ON CALL TO READ THIS

[kruinka]

reblogging this again after ive finished the fic

x : LOVE OF A KIND :*+ﾟ

in which: kaiser needs to be reassured that you love him, even if it's just a fraction of how special you are to him.

warnings: 2.3k words, toothrotting fluff and minor angst, kaiser is intoxicated, mentions of alcohol and clubbing, insecure!kaiser, gn!reader, BAD WRITING and ooc!kaiser probably, established relationship, if this flops i will cry. here we love pathetic men.

a/n: fuck you @kruinka for birthing this. actually fuck you. that's the a/n. enjoy whatever this is!

it’s approximately 1am when your phone vibrates violently on the kitchen counter, disturbing the gentle, unrushed ambience of friday evening (or saturday morning) in your apartment. pressing the space bar of your laptop with a lot more force than necessary, the show you were watching pauses as you throw the blankets off you, the chill of the air seeping into your body with each step you take.

noticing the contact name, you accept the call readily, pressing the ‘speaker’ option. immediately, you hear the noise of club music, people singing along and indistinct chatter.

“hello?” you ask, directly into the microphone.

“y/n?” ness’s voice returns.

“hey, what’s up?”

“sorry for bothering you so late. were you about to go to bed?”

“no, actually, i was staying up. something the matter?”

“it’s kaiser,” the brunet-purple-haired boy tells you and your heart drops with anxiety, mind beginning to race with whatever your egotistical, narcissism-driven boyfriend could have got himself into.

probably tried to square up someone far more impressive, for all you know. did he break something? spit in someone’s drink?

“i-it’s nothing bad!” ness reassures, “he’s just asking for you.” 

oh. that’s not so terrible. “okay, but why?”

in the phone’s proximity, you can hear someone stumbling and muttering in the background. there’s an indistinct mumble of your name and ness confirming your presence on the other side of the phone, followed by an excited ‘really?’ from the mystery figure. you find comfort in the fact that you know it’s kaiser before the person even has to announce himself.

“sorry, he’s just asking for you… a lot,” the soccer player informs with a little hesitation.

before you can inquire further about it, kaiser’s voice echoes in the background. “let me talk to y/n!” he sounds faraway, but you can imagine his expression regardless from just the desperately excited tone he has. 

“i can tell,” you chuckle. 

“give me the phone, ness,” kaiser demands. there’s a sentence of complaint from the midfielder and some (aggressive) rustling before you can hear your boyfriend loud and clear. “baby!” he slurs.

“hello, kaiser,” you say, grinning stupidly at the sound of his voice.

“hi beautiful. are you well?” the blond sounds a little clearer now and the music seems to have diminished a little. he must have retreated to a ‘quieter’ corner of the club. 

“as well as i can be at home. what about you?”

“i’m great now that i’m with you,” he murmurs, sounding more melancholy than usual, just ever so slightly. you dismiss the shift by blaming it on the alcohol, but there’s a tug at your gut that tells you that the drinks aren’t the sole reason.

you melt a little. “shouldn’t you be dancing or something? why are you calling me?”

“i love calling you,” he whines. “please don’t hang up.”

“if you’re sure… i’m not too sure that a club is the best place to call though.” 

“i don’t care. so long as i’m with you, anything’s fine.”

you huff, tapping your fingers on the counter, trying not to let his sweetened words get to you. “really though, you should be going back to partying and letting loose-”

“do you not like talking to me?” kaiser whispers. you can practically hear the pout in his tone, imagining the way his shoulders slump defeatedly. funny how such a powerful, influential, and unbreakable character can be reduced to nothing in your grasp. 

you couldn’t ever imagine abusing that power though, not when michael kaiser is the one in the centre of your palm. “i do. i love talking to you, i’m just concerned that you’re not using the time wisely.” 

“i’m wise. i’m super wise. right, babe? tell me i’m wise.”

where you would have played with him a little and strung him along with saccharine sarcasm, a small giggle escapes your lips instead. that would be saved for sober kaiser. “you are, you are,” you reassure, suddenly filled with the urge to see him. 

“thanks babe. i love you,” he whimpers. “please say you love me too.”

furrowing your brows at his uncharacteristic display of neediness and constant gratification, you were beginning to grow concerned at his odd behaviour. sure, kaiser loved to be praised for his skills, but there was something wrong about the athlete tonight. you’ve never heard him beg to be complimented like he is tonight, but with the add-ins of alcohol and whatever else, you don’t know whether to flag this or not.

“kaiser, can you give the phone back to ness?” you ask gently.

he whines, “say you love me too!”

“i’m picking you up, kaiser, give the phone back to ness so i can tell him.”

“will i get to see you?”

“if you give the phone back to ness, you will.”

“really? hang on, babe!” 

there’s a bit more rustling, resembling something that sounds like kaiser pushing through a crowd as he holds the phone in his grip, saying ‘move’ to bypassers in his way. after a short conversation that you can’t pick up between the familiar voices of your boyfriend and his best friend, you hear ness’ voice clearly once again. “hey, everything okay?”

“everything’s fine,” you say, having grabbed your keys and a jacket whilst waiting. “i’m driving over to pick kaiser up, hope that doesn’t inconvenience you guys.”  

“not at all. i’ll send you the location of the club. there are 15 minute parking places just outside.”

“thanks ness, i appreciate it.”

“don’t worry. see you soon.” 

“i’ll let you know when i arrive. tell kaiser to wait for me.”

you hang up after that, not waiting for a farewell from the soccer player as you plug your keys into the ignition, the car revving alive. after a 20 or so minute drive to downtown (the lack of traffic at one am made it so much easier to get there faster), you park at the curbside of the street opposite the club, clambering out of your car to lean against the driver’s door, where you could see the club entrance easily.

after shooting a quick text to ness, you wait patiently for the appearance of your beloved boyfriend, hugging your jacket close to your figure. 

six minutes later, you see them; a shorter figure lugging out a taller one over his shoulder with little struggle. regardless of kaiser’s inebriated position, you could recognise his silhouette anywhere, heart picking up a little as you jog over to the club, feet taking you where your heart wanted to go.

“ness!” you call out. 

upon hearing your voice, kaiser’s head shoots up from where it was drooped, scanning the general vicinity of where you were before he spots you. the smile that lights up on his face is instantaneous; a grin that rivals that of the club lights.

“my love!” he exclaims excitedly, stumbling over to you with surprising accuracy for someone who must have drank his body weight in alcohol. immediately, the athlete wraps you up in his arms, the smell of beer invading your senses as kaiser shields you completely from the outside world. “i’m so happy to see you.”

“i’m happy to see you too.”

after a few seconds of relishing in his warmth and (much-appreciated) silence, you take a mini-step away from him; an action the blond clearly did not take well as he groans, manoeuvring himself to now hug you from the side, head resting against yours as you pulls you towards him possessively.

you wave at ness from where you stood, unable to move with the striker clinging onto you. “thank you, ness. i’m sorry for disturbing your night out, you know how kaiser gets,” you say with a laugh, patting your boyfriend on the back.

“no, thank you for taking care of him. i’m glad he has you.”

“and i’m glad he has you too. you should go back inside, i got it from here.”

he nods, waving after a quick farewell before heading back in, disappearing from sight. sighing, you reposition yourself so that it was comfortable to prop him up against you. 

“hey, handsome, you with me?” cupping his face with both of your hands, he nods in your grip, eyes drooping here and there as he stares down at you with unmatched gentleness and love. you add as a light-hearted joke: “you used to be able to party until the clubs close, what happened?”

he grabs your wrists, holding on to them as he speaks, “you still never said ‘i love you’.” 

“oh,” you laugh, letting the sound spill freely. “my bad-”

“-why are you laughing?”

his question shuts you up, catching you off guard as the laughter diminishes like an extinguished match. uncertainty dances within you like smoke, greying the giddy mood you were previously in from being reunited with him. 

looking him square in the eye, you notice something that you’ve never seen him wear before: insecurity. 

kaiser looks so… abashed. sheepish. dismayed. your chest clenches at the sight, a feeling of protectiveness overwhelming you. 

“what do you mean?” you ask cautiously.

“why are you laughing at me?” repeats the athlete.

“oh kaiser,” brushing a strand of hair behind his ears, you see his frown even clearer. “i’m not laughing at you, it wasn’t meant to be mocking, i was laughing because you’re adorable and that you make me happy.”

he huffs, furrowing his brows. “are you sure?”

“of course i am. is everything okay, love?”

no answer. after a moment of simply standing around, you let it go because maybe it was just the alcohol that was making him act this way. you don’t want to think too hard about it. 

“let’s go home,” you whisper, grabbing his hands with yours, intertwining your fingers as you wait for his response.

“okay,” he slurs, nodding compliantly. 

“do you need my help walking?”

“yes,” he drapes himself over you without hesitation, causing you to groan uncomfortably. your question was said majorly as a joke, but kaiser will never let go of an opportunity to be as close to you as possible. 

stumbling back to the car with a half-coherent athlete was difficult but not impossible. unlocking the vehicle, you open the passenger’s door rather easily, shoving him in there with an ‘oof’ from both of you. however, when you tried to pull away, you were met with a chain and lock around your waist, manifested in the form of your overgrown boyfriend who is too liberal with the amount of physical affection he spares.

you place a hand on his shoulder to try and steady yourself from his iron grip. “hey, i need to go to the driver’s seat, can’t you let me go to do that?”

kaiser whines loudly, pulling you even closer. “please don’t make me let go. i don’t want to.”

he was not good for your health. you exhale, slightly perplexed, slightly touched by his devotion. “babe, i’m just going to the driver’s seat. you’ll let me, won’t you?” 

“no. wanna keep you with me. want to love you forever,” his words are muffled into your jacket before the athlete brings his head out of your stomach to look you square in the eye, and the shiny, emotional look in them makes your heart lurch. “please say there’s no one else for you but me.”

grabbing both sides of his face with tender affection, you place a kiss on his nose; an action that causes him to scrunch his nose out of instinct. “you know there will never anyone but you. i love you just as much in kind.”

he sighs, melting against you. the night air nips at your exposed skin but you can’t find it in you to care much.

“so… you don’t think that i’m too much?” the star striker questions and you think you’ve uncovered the root of tonight’s strangeness; the main problem that’s been bothering him.

“a lot? maybe” you whisper and his face falls slightly at your confession, a flash of devastation crossing his features. his expression of ruin is slow to fade so you kiss it off, sealing your lips with his in a gentle meeting of two hearts, hoping to heal his sorrow that was carved from a moment of misunderstanding. 

you pull away from him but the striker continues chasing after your touch.

“but never too much.” 

an exhale of relief leaves him before he straightens up to meet your lips again, hand snaking up to the back of your neck to hold you against him as he tries to communicate all that he feels-  which is everything. 

kaiser loves selectively, but he loves hard, dedicating everything of his that he can until he’s squeezed dry and rendered empty, ready for a refill that he’ll inevitably give away, all to you. 

kaiser’s heart rests in your hands, where it rightfully belongs.

“i love you,” slurs the striker against your lips. “i know i can be a lot but i love you. please never leave me. what is the meaning of life if you’re not there with me?” 

you can’t help wondering about what happened tonight for him to reach such a state of existentialism, but there’s no time to dwell on it now whilst he’s still intoxicated and vulnerable. gently, you hold his jaw so he could look up at you. 

“i might not show it as unabashedly as you do, but please never doubt that i love you. i adore you with my whole being, kaiser, there’s no one else in the world for me like you,” you confess, voice gentle and unwavering. 

he doesn’t let you see the way his eyes mist before closing them and leaning into your touch. “i would do anything for you,” the striker whispers.

“anything, you say?”

he nods.

“then let’s go home and sleep. what do you say, handsome?”

“what a brilliant idea. you’re so smart, my love.”

“thank you but you need to let go of me in order for that to happen.”

he begins wailing in protest.

© 2023 EARTHTOOZ do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites.

[dovkss]

Dumb Bitch

word count: 5.8k

summary: after you pine after him for so long with no luck, Katsuki finally decides to take you as his; thanks to his best friend.

warning: 18+; mean dom! katsuki; dirty talk (ish); oral (m receiving); rough sex; spitting; choking; breath play; degradation; hair pulling; manipulation; dacryphilia; edging; size kink; misogyny; yandere tendencies; kinda ooc, I was having a lot of fun with this one; kinda dubcon-ish?, reader is drunk for the most part; katsuki is an ass; poor eijiro won’t take no for an answer and ends up getting fucked over bc of it; katsuki and ei are basically frenemies

all characters are aged up !!

a/n: my first published fic on this blog omg !! sorry for any mistakes or anything, I kinda rushed this but I enjoyed making this, hope you enjoy reading it :)

Kirishima stood in the middle of his room with his phone in his hand as a mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He knew of your little crush on his best friend and he couldn’t help but want to play cupid. He had the perfect plan, all he needed to do now was execute it. Sure, he knew Bakugou's disdain for you ran deep, but he also couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that there could be something more.

Dialing your number, he chuckled to himself, imagining the reaction he’d get out of you. It wasn't long before the ringback tone was cut off by the call connecting. Immediately you greeted him with a voice filled with joy, as usual.

“Hi, Kiri!” you greeted.

“Hey hey! How’s it going?” he asked.

You hummed in delight. He heard tiny giggles in the background. “Great,” you exclaimed. “The girls and I are having a sleepover right now… if you wanna talk to Mina, she’s right here- fuck!”

From the sound of it, you were hit as a sign to shut up. Kirishima chuckled at your guys’ antics. “Well, this is easy enough knowing you’re all in one place! I’m throwing a little get-together this weekend, I want you all to be there!”

It got a little quiet on the other end of the line, the only thing being heard is some shuffling and slight whispers.

“Hmm, who’s all gonna be there?” you asked curiously.

Kirishima smiled. “He’s gonna be there.”

He could almost hear the collective gasp that came from you and your friends. Then it went dead silent. You muted yourself. The redhead imagined your guys’ squeals.

You cleared your throat, going back to trying to act normal, and unmuted yourself. “Count us in, Kiri!” you exclaimed. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

Everything was going to plan. You and he said your goodbyes before the call ended. Kirishima couldn’t help but wear a satisfied grin. He knew he had sparked a glimmer of hope within you. The idea of igniting a connection between you and Bakugou excited him. But it was soon dampened when Bakugou stormed into the room with a couple of cans of soda in his hands.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

Kirishima knew he couldn’t lie to him. Bakugou knows when he lies. Bakugou set the sodas on the wood floor and grabbed two cans. He tossed one to his friend and opened up his own. He sat on Kirishima’s bed, facing him, awaiting an answer.

Kirishima popped his soda open and took a sip. The room was filled with tense silence, even if it was for only a moment. “I just invited some last-minute people to the party,” he said.

True.

Bakugou’s vermillion eyes narrowed. His intense gaze radiated intense annoyance. “Who?” he questioned some more.

Kirishima winced playfully at Bakugou’s usual harsh response. He would rather intend to pique the ash blonde’s curiosity rather than ignite his ire.

"Don't worry about it, bro. We'll see everybody there!"

For the first time, Bakugou wanted to be wrong. He shook his head in disapproval before chugging down some more of his soda. "You're a fucking idiot, Kirishima. I thought you knew better than to invite her."

Kirishima squinted at Bakugou. "I get that you don't like her, but you're also being way too quick to judge. Get to know her a little better, she isn't who you think she is."

Bakugou scoffed, his voice filled with disbelief. "You think I would waste my time on someone like her? You should know me better than that."

"I just think that maybe-"

"That fucking shallow, attention-seeking whore. I have no interest in girls like her."

Kirishima's expression softened, his voice gentle but firm. "Not cool, man. She's still my friend," he started, "and I think you watch too many movies. Not every girl that cares about how they look on the outside is some dumb bitch."

Bakugou's scowl deepened, frustration etched on his face. "I don't need you playing matchmaker, Kirishima. I can take care of myself."

Kirishima sighed and raised his hands in defeat. "Fine! I'll let it go!" He then offered a small smile to defuse the tension. "Let's focus on getting this shit ready. We need to go out and buy some cups and food and... whatever else I can't think of on the spot right now!"

Bakugou grumbled in agreement. "Whatever. Let's get this shit over with."

Your shoes clicked softly against the polished floor of the library as you anxiously scanned the aisles of the bookshelves. You were searching for Kirishima and you were in a bit of a rush.

Earlier that morning while you were packing your purse, you realized your beloved wallet, adorned with sparkling rhinestones, wasn't on your vanity. You would never dare forget it; you relied on it because it had every card you could think of in there. And some backup cash.

You rummaged through other bags and drawers, panic rising within you. It was one of your most treasured possessions, something your mother gave you as a gift before you left for college. You desperately needed that wallet, especially now, with an important event just hours away.

Realization struck you like a bolt of lightning. You remembered opening it to pay the pizza delivery man at Kirishima's house the previous day when you were studying with him and the girls. You must've left it behind. You were so stupid!

With a sigh of frustration, you dialed Kirishima's number from your backup flip phone since your main phone was dead. Your fingers trembled lightly as you held it up to your ear, you hoped beyond hope that he had seen it. You didn't expect him to pick up because he wouldn't possibly recognize the number but he did.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Kiri! Hi, how are you? Good? That's great," you greeted eagerly, "um, do you by any chance know if I left my wallet at your place?" You rocked back and forth as you shoved your purse into the front seat of your car, putting your key into the ignition.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Oh, that's yours? The one with a bunch of glitter… crap on it? Yeah, I have it on me right now actually." he said.

You let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Great, can I pick it up from your right now? I'm kind of in a hurry..."

He chuckled. "Of course! I'll be on campus for a couple more hours, just swing by the library."

With a renewed sense of purpose, you drove to campus. It took you way longer than usual due to traffic, but you made it nonetheless.

You made it to the library and began scanning the room, looking for your friend. The scent of old books filled the air, and the hushed whispers of students studying added an aura of calmness.

You spotted Kirishima in a corner, engrossed in a thick textbook, writing down notes as well, and you made your way toward him. As you approached, your eyes inadvertently fell upon a figure sitting next to him doing the same.

A slightly taller man with spiky blonde hair. You could tell by the way he sat, he was undeniably arrogant. Katsuki Bakugou.

Your heart skipped a beat and a nervous flutter ran through you. You'd heard rumors of his fiery personality. His ability to put anyone who dared to cross his path in their place. You were very curious about him.

"Kiri!" you chirped, flashing a bright smile.

Kirishima looked up from his book and returned the kind gesture. He put his finger up to his lips, reminding you that they were still in a library. You quietly apologized and laughed at yourself.

"It's in my bag, hold on," he whispered. He picked up his backpack from the floor next to him, unzipping it to go through the contents inside.

Your gaze wandered across the library. You tried your best to not look at Bakugou. It was hard not to, though, he was very handsome. Finally, you gave in and turned your attention to him.

You offered a tentative smile. "Hi there! I don't think we've met before."

Bakugou's piercing gaze met yours. He was unimpressed and regarded you as if your presence irritated him. Unbeknownst to you, it did.

Your smile faltered for a moment, but you refused to let his cold demeanor deter you. "I'm a friend of Kirishima's-"

"I know who you are," he responded curtly, his tone laced with thinly veiled contempt.

You felt your cheeks heat up. His voice was so intimidating and so attractive. "Katsuki Bakugou, right? I've heard a lot about you."

His dirty look became more prominent. "Yeah, I've heard enough about you too."

Your heart sank a little at his words. What did he hear? You weren't aware of any rumors of you or anything, and you were kind to everyone. The dummies, weirdos, everyone!

Kirishima chimed in. "Be nice, man," he said as he got up with your wallet in his hand. He handed it to you and you took it from him.

"Thanks so much, Kiri," you said, a sense of relief washing over you. "You have no idea how much I rely on this thing."

He shook his head, his smile showcasing his sharp teeth. "Don’t we all!"

You nodded, your gaze fixed on your reflection in your little compact mirror. "You saved the day, yet again, Kiri. I owe you one."

Ever since then, you got to know more about Bakugou thanks to Kirishima. How despite what many would believe, he's organized, and a clean freak. How much he hates being around kids yet are so great with them. Just how well he can play the drums or cook.

You thought you were subtle but it was obvious that you longed for Bakugou. It wasn't your fault he was everything you wanted in a man.

He had it all. Hardworking, determined, and confident. It was so sexy. The only problem was that he didn't seem interested at all. If anything, he seemed to despise you. To him, you were just an annoying bug that kept coming back even after being swatted at.

You wanted to win him over. When you knew you would be around him, you purposefully dressed a little sexier. Bending over to grab things even while wearing the shortest skirt that barely covered your ass and tight shirts to enhance your chest and waist.

Bakugou didn't even spare you a sympathetic glance. But you kept going. Tonight was the party and this was your last chance. If you couldn't even do as much as strike up a conversation with him, you told yourself you'd give up. You were too pretty for all this effort to be put into a man. But god, he was so hot.

Your anticipation grew as you and your friends approached Kirishima's house. The usually quiet neighborhood was transformed into a hive of activity. Cars lined the streets and the sound of laughter and music spilled from the open windows. What was meant to be a "get-together" had turned into a Project X party.

"Todoroki, could you go any damn slower?" Mina complained, her seat belt already off.

"You want me to run over these people?" he asked. You giggled, knowing his question was literal.

Mina groaned in annoyance, mumbling a small 'no.' Momo was in the front seat next to her boyfriend. "Don't listen to her, she's just a little impatient."

Finally, Todoroki got you guys to the front of the house. You were the first to get out, followed by Mina coming out behind you. Momo kissed her boyfriend. Then gave him another kiss. Then another.

Mina whined loudly. "Oh my god, Momo! He's just going to park the car! He's not leaving you, come on!"

You leave them behind in silence. As you pushed open the front door, the energy hit you like a tidal wave. Every inch of the house was packed with people, bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. The air was thick with alcohol, weed, and the hum of people trying to converse over the loud music.

You looked around, mouth agape. You didn't even notice Mina and Momo by your side. Their eyes widened at the sight before them.

Mina leaned in closer to be heard above the noise. "This place is insane!" she exclaimed, her voice barely audible amidst the chaos.

Momo nodded in agreement. "I don't think any of us expected this. Kirishima sure knows how to throw a party."

Your eyes scanned the room in search of the boy. You caught a glimpse of his familiar red hair through the crowd and motioned for your friends to follow.

It was a challenge to move through people. Your face scrunched up in disgust as the air grew warmer. The smell finally getting to you, it was gross. Sweaty bodies rubbed against you as you made your way through. You gagged. The once cozy house had transformed into something completely unrecognizable.

Finally reaching Kirishima's side, you tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and greeted you. It took you a moment before realizing he was shirtless. And his hair wasn't done how it usually was. It was messy and wet.

"What happened here? This was supposed to be a small get-together!" you asked, evidently in disbelief.

Kirishima laughed. "I know! It got a bit out of hand! But hey, more people, more fun, right? By the way, you look gorgeous!"

You wore a corset dress. The bodice was designed with pretty lacing and the mini skirt boasted a slit on each side. The white set was complete with thick stilettos and makeup that accentuated your natural features.

You felt your face get hot and you smiled, giving him a little twirl to show off your outfit. Kirishima dog whistled playfully and handed you a plastic red cup. You looked inside and sniffed it. Alcohol. Strong, strong alcohol.

Taking what Kirishima said, you and your friends were immersed in the lively atmosphere of the party. You all danced; twirling and spinning, laughter blending in with the melodies as you lost yourself.

With a drink in each of your guys' hands, your inhibitions further dissolved, and you found yourselves caught in a whirlwind of euphoria. You clinked cups, toasting to the night, and gulped down the concoction.

Your mind was no longer consumed by thoughts of Bakugou. The weight of your infatuation was lifted, replaced with a sense of liberation. You reveled in the present moment, finding comfort exactly where you were.

Time lost its grip and you were having fun. By the time you were worn out, your cheeks were flushed and the warmth of the alcohol coursed through your veins, the effects beginning to take a toll on your mind and body. What was just an exhilarating atmosphere now seemed overwhelming, your energy dwindling with each passing moment. Your giggles faded and were replaced with yawns that you couldn't stifle.

Kirishima approached you with a concerned look. He gently placed a hand on your head, stroking your forehead with his thumb. "You are exhausted..."

You closed your eyes for a tiny bit of rest and your ability to hold yourself up became harder and harder. Kirishima shooed away some random person off the couch to make some room for you. He helped you sit up and made sure you were comfortable before going to look for his blonde best friend.

"Bakugou!" Kirishima called out over the music. He approached the guy who sat in the corner of the party, a group of people Kirishima had never seen before was surrounding his friend.

He pushed through the small crowd. "I need your help."

Bakugou blinked at the lack of explanation. "With what?"

Kirishima nudged his head toward where you were sitting. Bakugou's eyes followed only to see your state. You looked sick and stiff, almost as if you were dead. He groaned, taking a swig of his beer. "Not my problem-"

"She's fucking tired! Just help me take her to my room so she can get some rest!" Kirishima's expression didn't waver as he pressed on. "I know we aren't exactly getting along right now, but I can't do this alone."

A mixture of irritation and reluctance flickered across Bakugou's face. His jaw clenched, the internal conflict was visible in his tense posture. After a brief moment, he finally relented.

"If she pukes on me, I'm killing both of you," he grumbled.

Together, Kirishima and Bakugou made their way through the crowded room. Bakugou downed the last of his drink before tossing it somewhere he couldn't see. He watched Kirishima pull you up from the couch, your tired form leaning on him for support and your eyes struggling to stay open.

Bakugou's mind wandered back to all the instances when you had made your attempts to catch his attention. He'd seen your efforts, dismissing them as frivolous and uninteresting. But up until recently, recognition stirred within him.

“F-fuck! Katsuki!”

The boy groaned in response. His thrusts didn’t let up even for a moment. He had her in doggy style, making sure to go deep inside her with his long strokes. His hands pressed down on her hips to keep her in place as her upper half wriggled around in pleasure.

Bakugou was turned off by her horrible acting. It was worse than a pornstar’s. At this rate, he knew he wouldn’t cum at all despite her already cumming for the first time.

The girl wasn’t ugly, she just wasn’t his type. Too vanilla for someone like him. He needed to rough someone up without worry. To grab someone by the neck and push their head into his pillow. To make someone take his big dick in full as they plead for mercy.

You were that someone.

He imagined pulling your hair and lifting you against him, your sweating bodies pressed against each other. How he’d throw you back down and pound into you from behind relentlessly. How you’d look back at him, unrecognizable with your makeup smudged and messed up, his hand rubbing along your back, up and down.

“Please… too big!” you’d bed.

He wanted badly to shake those thoughts away but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes to imagine more of what he’d do to you. Before he knew it, the thoughts set him off.

He pulled out of the girl and stroked a bit before cumming on her backside. She breathed in and out heavily, trying to catch her breath. She also began to touch herself so she can cum a second time

Bakugou didn’t help. He was busy thinking about you. Thinking about your lips, eyes, curves, and smell. You. You. You. He wanted you all for himself. But he knew your type; sweet on the outside, secretly hoping to be given a chance to play others to get what you wanted. He wasn’t going to play that game.

That night haunted him for weeks. When you came around, he went out of his way to avoid coming in contact with you. In his room, he would hear your voice ask: “What’s wrong with him?”

Kirishima would respond: “He’s been this like for a minute, but I’m not pushing it.”

Later that night, after you left, Kirishima knocked on Bakugou’s door. In one of his hands, he had a bowl of food that he cooked the day before.

“You’ve been in your room all day, bro! You need to help me set up!” he said.

Bakugou examined the boxing glove on his left hand. He wiggled his fingers only to realize it was way too stiff. Now he needed new gloves.

“M’ not hungry.”

Kirishima opened the door anyway and approached the boy, putting the dish on his desk. He looked at Bakugou and crossed his arms. "Something botherin' you, man?"

Bakugou huffed. Kirishima may have been a little slow, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell when his best friend is off.

Kirishima sighed. "(Y/n) and I noticed that you've been kinda distant lately. You barely come around anymore."

"Why is she always mentioned whenever we talk?"

Kirishima was taken aback. He raised an eyebrow.

Bakugou finally stood up, looking him dead in the eyes. "It's obvious you have a thing for her.

Kirishima stammered, unsure of how to respond. "I mean- I care about her as a friend, just like I do you. There's nothing more to it."

"You're always by her side, looking out for her, protecting her. Like you're fucking obsessed with her! It's pathetic!"

Kirishima shook his head in disbelief. "Just because I'm being a good friend doesn't mean I have ulterior motives. If you can't see that, then maybe you're the one with the problem here!"

Bakugou's body blazed with irritation. "You're fucking jealous that she pays more attention to me than she does to you."

Kirishima's jaw tightened. Immediately Bakugou knew he struck a nerve.

"Face it, Kirishima. She isn't interested, so back off. You're nothing compared to me."

Without another word, Kirishima turned on his heel, standing tall and steps firm as he walked away from the blonde. "Party is in three hours. Be ready."

Bakugou couldn't help but get another jab in as he listened to Kirishima mumble insults before slamming the door shut behind him.

"Stop worrying about me and start worrying about how you're gonna get your bitch off my dick!"

A wry smile formed on Bakugou’s lips as he recalled the telltale signs that hadn’t gone unnoticed before. Kirishima’s subtle glances in your direction, the way his eyes would light up whenever you entered the room, how his cheeks turned pink whenever you laughed at his jokes.

Bakugou knew his friend wouldn’t admit that he liked you, but he also knew you didn't know. You were nothing but a dumb bitch.

As they reached Kirishima's room, Bakugou held the door open, allowing Kirishima to guide you inside due to your unsteady steps. The room was untouched, bathed in a warm, inviting glow like it always had. It offered a haven of tranquility, opposite of the chaotic activities going on downstairs.

Kirishima led you to his bed, helping you settle down with gentle care. "Thanks. I'll stay with her for a bit. You can head back to the party if you want-"

He was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. His eyes widened. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He got up and rushed out the door without an explanation, only a ‘be right back!’

Bakugou watched him go and contemplated leaving himself. Then he looked at you, your chest softly rising up and down and you breathe. He sighed and went to close the door before sitting down next to your resting body. He traced his fingertips down the side of your arm.

“You want me so bad, don't you?" he asked. But it was more of a rhetorical question.

Suddenly you nodded softly. "Y-Yeah..."

Oh, you were awake. Bakugou's eyes furrowed.

"More than anything..."

"Then prove it," he growled. "Prove to me that you're worthy of my attention."

Barely conscious, you didn't understand what he meant, but as the alcohol faded, your sense came back to you. Your willingness to do anything to win Bakugou over was back and took over your mind in an instant.

You began to unbutton your shirt, revealing your lacy bra. Bakugou watched you with a cold, calculating gaze.

"You think that's enough?" he scoffed. "You really are a dumb bitch who doesn't know anything."

Your eyes filled with tears. You'd never been spoken to like that before. Yet, something about it made you hot. His coldness and brutality made you rub your thighs together.

"Please, Bakugou," you pleaded.

Bakugou then shook his head as he began to knead your thigh. "Call me Katsuki."

You smiled. Finally, you were getting what you wanted. He saw you. He noticed you. He's into you.

"Please, Katsuki," you whispered. "Tell me what you want me to do..."

His hand kept moving all over your body. Your heart pounded in your chest, scared of what his response may be. But he never said anything, he just eyed you.

Looking you up and down, his index and ring fingers grazing over your lips. Suddenly, he popped them into your mouth. As if it was a reflex, you wrapped your lips around them, sucking on them sightly. He caught you off guard when he pressed against the bottom of your tongue, making you gag. You turned your head, hoping he'd pull away.

Bakugou chuckled. "Get up for me, baby, and strip."

He let you sit up but not before wiping your saliva off his fingers onto your cheek. You slowly stood in front of him, holding onto his shoulders for support. He leaned back, trying to get a better view of your full body.

Slowly you began to remove your clothes. You felt exposed. Way more vulnerable than you ever had before. You avoided his hungry gaze.

"You know..." he began.

You looked up at him, not stopping the motions of getting undressed.

"Kirishima likes you."

You smiled. "I like him too. He's a good friend."

Bakugou wanted to laugh in your face. Your naivety was cute. He decided to be nice and only nodded in agreement. He watched intensely as the article of clothing dropped to the floor. His eyes studied your undergarments. It was a matching set, in pink. Of course. He felt himself twitch.

He sat up and extended his arm out to your cheek, lightly caressing it. "That's not what I meant."

In a flash, he let go of your face to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling it back roughly. You whimper, your eyes shut tight. Your hands follow his actions, trying to pry him off.

"Aah! Katsuki, it hurts!" you winced in pain.

"Awe. Awe, it hurts? Yeah?" he mocked your tone before chuckling. "Can't even handle a little hair pulling."

He stood up, towering over you. He pushed you down slowly to your knees, praising you for your compliance. You shivered due to your bare body being exposed to the cold air.

With his other hand, he unbuckled his pants and unzipped himself. You listened to his pants fall and lightly bit your lip. Suddenly your face was pushed forward, being pressed into something hard.

You opened your eyes and looked up at Bakugou. You could see his rock-hard cock through his clean underwear. It curved slightly to the side and he was awfully big... and long... and thick.

You weren't a virgin but you weren't very experienced either. You'd never seen one so big before. You doubted that you were able to take that in any capacity. Not in your mouth, not in your pussy either, but you wanted so badly to impress him.

You rubbed your cheek against his dick, making him breathe out slowly. Bakugou pushed your head aside, harsher than he expected, and pulled down his underwear. He grabbed you by your cheeks and looked you in the eyes.

You were so beautiful like that. On his knees for him. Under him, below him; where you were meant to be.

Grabbing his cock, he slaps it against your face before pressing it to your lips. You open up, allowing him to smoothly slip it in.

"Ahh... shit..." he groaned as the warmth of your mouth took in his cock. You try to work your tongue around him as best as you could, his cock barely being able to fit in your mouth.

He gripped your hair in his fist as he began to move against your face, making you choke. The lipgloss you wore had been smeared, staining your mouth; your mascara ran down your cheeks as your eyes watered every time his cock slammed the back of your throat.

"Look at you. Eagerly swallowing my cock- fuck! Such a slut," he sighed.

Bakugou began to go faster, not giving you any time to take a break. You'd never been face fucked before, let alone roughly. Your gagging became more audible whenever your nose brushed against his pubes. You needed air, but he didn't give you any time to take a break.

You slapped his thigh a couple of times, trying to signal him. He understood; he just didn't care. Finally, he showed some mercy and pulled your hair back to allow you to breathe.

You gasped and cough. You let out unsteady breaths and it was hard for you to catch up to your normal pace of breathing. This didn't last very long though as Bakugou pried open your jaw, shoving his fingers in your mouth once again, this time reaching your throat. You choked again, more tears falling from your face. He kept his hand there for a few seconds, studying your pathetic attempt to please him. When you began to cough again, he pulled out.

"Impressive. Where'd you learn that?"

You felt your body growing even more tired than it was before. You opened your mouth to breathe, only for him to spit directly into it.

"Swallow."

You obeyed. His saliva slid down your throat with ease as you swallowed, and then you opened your mouth to show him. He smirked and stood up. You watched him lift you onto Kirishima's bed, positioning your head to dangle off the bed, facing the closed door.

You felt his tall, strong body leaning over yours as his mouth explored every inch of your skin. His fingers, still soaked with your saliva, slid off your panties and ran along your entrance. You were undeniably wet, and it was embarrassing. How easily you got wet. Bakugou thought it was adorable.

At first, his fingers rubbed just on top of your throbbing clit. You moan out softly, your hands moving down to his hair, playing with it a little. Your back arched at the sensation, causing him to push down your hips to keep you still.

"Look at yourself whoring out for me. You should be ashamed," he said.

He was right. You should have been ashamed. But... you weren't. You couldn't think straight, all you wanted in that moment was for him to be inside of you.

You lifted your head to watch him only for it to be put back down as his lips came up to kiss your neck. His fingers went faster, and you felt yourself squeeze around him. More moans came out of you as you concentrated.

His kisses, his fingers, his hot breath, his body.

His kisses, his fingers, his hot breath, his body.

Kisses, fingers, hot breath, body.

Kisses, fingers, breath, body.

Kisses, fingers, breath-

"M' gonna cum!" you cry out.

Bakugou faced you, his sharp canines showing as he laughed at you. You threw your head back and he lowered his face to nibble on your neck. You mumbled out incoherent words, on the verge of cumming.

A loud moan comes out of your mouth and immediately Bakugou pulls out. Your eyes widen, looking at him.

"No, no, no," you whined.

He ignored you and slapped his juices-covered hand over your face, pushing your head down yet again. It was too much for you. The pain of the bite on your neck went unnoticed when he forced his hips in between your legs, pulling you against him. He lined up his swollen cock with your cunt, slapping it a little. You moaned as he got himself wet with your juices mixed in with his precum.

He entered you without a warning and you screamed at the discomfort. You put your hands on his chest, whining. "Go slow, please!"

His gaze at you visibly softened. "You want me to be gentle, hm?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "Y-yeah... yeah..."

He whined just like you did. "Yeah? You want me to be soft with you? Help you adjust to my big dick?"

You repeated yourself. He smiled, carefully moving some strands of hair from your face. "You're so cute."

He slammed into you, instantly making you wail. His thrusts were slow, but hard. It hurt so bad. You whine in pain as his fingers went down to play with your clit again, laying a couple of smacks on your cunt.

Tears streamed down your face. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything you'd ever felt before. Your cunt was already sensitive, now paired with Bakugou's hand around your throat, and the pain slowly letting up, you felt so good. You were in heaven.

Bakugou's groans mixed in with your moans filled the room along with the sound of his balls slapping against you as his thrusts became even harder, you couldn't help but be loud, it wasn't like anybody could hear you. Your pussy throbbed around his cock and your back began to arch. You felt yourself coming closer and closer to your orgasm. And he noticed it.

He slowed down a bit. You were a little grateful as you were finally able to take him comfortably. But you questioned his change of pace.

"You know," he panted, "Kirishima wants us together."

You continued to moan, only murmuring over and over again how big his dick was, barely listening.

"He always talked about me and you- ugh...! Getting together..." he revealed. "Probably something he wants the most..." He lifted your head, putting his forehead to yours. "Let's do him a favor, yeah?"

The tightness on your throat grew tighter, cutting off your airflow, and his thrusts started to become harder again. Your eyes widened as your body struggled under his.

He whispered in your ear while increasing the pace of his strokes. "Be mine, baby. Cum all over my cock."

So you did. Your legs began to shake as your lungs begged for oxygen. Your orgasm was intense, your body squirming uncontrollably. He groaned as your pussy clenched around him for the last time. To be fair, he let go of your throat and your head went flying back over the edge of the bed.

You were officially head over heels for him. You would do anything to stay with him, even if it meant sacrificing your happiness and well-being. And you had a feeling he knew this.

The doorknob of the bedroom turned and the door opened. "Someone broke the damn vase with the-"

Kirishima.

He examined the scene before him, his breaths slowly becoming inaudible and his heart pounding in his chest.

Bakugou’s gaze snapped towards Kirishima, a smirk flashing across his face. "Kirishima. We didn't expect you to come in."

Kirishima ignored him, only focusing on you. His eye twitched as he took note of your cock drunk daze. You smiled innocently at him, your chest pumping up and down deeply.

"Kiri... I don't owe you one anymore."

He clutched his hands together, his knuckles turning white.

"You dumb bitch."

[yanderestarangel]

HEADCANONS MW3 - "HE TOLD ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU" | GHOST X READER

TW: spoilers about the canon story of mw3, death, mourning, angst, smut, praise, comfort, care, gn reader, use of medicines, breakdown, ghost soft spot, reader moves on after Mactavish's death, nsfw, reader's mixed emotions and ghost, post death of "soap mactavish" , dark themes.

A/N: People who are fighting in the comments: this is a work of fiction, if you take it seriously just DON'T READ IT.

Your world collapsed after the news that your fiancé "John Mactavish" aka "soap" had died, and what's worse, for Makarov. You felt your feet tremble and your breathing hitch - Price himself gave you this news, making you sob on the phone while Price, Gaz and especially, Ghost, listened to your pain and anger.

Ghost already knew you, he was soap's closest friend, he had been to your house several times and was even going to be best man at your wedding, along with Farah, however, Mactavish's young death took that away from you - and the man felt guilty, maybe if Ghost had been quicker, maybe if he had been close to Price he would have stopped Soap from trying to play the "hero" and getting shot in the head, maybe - Simon's mind was filled with "maybe " mute and would never have an answer.

You couldn't go with Ghost, Gaz and Price to throw Soap's ashes into the sea, you really wanted to - but part of you was paralyzed, as you clung to old photos and videos of Soap, or rather, your boy, your Johnny. Ghost went to your house, carrying the jar - now empty - of your fiance's ashes, he saw how weakened you were, and how quickly you tried to close the door in his face, however, he obviously didn't let you, using one of the hands to stop the blow. "-We need to talk (Y/N)." He just said that, muffled by the skull mask, his hard and cold eyes now carried a dead glow of sadness, anger and concern, Simon entered your house, without even hearing a vocal response from him.

"-I know things can be difficult for you, I know you loved Mactavish... But he asked me to take care of you (Y/N)" he paused significantly, a silence of understanding crossed the small and empty space between the two of you, while Simon squeezed the handle of the suitcase with all his strength, while holding back the single tear that tried to slip from his eye. "-He told me to take care of you if something happened to him and I will keep my word, whether you want my help or not." he added, as the cold gaze returned to you, searching for some kind of understanding on your face, he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved - however - he was focusing on you now, he could handle the pain, but you couldn't.

Then he did something he never did, he let the head of the impetuous and soulless man collapse slightly and letting the suitcase fall to the ground in a light tumble, the sound called you back to reality making you look at the tall and muscular form of Ghost with his arms open to you, while he was teary-eyed but refused to shed any tears, mixed emotions between the two of you, but the same feeling - the pain of sudden loss - you ran into the soldier's warm grip, feeling the smell of clothes wet from the rain and the thick, uncomfortable fabric of his sweatshirt, however, there was a warmth there, a warmth that you needed. You allowed yourself to cry, cry until your throat hurt, Simon's big hands made a pattern on your back and went to the top of your head, he didn't need to say anything at that moment, he just needed to give you the comfort you needed, you felt It allowed you to be taken care of, even if it was by a person you never thought would take care of you.

Simon watched you sleep after crying so much in his arms, lifting you in his arms to the upper staircase and placing you on the double bed, empty, due to the lack of John. He sighed heavily beneath his balaclava as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep. "-I will truly keep my promise, I swear to you my brother..." Ghost whispered as if he was talking to Soap, or, the ghosts that haunted him.

The next few weeks were calm and uneventful, with Simon offering to help you with the household expenses. "-You just took care of the house right? Totally dependent on Soap?" He asked calmly, no judgment reverberated in his voice, just doubts and an attempt to get closer. You nodded silently, as you watched him hand you a notepad and a pen. "-Write down all the groceries you need for the house, I'll buy them, I may not be Johnny, but I'll take care of you just like he did." he said seriously, his penetrating gaze looked at the floor as he rested both hands on his knees, waiting for you to finish the list. You didn't question it, his look was serious, a statement you couldn't deny.

So, slow steps were worked into these daily narratives, with Ghost always checking in on you, whether you were taking your medicines right, whether you were eating right and even whether you were well enough - with rare occasions of you not being able to eat and Simon preparing some soup. for you, ordering you to sit at the table while he himself fed you with a spoon, some small compliments were whispered under the typical skull mask. "-You're doing well (Y/N)." "-I'm glad you're accepting the food I made." "-Just this spoon and you can go rest, ok?" - he wasn't used to being soft with someone, but, besides the promise he made, something about you made him want to see you well, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind like many others.

Soon the two of you began to live together more and more, not just polite everyday conversations or routine silent care, but rather, verbalizing some abstract feelings from both your hearts. Some nights Ghost would stay with you in the dimly lit kitchen, a hot coffee in front of you both, the steam dancing between you as you smiled sideways - a sad smile, full of hurt and nostalgia, but still a smile - showing some photos of Soap, some photos of you together traveling the world on the few vacations he had while he was alive. Making him smile beneath the fabric that covered his face. "-Oh, I see... He was really quite an adventurous man." he spoke calmly, seeing your sad look as he ran his finger over the cold screen of his cell phone, so Ghost had the idea of ​​telling some stories he shared as a protagonist with Soap - like the time Captain Price made him and Mactavish clean the entire barracks because caught you both listening behind the meeting door - you smiled, now, genuinely happy, making Simon's heart warm a little, as if he was on a mission and it was finally bearing fruit, your happiness.

He accompanied you to doctor appointments and shopping, he insisted that you should take better care of yourself - Ghost dragged you to an expensive clothing store and gave you permission to spend his money however and on whatever you wanted, you couldn't deny it just nodding and swearing he could see a chaste smile appear slightly on the black fabric he wore. You changed for him, trying out some clothes while he approved them all, making you smile beautifully, questioning him if he was being sincere. Simon just crossed his arms and let out a breath through his nose "-I'm just being honest, you're a beautiful person, any clothes you wear look great on you." he spoke sincerely, not noticing the words slipping off his tongue. You thanked him for the compliment, while selecting the clothes, the two of you heard the attendants talk about what a beautiful couple you made. You didn't say anything and neither did Simon correct them, just holding your shoulders in a gesture of shy affection.

Your feelings were confused, you practically lived with Simon now, even giving yourself the freedom to walk around the house in just a towel, you felt good, good about yourself and the man who took care of you - even if your mind wondered if it was right to accept such intimate contact with your late fiancé's friend -

Questions were also present in Ghost's mind, but he liked to take care of you, it wasn't just an obligation for a promise but for pleasure and self-satisfaction, the two of you now practically lived together - something that happened naturally, over time , just proof of a greater connection that was growing in both of you - soon you found yourself arranging Ghost's clothes, like you did with Soap, taking care of his lunch, even though nothing more intimate had ever happened, nothing more than pleasant conversations and warm touches, but covered by the fabrics of your body and Simon's gloves. The spark that was igniting there transcended any bond he had formed and any morals built during his time with Mactavish. He wondered if it was worth going over everything he believed in and trying something with you, touching your skin, feeling you on his fingertips, seeing your happy face and contorting with pleasure because of him - thoughts he didn't think about. he managed to free himself, after all, no man is hypocritical in his pleasures and desires - and Ghost was one of them.

It didn't take long for it to happen, a few glasses of wine, a few laughs between you like any ordinary weekend you were both having in that routine of caregiver x person who was dying from care. But something shone in both your eyes and his, a look that didn't need words but just actions - when you saw it, you were leaning over the kitchen counter, the taller man's thick cock hitting your holes, the swollen balls of cum hit your skin, leaving your skin red. It had been so long since you felt a cock filling you and Ghost was there, fucking you without much thought, just sweet compliments as he ravished your needy hole against his hard, cold marble on the counter. "-Yes fuck... You look so beautiful like this, take it all baby..." "-Don't be ashamed, just let go, I'm here, you've endured so much, haven't you? Yes, you're so strong... So beautiful... Let me take care of you sweetheart." "-Mmm... Fuck (Y/N)... You're squeezing me so good, keep it up okay? I'm going to make you cum, I'm here for you." He spoke between moans in the air, holding your thighs, you forgot everything, the mourning, the past, who you were, just focusing on the blur with each thick thrust and hoarse praise, full of Simon Riley's accent to you. You two didn't know how you were going to act after that, but it didn't matter about the momentary carnal pleasure.

After the post-orgasmic bliss, you and Simon exchanged more glances. "-Sorry, I just... We can't do that." Ghost spoke first, while he was still physically connected with you, leaving slowly, seeing your satisfied form but full of doubts and guilt, even so he helped you take a shower, the two of you sitting in the same bathtub, just an oral silence and the sound calm of the water filled the air particles. You didn't know how to feel, nor what to say. Ghost agreed with the idea of ​​pretending that nothing had happened between you... And that didn't do anything.

It happened again, it always did, another cold, rainy night, with Ghost above you, Simon's thick hands caressing your thighs, his warm breath on your neck. "-I promised to take care of you, I think... Soap would be happy if I made you happy in other ways too." he whispered against your wet, sweaty skin, pushing the shaft already covered in his semen even deeper, from other times he had cum, and maybe, he was right, Mactavish wanted you happy, and you were happy. He reached out his hand, grabbing yours, as he looked you in the eyes, pushing you to your limit. "-Tell me dear... You want another chance to be happy, right?" he spoke from behind the skull balaclava softly and with expectant eyes, all that was needed was your answer to your future, a future with Simon or, a future trapped in memories of the past.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[storiesforallfandoms]

all the mistakes ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2866

request?: yes!

“I just started reading your stuff and I'm in love with the Colson stories!

I was wondering if you could do Colson x reader. Reader finds out she's pregnant by Colson and he doesn't think he's ready to be a dad again and abandons reader but then realizes a couple months later that he's truly in love with her and does everything he can to win her back?

If not, it's okay.. thank you ❤️”

description: in which he comes to apologize for all the mistakes he’s made leading up to the birth of their child

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, child birth (not in detail obviously), lil angsty and sad but it ends happy, rpf (if you don’t like it don’t read)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Colson always said he wanted another kid. Especially once Casie started to go through her pre-teen years and he found himself wishing she was still a baby again. He and (Y/N) had talked about it so many times, and they had both agreed that they wanted to have a baby together.

So why did he run away when she actually got pregnant?

Colson could still remember it all so vividly: the look of happiness on (Y/N)’s face when she showed him the positive pregnancy test, the heavy feeling in his stomach that turned to panic that rose into his throat, the sound of (Y/N)’s voice as he grabbed some of his things and left without another word. He could remember the sound of his phone constantly chiming as (Y/N) tried to text and call him, until finally he had to put her contact on mute. It didn’t take her long to give up trying to contact him, though.

He didn’t know why he did it. He had been asked by so many people - his boys, his mom, Ash, even Casie herself - but he had no answer. When (Y/N) first told him she wanted to have kids with him, he had been so excited. So where did his sudden panic come from when it actually happened? Why was he suddenly so doubtful over his ability to be a father again?

He couldn’t bring himself to go back. He was embarrassed for the way he reacted, and he thought (Y/N) wouldn’t take him back anyways. Not that he blamed her. How could she take back the man who got her pregnant and then ran out on her? Because of his reluctance and fear of rejection, Colson didn’t see (Y/N) for months. And he would’ve kept it that way if it wasn’t for Casie throwing his car keys at him and forcing him out of the house.

“You have to go see her,” Casie said as she slammed the door in her father’s face and locked it.

“You gave me my keys, Cas, I can get back in,” he pointed out.

She held up the house key that usually hung on Colson’s keyring. “I took it off. You’re not getting back in until you go see (Y/N) and apologize for being stupid.”

“She’s not gonna wanna see me.”

“You don’t know that! She’s carrying your child, and I’d doubt she seriously wants that kid to grow up without a dad.”

Colson didn’t want to admit that he thought (Y/N) probably got rid of the baby the second he walked out on her. “Cas, come on, just let me back in.”

But Casie just crossed her arms and glared at him. After a few minutes, Colson sighed and rolled his eyes. There was no use in trying to get back in unless he did exactly what Casie wanted, so he went to his car and drove the familiar route to get to (Y/N)’s place.

At least I can get the rejection over with quickly and get back into my own house, he thought to himself.

Pulling up to her house, Colson started picturing the night he left again. He wanted nothing more than to turn his car around and go back home, but he knew Casie could tell if he was lying to her. His hands were shaking as he shut his car off and put the keys into his pocket. He was almost hoping that (Y/N) wasn’t home. Maybe if she wasn’t, Casie would drop it and let him back into the house without having to actually deal with the situation.

But her car was in the driveway, so she had to be home.

Colson made his way up to the front door and raised his hand to knock. He hesitated, unable to make his hand move. His brain was still screaming at him to turn around and go home, but he had come this far. He couldn’t just back out now. At the very least, maybe he could give (Y/N) some closure so they could both move on from this, since he knew there was no way that she was going to take him back.

He finally moved his hand to knock. It didn’t take long for him to hear the sound of footsteps coming towards the door, and when the door opened it felt like the floodgates within him had opened.

(Y/N) was stood there, her belly big enough to tell him that she was still carrying his child. She had never looked so beautiful to him before.

Her eyes were wide, almost like a deer caught in headlights. He was the last person she expected to see on her doorstep, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slam the door in his face or throw herself into his arms and beg for him to never let her go again.

“Hey,” Colson finally said. “Uh...I’m sorry to surprise you like this. I probably should’ve called first or something.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten through. I blocked your number,” she told him.

Ouch, he thought. I deserve that, though.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “If it’s to finally get the last of your stuff that you left here, I have it in boxes in the spare room. I can bring it all down and send you on your way within five minutes.”

There was a lot he wanted to say in response to that, but instead he found himself saying, “You probably shouldn’t be lifting too much or going up and down the stairs a lot in your condition.”

Her face darkened as she glared at him. “Don’t pretend you give a shit now.”

Colson sighed and shook his head. “You’re right, I’m sorry. Can I come in? I just wanted to talk, to apologize.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “You leave me when I tell you I’m pregnant - with a baby that you wanted, might I add - and you leave for months, with no calls or texts or anything. And now you think you can come back and just...apologize for all of that?”

“I know, I fucked up - ”

“No, you don’t know,” she cut him off. “You really fucked up. You beyond fucked up, actually. You don’t understand how much it hurt me when you just walked out. You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. I thought you were going to be happy when I told you I was pregnant. We talked about starting our own family for so long, and I thought you’d be overjoyed for this. But you just walked out and didn’t come back. You do not understand how hard that was for me to deal with, how hard it still is to deal with, while also trying to deal with this pregnancy all on my own!”

She was starting to cry. She mentally cursed her pregnancy hormones for making her so much more susceptible to tears lately. She didn’t want him to see her cry, especially not over him.

When he extended his arms to her, though, she gladly took the comforting hug. She sobbed into his chest, trying to take in his familiar smell and warmth without letting him back in too much. He couldn’t just come in and demand a second chance like this, but she also couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t relieved to see him on her doorstep.

Colson guided her into the house, closing the door behind them and bringing (Y/N) to her living room. They both sat down on her couch and (Y/N) wiped the tears from her eyes. She reached for a tissue from a box on one of her side tables and blew her nose as well.

“I had to start leaving tissue boxes in every room,” she sighed. “Stupid fucking hormones. I cry at everything now.”

“At least you’ve managed to prepare yourself for it,” Colson said.

She sighed and wiped at her face again. She felt so puffy and gross, and not just from the crying. The pregnancy had made her feel so many negative emotions. Even now, when she was supposed to be mad at Colson, she found herself self conscious about her round belly and how it made her look to him.

“Why did you leave?” she asked him. “I thought you wanted another baby.”

“I do,” he responded. “I should’ve been so goddamn excited when you told me you were pregnant. I think I would’ve felt that way if I wasn’t such an idiot instead and started feeling doubt about being a father again.”

(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...I panicked when you told me. I found myself thinking about if I was cut out to be a dad again. Like, what if I ended up missing so much of the baby’s life the same way I did with Casie? I wasn’t ready to be a dad when Emma was pregnant with Casie because I was so young, and I found myself back in that mindset when you told me you were pregnant. Just this sudden panic and self doubt.”

“But we talked about this. You said you wanted another baby.”

“I know. I don’t understand it either. It’s just my fucked up brain ruining everything again.”

(Y/N) placed her hand on Colson’s in a comforting gesture. “You’re not fucked up, and you are an amazing dad to Casie. I have no doubts that you’ll be even better with this baby, especially now since you’re older and have experience.”

Colson shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. “I can’t believe I was so stupid to let myself get worked up like that, though. I should’ve been so excited. We should’ve had a big ass fucking party to celebrate, and then you should’ve been moving into my house so we could start this family together. I shouldn’t have run out the door and left you like that.”

“Why didn’t you ever call or text me before now?”

“I felt embarrassed and stupid for my reaction. For the longest time, I just felt like I couldn’t face what I did, or face you. And then the more that time went on, the more I felt like coming back was a mistake. I figured you would kick me to the curb and tell me to never speak to you again. I thought...I thought that...if you even still had our baby, that you’d never let me see them anyways.”

(Y/N) found herself running her fingers along the back of his hand. What he was saying all made sense, and she felt like she believed him. She didn’t think he was malicious in leaving her. He didn’t do it because he was an asshole, he did it because he panicked suddenly and made a bonehead move, then his embarrassment got the better of him and made him overthink the situation even further. It didn’t completely heal the wound that his leaving had left inside of her, but it was enough to make her think she could possibly forgive him.

“If you had shown interest, I would’ve let you see her,” she said. “I would never keep you from your daughter if you wanted to be in her life.”

Tears were forming in Colson’s eyes as he looked up at (Y/N). “It’s a girl? You know that for sure?”

(Y/N) could feel herself welling up again, too. She nodded and got up to get the ultrasound she kept on the fridge. She passed it to Colson and sat down next to him.

“That’s her,” she said. “She was once the size of a peanut when I got my first sonogram, and now she’s a fully formed baby.”

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have another daughter,” Colson breathed.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Definitely a good way. I would’ve loved to have a son, but if there’s anything that being Casie’s dad has taught me, it’s that I love being a girl dad.” He placed the ultrasound on the coffee table and turned to face (Y/N). “I love you, too. More than anything, (Y/N). I was such a fucking idiot to ruin us the way I did, but I never stopped loving you in that time we had apart. I wanted nothing more than to call you or to show up on your doorstep like I did today, but I was terrified of what your reaction would be if I did.”

“I love you, too,” (Y/N) replied. It was the truth. She hadn’t stopped loving Colson, no matter how angry or upset he had made her. She loved him so much, and she felt like carrying his child had made her love him even more. “But you hurt me a lot. I meant what I said, you can’t just come in and say you’re sorry and suddenly everything goes back to normal.”

“I know, and I’ll do anything to win back your trust. Whatever you want, (Y/N), I’ll do it.”

“Right now, I want you to be here for the rest of my pregnancy, and I want you to be there when your daughter is born. We can take things from there.”

Colson nodded. “Will you come stay with me and Casie at least? I intended on asking you to move in with me anyways, and I know that’s a big ask right now, but I want you to be there and to start making it your home, because eventually it will be. Your home, and hers.” He put his hand on her bump, thinking about how his baby girl was growing in there.

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up as she nodded. “Give me a few minutes to pack a few things, and then we can head over. I want to see Casie anyways. I’ve missed her so much.”

~~~~~~

A few months later, Colson and (Y/N) were on the way to the hospital in the middle of the night. (Y/N) had woken up to pee and ended up having her water break. She woke Colson with her surprised shriek and he got everything together for the two of them to go to the hospital. Casie was at Emma’s, so Colson texted Emma to let her know that the baby was coming and to let Casie know that she would be a big sister by the time she woke up.

The labor pains weren’t as bad as (Y/N) expected, but they were still certainly the worst pain she had ever felt. Colson stayed by her side through the entire process, just like he promised. He let (Y/N) use his hand as a stress ball, crushing it with every contraction pain she felt. He stayed in the room after the doctor’s announced it was time to push and, even though he did feel a little lightheaded during the birthing process, he stayed to hear his baby girl cry for the first time.

The doctors let him cut the umbilical cord before they washed the baby girl and wrapped her in a soft, pastel pink blanket. The doctor passed Colson the baby and Colson sat next to (Y/N) so she could see her, too.

“She’s so beautiful,” (Y/N) breathed. “Besides the fact that she looks like a little prune.”

Colson chuckled. “Yeah, she definitely needs a day or two to look less wrinkly, but she’s gorgeous. You really did it, baby.”

(Y/N) mustered enough strength to reach out and lightly graze the baby’s cheek with her finger. “She was definitely worth all that pain and the exhaustion. Although, to be honest, I don’t think I can fight the sleep much longer.”

Colson leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Get some rest. When you’re feeling up to it, we’ll get Casie to come see her baby sister.”

(Y/N)’s eyes started to close, but Colson could see that she was trying to fight her fatigue. “We haven’t named her yet.”

“We can do that when you wake up. We have so much time to get everything figured out. You already did all of the hard stuff, let me help out with this side of things.”

She smiled, sheepishly, and forced her eyes open for another moment to look at Colson. “I love you.”

He smiled back at her. “I love you, too. More than you could ever know. Now, get some rest. We’ll both be here when you wake up.”

(Y/N) nodded and finally closed her eyes. It didn’t take her long to drift off to sleep. Colson stood so he could put the baby in the bed that the nurses had brought in to put next to (Y/N)’s bed. She had already stopped crying and had also been lulled to sleep in Colson’s arms. When he had her laid down, he stepped back to look at his two girls. He smiled and couldn’t help the tears that started to well up in his eyes. He couldn’t be any happier than he was in that moment.

[thewickedspinster]

The Protector & the Prince (Aedion Ashryver x Reader)

a/n: this character and plotline has been in my head ever since i read throne of glass, so i'm lowkey thinking of making this a series? to explore the character and also her relationship with aedion? because there is a criminally low amount of aedion love out here (i'm happy to provide). lmk your thoughts in the comments!

content: aedion x fem!reader, aelin x reader platonic, rowan whitethorn ofc, spoilers for empire of storms & kingdom of ash, slight au where reader is taken by maeve instead of aelin

requested by anon

The Protector & the Prince

The dawn was chill and damp against your cheeks. Dew rose from the meadow below, kissing your hair and skin. Welcoming you home.

In the rocky hollow behind you, the Bane packed up camp. They were battle-weary, exhausted to the bone after years of fighting in the mountains. Last night at dusk, when the company had stopped, you had just been able to make out the spires of Orynth across the next hill. It had been a trial in will to halt, to take stock, to rest before making the final push across the Staghorns.

Today, you would return to the home you had been forced to abandon, to the people you called your own. To your queen. To your friends. The war had been won, they said. Word had come over the mountains in the form of a white-tailed hawk; the king himself had come to find you and call you home. He had said his queen commanded it.

Against your will and better judgement, the memories of the past decade flowed freely as you and your company hiked down into the vale, then up the other side, crossing the last line of mountains. The loss of Aelin, the fall of Orynth, the Assassin's Guild, the land of Erilea, the return of magic, and the nightmares of war. Yet by midday, Terrasen unfolded before you, green and golden as ever. Your heart strained against its cage, and the Bane's pace hastened to the city's gates.

When you had last seen this city, it had been white and glistening, a kingdom in its prime. You were but nine years old, a nameless child with no family, no wealth, who had been taken in by King Orlon, of all people, to guard his young niece and heir, Aelin Galathynius. Since, your fae lineage had been revealed, and his choice in you had become clearer; only you could have followed Aelin to the ends of the earth as you did. Only you could have kept her safe.

Now, Orynth was rebuilding. The people had begun to return, but their wariness was palpable as they turned from their work to observe the Bane walking down the main thoroughfare. Some bowed, but there was no fanfare. There was little room for celebration as the dust of war settled, and the work began.

Your mind was a muted whirlwind of thoughts. You had little idea what to expect upon seeing Aelin. You hadn't seen her since the day on the beach, when you had been taken by Maeve in her place. The war done, you no longer knew your place.

Besides all this, your heart pounded for entirely different, unwelcome reasons.

Aedion would be here.

Aedion, Aelin's cousin, the Wolf of the North, fearsome general and protector of a fallen kingdom, had always been your best friend. Your first friend in Orynth, the lifeline you held onto while training with Arobynn. Your closest confidant. The only person you needed. And gods, did you need him now, with the uncertainties rising and the past creeping in... As you approached the towering doors to the castle, you actually considered whether you could do this.

The walk up the sweeping marble steps took a millennium. Untouched, no one had been able to steal their grandeur, though the great doors were still missing. One step over the mighty threshold, two steps, and you had yet to collapse. Three steps, and you were blindsided, barreled into with such force you stumbled.

"Y/N," came Aelin's shaky breath in your ear. She clutched you close, her fingers digging into your leathers. You clung to her in turn, holding her as tightly as you could, breathing in the smell of her, free of blood and iron. "You made it."

"Hi," you laughed breathlessly. "Gods, Aelin. Hi."

And suddenly, everything was entirely right in the world. You were home. You were with your best friend. You had made it.

Reluctantly, Aelin let you go and addressed your company. The Bane, ever having been Aedion's to command, had been given to you in the wake of your return to the continent. You had earned their respect, earned your place as their general. But they were, of course, Aelin's to command. Her arm still around you, she thanked them and dismissed them.

Before you knew it, you'd been swept up to a grand chamber, Aelin with you, to wash and eat. Your head swirled with the welcome, with the shock of being back in this place you'd once called home. She spoke softly, bringing news of Rowan, Chaol, Dorian, Elide, and Manon. She skirted talk of fighting, of that day on the beach, and for that, you were grateful.

"How is Lysandra?" You asked, pulling a comb through your wet hair. The sun was setting, but you would luxuriate in this time with Aelin for as long as she'd allow. "I heard she became a sea dragon."

"She did. That, and more." Aelin laid out a tunic on the bed for you, and it all felt too much like evenings at the Guild, preparing for grand soirées (and murders). "Her and Aedion have finally made up. Thank the gods for that - the tension was borderline unbearable."

Your eyes flicked to hers in the mirror, but only just. You blamed the exhaustion for the way your heart stuttered. "I'm glad to hear it. One big happy family, right?"

She snorted. "Yeah, a right happy home we've got."

A knock came on the door, and a servant entered, summoning Aelin to her council chamber. The young queen groaned, but you saw how she straightened - how the mantle settled on her shoulders in a way that no longer looked entirely unbearable. She turned to you, saying, "You should rest, Y/N. Eat up here, and we'll talk more tomorrow."

You turned to look at her in full, smiling faintly, strained. "Tomorrow."

Your queen disappeared. In the sudden dimness of twilight, you were alone.

But, you supposed, there was a tomorrow. That alone was enough to help you breathe.

~~~

Dawn came too early. Despite your fatigue, you'd hardly slept. First, it was the dreams. Then, it was the contemplation. Would Aelin send you away? What would she have you do in service of her court? Would you even have a place? As a demi-fae of no noble birth and little standing, all you had was your training. Your violence.

You supposed that was worth something.

It was what drove you down to the training yard in the gray light before the sun, moving through the familiar dance of swordwork. Before long, sweat poured down your spine. As the sun rose over the yard, more soldiers came to train, though they hardly had a swordmaster to tutor them. Quietly, you placed your weapons back on the racks and slipped away, unnoticed.

It was down the second stone corridor you turned, then, that you first heard the soft laughter, the hushed tones.

"Isn't it too early for this?" A gasp, a giggle. "Surely there's a better place."

"No one will come down here. Besides, it's never too early for this."

You stopped dead. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice anywhere. You'd heard it in your dreams. You'd followed it in your darkest moments, guiding you home.

You turned on your heel and stalked in the opposite direction, chest aching, as the sounds of Aedion and Lysandra's tryst faded behind you.

~~~

Aelin had called a meeting for midmorning, and you were notified last moment. You were still straightening your fancy new attire - silver, threaded with dark vines - as you entered the privy chamber. It was nearly exactly as you remembered. Eerily exact, as it was. You kept thinking you'd see King Orlon leap out from behind the curtains to say it had all been a cruel jest.

Luckily, you'd had plenty of time to right yourself, as Aedion was embarrassingly late. Though you knew the likely reason why, you kept your mouth firmly shut, instead braiding your hair and reporting to Rowan Whitethorn on the state of the Bane. When that was through, and only then, did the doors open once more, and Prince Aedion swept in, not a hair out of place.

"Forgive the delay, Aelin," he said softly when his cousin gave him an arch look. "There were... urgent matters to attend to in the yard."

Rowan grunted, "Those soldiers need a proper swordmaster."

"Which is why we're all here," Aelin said, as if it were obvious. She was clearly bored with the court business, but she looked between you and Aedion as though she were expecting something... more. After an awfully long pause, she continued. "Now that we're all together again, I figured some rearranging of duties is in order. Aedion, the Bane are yours, should you want them. And Y/N, my Queensguard is yours."

Aedion looked satisfied, but you were rooted to the spot with shock. "Aelin, your Queensguard? Why not have Chaol do it, or something?"

"Because Chaol has his own wife, child, and parcel to handle."

"You're more capable," Rowan chimed. "Wouldn't have anyone else protecting my wife."

"I'd also like you to be my envoy to Rifthold, for the time being." You actually had to take a seat. The closest one was a large armchair adjacent to Orlon's massive, ancient desk. "You know the city - and the affairs of Adarlan - better than any of us. And Dorian asked for you. You're a far better diplomat than I ever was."

"You were simply never a diplomat," Aedion said flatly, but his attention was fixed on you. Had been since he entered the room.

"Thanks, I know." Aelin flipped her hair over her shoulder, perching on the edge of her uncle's desk. "Much more of a decisive type, don't you think? Anyways, Y/N, would you accept both positions?"

You truly had to think a moment. You were reeling, your breath coming shortly. You had feared that Aelin wouldn't have work for you, and now, you were to captain her Queensguard and act as envoy to Adarlan? The responsibility almost seemed too much to take on.

Without thought, you glanced over to Aedion, who was still watching you. You caught his scent as you did so, and the desire to launch yourself into his arms after so long apart, after such hardship, after thinking you'd both die, took your breath away. But he was steady as he watched you, and as he nodded once.

You returned it. Rose, squared your shoulders, and bowed to your queen. "I'd be honored to accept both charges."

Aelin and Rowan shared a glance this time, before Aelin said, "Don't answer right now, Y/N, but there was something else I wanted to ask." You quirked a brow. "If you'd join me, I'd have you as one of my bloodsworn. You've followed me through everything, given up everything for me, and there is no one I can count more loyal than you. I would have you by my side, in all things."

The blood drained from your head, but you felt uncommonly steady. You couldn't give her an answer, but you could reassure her that you weren't going anywhere.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around her, and she returned the embrace fiercely, burying her face in your shoulder. "My path has always been beside yours. Past and future. Not going anywhere."

Aelin lifted her head, eyes teary and brilliant. "Never again."

Flashes of the smell of iron, the taste of iron, the smothering of iron. Of a cell, of shattered realities, of a white wolf. They haunted your sleeping and waking moments. Had consumed you for so long.

The meeting was, for all intents and purposes, over. After parting, you gave barely a fleeting glance at Aedion, unable to deal with that emotional disaster at present, and strode from the room, already calling for all soldiers to report immediately to the yard.

You had work to do.

~~~

A month had passed, and your life was consumed with dust, sweat, the grunting of fighters, and the clash of steel on steel. You had selected a Queensguard from the soldiers who'd been in the city, but training them was something else entirely. They'd all seen combat in the war, of course, but that didn't mean they even knew how to swing a sword without tearing a muscle. It had been nigh on ten years since Orynth had had an organized militia of any kind. You were starting from scratch.

The men and women you'd selected were, of course, learning quickly. You wouldn't have chosen them if you didn't think them trainable. But they were reaching a plateau, and their progress was slowing. You were spending long hours training under the blistering sun, and even longer hours planning rotations and the coverage of major events in the castle. Aelin needed two guards with her at all times, and given the state of the Queensguard at present, you hardly trusted any of the new additions to protect her without you present.

Aelin's queendom was in its infancy, making it particularly fragile. Anyone could come for her - or the king - in an effort to change the political balance. It was something you couldn't chance, even if both king and queen could protect themselves admirably on their own.

All that being said, it was well into the evening, and you couldn't recall the last time you'd slept more than three hours. Or eaten a meal, actually. You sat back and threw down your quill, rubbing at your eyes. They'd grown weak and scratchy as you wrote by candlelight. The moon hardly helped, casting a silvery glow across the floor of your chambers.

A knock came at the door, and you didn't bother to sit up before calling, "Come!"

"Prince Aedion, Commander Y/L/N," the servant said. A second later, Aedion stepped in, shutting the door behind him in the servant's face.

You were still, watching him from under your brows as he approached your desk.

He stopped before you. "You look like hell."

"Thanks."

"That's a compliment."

"An absolute charmer, you are."

"I only mean to say you've been working hard. Aelin appreciates it."

"I know she does."

He suddenly looked like he was at a loss for words, something he hadn't been around you for... ever.

"Have you slept?" He finally managed.

"Do I look like it?" You gestured to your desk. "Lots to do. And I'm due in Rifthold next week."

"Are you going to take the blood oath?"

You sighed. "Don't you have something more useful to do than interrogate me?"

"I don't, actually," he snapped back, anger sparking. "Nothing more important than making sure you're alright."

"Funny, I thought you had a kingdom to defend. My mistake."

"The Bane are getting well-deserved rest. And thank to you, they're in top shape." He crossed his arms. "You led them well."

"I'd assume you'd know that, considering it was you who wanted me to lead them."

"Only because you needed something to do that would keep you safe."

Silence swallowed you whole as you stared at him. Fury turned your chest cold, your fingers numb. "Keep me safe?"

"You had no business being near the final battle for Terrasen," he snapped back. "Considering what you went through at Maeve's hands, you couldn't have been ready."

"So you sent me to babysit your troops?" You hissed, rising to your feet abruptly. "Are you serious, Aedion?"

Aedion sighed, exasperated. He held out placating hands. "This is going all wrong, Y/N. I'm not trying to upset you. I'm trying to make sure you're okay."

"What, because I was tortured? I can assure you, I'm a big girl. I can handle a few nightmares."

"Because I can hardly believe that you've healed," he nearly shouted. You leaned back. He said, quieter, "Because I know you haven't. You're throwing yourself into work to distract yourself. But it won't work forever."

He couldn't know just how right he was. It hurt, like a raw blister, the way he saw right through you. The way you wished you could bare your soul to him, let him comfort you, let him take care of you. You'd never had that, but you'd only ever wanted it from him. Your jaw was tight with hurt, and with fury.

"I gave you command of the Bane because I needed someone I could trust in the Staghorns. No one else could have earned their respect as you did." Aedion's gaze softened. "And selfishly, I wanted to keep you safe."

"I can take care of myself," you said, rather childishly.

"I know that."

"I don't need you to look after me. Not when you have other people to worry about."

The last had slipped out, unbidden, and you immediately cursed yourself for even saying it. Straight away, Aedion knew. His eyes sharpened, and you were glad to have the desk between you as his eyebrows rose.

"Lysandra," he said simply.

You stared back at him. "It's only natural."

"What? That I... frolicked with her, or that you're jealous of it?"

You scoffed. "'Frolicked?'" Seriously, Aedion? Are we twelve again?"

"We may as well be, for how well I feel I know you right now."

"You've known how I've felt about you for ages, Aedion. I know you have. You're blind, but you're not that stupid."

"Well thank you for that," he said, anger entirely abated. The snark of his remark missed its target. "Honestly, I only knew because Aelin told me."

"She told you back in Rifthold. I know. Before Arobynn was dead. Before I was free of him. Right in the midst of a shadow war." You gave a one-shouldered shrug. "But you always knew me best, Aedion. You had to have known before. But whether you did simply doesn't matter."

"How could it not?"

You straightened under his piercing stare, under the question in his eyes. "Because I have a job to do, and so do you. Aelin will always come before me, and I would never let anything, even you, come before her."

Aedion's mouth curved into a sad smile. "I know that."

Put off by the starkness of his honesty, you added, "And to be clear, I wouldn't be jealous of Lysandra. Her and I have been through enough. She's beautiful, and more than that, she's good. You deserve her."

"Lysandra has gone to Wendlyn."

"What?"

"We... I thought we'd gotten over the deception leading up to you being taken by Maeve, but we hadn't. She requested to leave, and Aelin gave her a job across the sea."

You were dumbfounded. So much so that you had to sit down. Lysandra, Aelin, and yourself had been the only ones to know of your plan to glamour yourself before arriving on the beach that day to greet Maeve's forces. As demi-fae, you had few powers, but one of the strongest was casting glamours. It was part of why you'd been so successful as an assassin at the Guild. Glamoured as Aelin, you'd been the one to be taken that day to Doranelle.

Anything for Aelin. Anything. Always.

Your voice shook as you said, "I will not be your second choice, Aedion."

"I'm not asking you to be," he murmured. "I'm asking you if you're alright."

Nearly. You nearly bent and broke, straight into him. Your mouth wobbled, but you managed to stand straight as you whispered, "I don't know who I am, now the bloodshed has stopped." When he said nothing, you drew a deep breath and continued. "Which means I'll keep fighting until I can sleep through the night."

"That's not how this works," he said evenly, and finally, he reached out, stopping himself just as his fingers grazed your sleeve. "You don't get to do this on your own, Y/N. We've always done this together - let me help you."

"You couldn't understand, Aedion."

And it was true. The things you'd gone through at Maeve's hands, at Arobynn's before her, no one could understand, least of all this prince. But as he touched you, for the first time in years, you felt your will against him falter.

You could have him, you thought. He's right there.

"Let me try," he breathed. His gold-rimmed eyes were desperate, soulful. Full of something you'd hardly dared admit to seeing before. Before Lysandra, when it was just you and him against the world. Desire. Admiration. Love? "Let me take care of you, Y/N. You've spent your whole life caring for us. Let me shoulder the burden, just for a little while."

The space stretched between you and Aedion, infinite. A breath. There was the truth, you realized. And you whispered:

"I'm scared, Aedion."

"I know, sweetheart."

He sensed it before it happened, and was around the desk in an instant, even as you fell back into your chair. Your breath came shortly, your chest crushed beneath the iron vice of memory. You'd failed to realize what it was to be rid of the constant routine of fight or flight, and now, that freedom came crashing down upon you as a wave, crushing your breath into teary gasps of air. Into sobs.

But Aedion was there, perched next to you, drawing you as close to him as he could. He pressed his mouth to your hair, your temple, your cheek, murmuring that he had you. That he was sorry. That Lysandra was only ever a distraction. That he'd loved you since you were children. That he had you. That he wouldn't let you go.

That you were safe now.

When the sobs subsided, you managed to lift your head, to look up at him through bloodshot eyes. He gazed on you fondly, his own eyes limned in silver. His hand smoothed over your hair, a gentle caress.

"You are the strongest female I have ever known," he murmured. "You may feel lost now, but we'll take this on together. Alright?"

"You have some explaining to do," you replied with half-hearted severity. "Frolicking with Lysandra isn't entirely forgiven, I'll have you know."

"Figured it wouldn't be."

"But... Together?"

"As it's always been, Y/N." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "I swear."

"I'll hold you to it."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from my most fearless warrior."

You smiled, and leaned up just enough to take him by surprise, kissing him softly. With the tenderness of ten years of longing, of ten years of sacrifice and love.

He tasted of beginnings.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Hugest of sighs.

I really hate it when I can feel a special interest dying.

It's like watching something you've loved and put your everything into for however long get smaller and smaller in the distance. Until it disappears in a puff of smoke.

I can feel it happening with Dragon Age.

It's actually managed to hang on for a long time, so I guess I should just... wish it a fond farewell and let it go.

I was going to write a less acid filled version of my editorial critique/review about the gameplay preview to send to the devs, but why?

I don't get the kind of interaction I need on posts like my Dragon Age posts to help me keep the special interest alive.

The devs aren't going to listen to some internet rando like me if I did waste my time writing it. Not even if I'm actually a professional editor and this is in fact my job that I'm pretty good at.

They don't even toss me a heart on responses to their posts. And they probably wouldn't read it even if it did happen to make it through all the stuff they probably get on their feeds, anyway. Valuable professional editorial critique or not.

Before I stepped way back from social media I could easily get thousands of @ in a day. I know what they must be dealing with.

I have other things I should really be spending my time on.

Sadly, my special interest in Dragon Age has been on life-support since I saw the gameplay preview.

My DA gaming group has gone from a couple hundred people, most of whom weren't active, to waaaaay more people than I'm comfortable being social with. (I have since muted most of it and withdrawn from anything I'm just... not interested in anymore.)

I honestly feel the new look for Solas killed Solas for me. (Given I'm solavellan that's saying one hell of a lot.) For a bit there, I was hoping he'd grow on me. But apparently, I haven't been inoculated with that particular style of virulent mould yet. So it hasn't happened. Every time I saw a picture I just... cared a little less.

Where once I had the fires of a volcano inside my heart for this franchise, nothing but ash in a breeze remains.

It's always possible that something could happen to reignite my passion for it. It's happened a few times before for faded special interests. It could also be my depression talking and I'll feel completely different tomorrow. That's happened too. (So far hasn't happened in the threeish days since I wrote this. It's probably not the depression.)

But... After seeing that gameplay preview, and listening to the Q&A, and reading the Game Informer post... it may just be time to call Time of Death. As someone who loved the first three, and who absolutely marinated myself in the lore, I frankly feel betrayed. (I mean... Varric with a beard? Really? There were story significant reasons he did not, in fact, wear a beard, did they forget that? Like they forgot his bloody hair colour?)

So long, Dragon Age. It was fun while it lasted.

I truly do hope people enjoy the blathering posts I did about it when passion filled me.

I hope people truly do enjoy the new game. There's too little joy in this world and I hope with all my heart it gives you as much joy as you can handle. I'm just a little sad it won't for me. I'll always have the first three, which I do legitimately love to pieces.

I'm not even crying or upset. I just... don't care anymore.

From a professional standpoint, that's always a danger when you change a piece of media too much. There has to be a certain amount of continuity to it so it feels the same. Without that?

You lose obsessed people like me.

You lose the older gamers who loved what Dragon Age was.

And absolutely, yes, fiction does need to change. It's an integral part of the whole thing. If it doesn't change, if it doesn't adapt, it dies just as quickly as if it changes too much. I like to see change in media. It's needed in so many ways. Change can be hard to adapt to, of course. Or in some cases impossible. Shrugs.

There's a professional balance to these things. It wouldn't surprise me if I have a bit of savantism when it comes to editing and writing. I just seem to deeply understand how it all works in ways others rarely see. Looking at a novel or a game or a show from an editorial perspective is very much like looking at a 4d puzzle for me. I can instinctively see what works and what doesn't.

It's just that, in my honest professional opinion, they tried to change way too much to appeal to a different set of gamers than those of us who are a little older and have loved the feel of the first three games.

It's not the change itself I object to. I'm definitely not one of those people who thinks that DAO was the best DA ever. I've loved them all for different reasons. But they all still felt like Dragon Age. Even DA2, which a lot of people hate, still felt like a fantasy RPGish adventure. (I enjoyed it for what it was. I'd've liked to see what it could've been with more time, but for what it was, they did a great job and it was an enjoyable game).

DA4? From what we've seen so far, it doesn't even remotely feel like a fantasy RPGish adventure game. It feels like a cheap star wars/FFXIV/Fortnite knockoff designed for a much different type of gamer. (Which was actually confirmed by Epler in the Q&A. They did, in fact, design it more for younger players than those of us who have been waiting for it for however long.) Professionally, I believe that was a mistake that may cost them.

The darkspawn alone are a bloody travesty. WTAF are those things? And yes, I've seen the 'lore excuse' that it's the red lyrium making them look like bad halloween deco. I'd buy it if they were kinda spiky and had red lyrium growths and stuff like the red lyrium infected creatures in DAI. But it's like they forgot their own canon.

I dunno. It really just doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure that no matter how beautiful the backgrounds and some of the art they've just... lost me.

I guess I write these kinds of posts so others in the same boat as me know they aren't alone.

You aren't imagining it. While change is in fact good and necessary to a certain extent, they've changed it so much trying to appeal to a different market that it really doesn't feel even remotely like Dragon Age anymore.

[lee-pines]

Arbitrary Fate- Henry Danger Fic

@thatsallshewrot3

Drops this and runs away.

This is a mix of the prompts-

-Henry gets really hurt by a villain and the team has to help him through the recovery/trauma

-Henry goes missing for a year and returns mute (3 years)

-The team sees all of Henry's scars

-Henry is tortured either in front of everyone or on a live stream (they watch videos of Henry being tortured.)

This is probably not exactly what you were thinking of, but I read these prompts and this popped into my head.

CH 1-

“Happy Birthday, Henry,” Ray whispered to the cupcake with a single candle in it. He stared at the flame as if it held all the answers. With quivering lips he blew out the candle. He looked around the empty Man Cave as he took a small bite out of the cupcake. Vanilla- Henry’s favorite.

If Henry were still around, he, Charlotte, and Jasper would surely be here. If they were not, they would be coming out of the elevator. Volume at an 11, they would talk at each other. Maybe arguing about where they should go out to celebrate Henry’s birthday. Ray would jump in, ask what they were talking about, perhaps asking them to tone it down. As if he hated how loud the Man Cave was when his kids were there. He would say something adult and responsible. “Guys, we should let Henry decide.”

“Thanks, Ray,” Henry would say. He would put his bag down on the couch and sit.

Then, Ray would ruin that responsible facade by saying something like, “but seriously, we should go to Inside-Out Burger.”

Henry would give him a face, scrunching up his nose and narrowing his eyes. “Really, Dude.” He would roll his eyes, maybe even hit him on the shoulder.

At the end, they would go wherever Henry wanted. Schwoz and Piper would tag along. It would be good, nice. Normal.

His reality, however, was far from the normal they had grown used to. God, he should have appreciated it while he had it. He never knew. Never knew one day a stupid blimp would help Drex take Henry from him. All of the light, laughter, noise, and childlike joy that the kid brought back into his life all gone. Like a snap of fingers.

At least the last thing he told the kid was that he loved him. Even with all the arguing the days leading up to his capture. At least the kid knows that Ray still loves him. He should know that he is looking. He never stopped.

For a year, Charlotte, Jasper, and Piper stayed in Swellview and took online classes for their respective schools. Henry's parents left as soon as they thought Henry died. They were in New York last Ray heard. After a year of being unable to find Henry, the kids had to go to their respective schools.

Ray was upset at first, but he understood. They could not put their lives on hold forever. No matter how much they all cared about Henry. They deserved to live. Schwoz tried to tell him the same thing, but that did not apply to Ray. It couldn’t. Henry was his sidekick. Was his sidekick. He was responsible, and he failed him. In so many ways, Ray failed Henry. Never again. Once he got Henry back, he would never fail him again.

Every waking moment if Ray was not fighting crime, he was in the Man Cave, looking for Henry. There were no leads. For three years there had been no leads. If it were not for the phone call he got six weeks after Henry went missing, Ray would believe he was dead.

The phone call. The bite of cupcake Ray was eating turned into ash. He would never get that out of his head. Henry sounded so weak and scared.

“Ray.”

There was no mistaking the voice. “Henry.”

Charlotte and Piper, who had been on the couch, instantly popped up. They had been researching on their laptops. Schwoz rushed over to Ray’s side from whatever he had been tinkering with. Jasper was out getting lunch.

“Ray, you have to help me,” Henry said. His voice broke. He had not done that since he was 13. He sounded scared in a way that Ray had never heard. Sure, he knew that Henry must have been scared at some points. He was damn good at hiding it, never letting it show.

“I will, Kiddo, you gotta tell me where you are,” Ray said as the girls and Schwoz talked around him. “Shh.” He hushed harshly as he covered the speaker. He walked away from them.

“Put it on speaker,” Piper demanded as she and Charlotte followed him.

Ray nodded, doing just that. Henry was in the middle of explaining that he did not know where he was. “They keep me blindfolded all the time. And sometimes they stick me with needles. It’s so hard to think.”

Schwoz walked over to the computers, waving him over. “Put your phone right there. I should be able to triangulate his location.”

“Is Schwoz with you?” Henry asked, his voice still so small but there was a spark of hope.

“Yeah. So are Charlotte and Piper,” Ray told him. Keep his hope up. Don’t let them crash and burn.

Henry hummed but did not say anything else.

“Can you tell us anything else, Henry,” Charlotte asked. “Who has you?”

“Um, Drex,” Henry answered. A collective gasp even though they knew it was likely. “And Drex’s got a few goons now. He's tryin’ to recruit more. He’s plannin’ somethin’ big.”

“What is he planning?” Ray asked. He had to get as much information as possible.

“I dunno,” Henry said. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Ray said. “You’re alright. We are going to find you.”

“Okay,” Henry said. “Okay.”

There was movement on the other side of the phone.

“Oh, no,” Henry practically whimpered. “I have to go.”

“No, Henry, don’t hang up,” Schwoz said in a rush. They were close to finding his location. So close.

“What’s going on?” Piper asked.

“He’s coming.”

No one had to ask who ‘He’ was when they heard a menacing voice on the other end. “Oh, what do we have here?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Henry instantly apologized, his voice raising in pitch. There was the sound of a slap before Henry yelped and the phone clattered to the ground.

Protests erupted in the Man Cave. A few threats escaped from Ray and Piper. No one responded to them, so they quieted down when Drex started to speak.

“Perhaps I have been too nice to let you keep your memories.”

“No, no, no, no, no. You can’t. You can’t. Please.” Henry sounded so desperate.

“It’s cute you still think you have any say.”

“No, no. I don't wanna forget. Please! I’ll be good!” Henry's voice raised for the first time. “I won’t do anything like this again! Please! I promise!”

“God dammit, Schwoz. Do you know his location?” Ray asked, punching his desk.

“No, not yet,” Schwoz said. “Only a few more seconds.

A blood-curdling scream ripped through the phone into the Man Cave. It cut right through Ray’s heart, leaving a gash. No suture could close it.

“Hey, Henry,” Drex’s voice broke the silence. He snapped his fingers.

Henry hummed.

“Who is Ray Manchester?”

“I dunno.”

The gash grew.

“Good.”

Then the line went dead. Everyone held their breaths, looking toward Schwoz. He shook his head silently. For the first time, Piper broke down, Charlotte helped her fall into a chair. She did her best to comfort the younger girl, trying not to fall apart herself.

Anger burned bright in Ray’s chest. He threw his phone across the room with a roar before stomping out of the room.

The emergency light sounding broke Ray from his horrible memory.

Ray cleared his throat, wiping his eyes as he walked over to the computers. He threw the half eaten cupcake into the trash. He would not be able to finish it anyway.

He answered the call with a “go for Captain Man” in a clear voice. It was as if he was not just reliving one of the worst moments in his life.

“Hello, Captain Man, this is Detective Daniels.”

“Hello, Detective,” Ray said politely. “What can I do for you?”

“We have a weepy man here at the station,” the detective began.

“A weepy man?”

“Yes, he wants to talk to you.”

“See, I don’t normally do interviews. Especially not with weepy criminals. So…” Ray’s finger hovered over the hang up button.

“Wait, he claims to know information about Kid Danger.”

“Kid Danger?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there right away.” Ray hung up, rushing to the tubes as he popped a piece of gum in his mouth. He would call Schwoz later if this turned out to be something.

He blew a bubble, tapping his belt buckle. The tube surrounding him.

“Up the tube!”

[tainted-liquor]

Im not doing ts again bru final statement. Yes, this is abt the miles smut drama 'ft. bree'.

its weird how someone can make snide comments and remarks abt a situation that's been long over, but when someone does the same thing suddenly you're obsessed n "don't wanna let it go". I have yet to step up and make a bigger statement even rn as I type this message, but I keep getting grouped in w something I haven't even posted abt. and because for some reason you can't read, this isn't me "throwing ash under the bus", this is me saying I have YET to make a "big statement", but you're still talking abt me like I have. Let's count how many times you've dissed us over one month, DESPITE the drama being long over!! Keep up now!

1

2, which was also weird, because when you made this post, 3 hours earlier Honey said that she was from Florida! So did you google smth about Floridian officials just to prove how "oppressed" you were? jsyk babe this still isn't oppression, this is a threat. that has nothing to do w your country's population bg, he used the closest island near him to make an empty-handed example. Yk what's oppression? What's happening in the Middle East and the Congo rn! Your country isn't being bent over and fucked for its resources while being rendered mute by a source of power that OPPRESSES your freedom of speech. you being able to even make this long, detailed ass post proved that in itself.

Even when I had people dming me and tagging me on shit in my server that eluded to the situation, I stayed quiet to see how many times you'd attempt to poke and prod at it knowing it was over and done with...you still kept going. almost a month later.

3

4.

I have been chilling w my dick in my boxers for the longest, but suddenly when Ash makes a post about you potentially being a smut writer, (which I also EVEN TRIED TO GIVE YOU THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT, YES, DESPITE TS, I WAS WILLING TO SAY 'nah maybe its someone pretending to be her' before jumping to conclusions) you wanna say we're playing follow the leader. We gave you silence for a month or so, post after post came abt the situation. Weird bru.

And second, nobody made you post your ID or whatever. It didn't prove anything, and...nobody asked you for it😭 what I am confused on tho is how you managed to see everything in record time if you...have us all blocked? Smth isn't adding, the math isn't mathing, and the time isn't timing.

anyway, this isn't an 'accusatory' or 'hateful' post, I'm calling out hypocrisy that really bunches up my boxers. Thank you!

[felicitysmoaksx]

Hi all! Man, I really need to stop getting ideas when I dog/house-sit for people. However, I will say this was originally an idea I had for my Arrow/Chicago Med/Titans crossover. I just wasn't meant to post or write anything for it until the first fic in this series was posted and honestly, I'm not sure if this is the way Team Arrow (And Team Flash) finds out about Sarah. So here's a quick little two-shot of a what-if scenario.

Rating: Mature

Summary: Mockingbird was a memory. Mockingbird was her past. A ghost that lingered from Gotham and Bruce. A ghost that was ash and soot now. So why was it staring her in the face now?

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Inaccurate medical procedures, and implied/references a canonical character death and canonical typical violence mentioned but doesn't go in depth

Read On AO3 | Fic Playlist

The Same Little Breaks in Your Soul

Sarah stared mutely at her reflection as it paced the length of her cell in the pipeline of Star Labs in Central City. Only the term reflection wasn’t quite accurate either because Sarah-the one that wasn’t locked up-was alert and awake. Nor did she have the jagged scar that ran down the length of the other Sarah’s face. 

“What do you call her?” She wasn’t even sure who she was talking to; there were too many people in the lab. But her gaze found Clark’s. Then she found Connor’s-her boyfriend, not Superboy. He had slipped off the bloody gloves and washed his hands, but the brunette could still see the other Sarah’s blood on his hands from where he had to sew the stab wound in her stomach. 

 It was Barry Allen, still in his Flash suit, who answered her though.  “Like we explained before the universe is actually a multiverse and there are-”

“Fifty-two Earths. Yeah, I got that.” Sarah held up a hand to stop the lengthy explanation, “But what do you call her? Because she isn’t me.” 

Yet, the woman pacing around her cell was Sarah Athena Grayson. Same as she was. She could tell from the way the other Sarah held herself. The way she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The downward turn of her lips and the way she wrinkled her forehead. But the faraway look in her eyes? That was all Bruce. If she was being honest though, maybe she was just seeing that look because of the bat-suit and cowl she wore. An exact replica of the one Bruce had made and unveiled on hers and Dick’s eighteenth birthday. A suit she’d rather burn than wear. 

Too bad she hadn’t been able to make it to Gotham the night she burned her Mockingbird suit.

“Doppelgängers,” it was Barry again, “They’re us, but just different versions of us.” 

Sarah fell silent. Nodding once more, before her eyes shifted to study the other versions of her little brothers: Jason, Tim, and Damien. This was confirmed by three phone calls she made earlier. Her Jason Todd and Tim Drake were in Gotham while Damien Wayne was still in San Francisco with Dick.

Connor was still staring at her; she could tell from her peripheral vision, with that same guarded expression he had been wearing since he saw her dodge a punch Superman and Superboy came at her with and blew kryptonite dust that she kept on hand because old habits die hard, in their faces, before she backflipped and rounded a kick into the younger kryptonian’s chest while launched a punch at Superman. 

“How did they get here, if they’re from another Earth?” 

“They had to breach here somehow. But another question to ask is why are they here?” Cisco Ramon answered, typing on a keyboard and the footage of the doppelgängers disappeared and was replaced by some kind of security video. 

In the video, it was dark and quiet. Nothing had happened yet. Then a large orb-like portal appeared. A second later, Sarah stiffened at the sight of The Joker. He laughed maniacally before he threw something sharp into the portal. Then he took off in a run as the other version of herself fell through the portal. She was clutching her stomach where a dark red maroon spot was forming.  She fell. Her prone form on the asphalt of the alleyway.

“Turn it off,” Sarah flinched, even though she knew the other woman would be alright. She, Connor, and Dr. Snow would make sure of it. “Please.”

The footage instantly vanished and it was back to the sight of her reflection pacing the length of her cell once more. 

“They were chasing the Joker.” Cal-El slurred his words a little, probably still feeling dizzy from the effects of the kryptonite dust she blew at him and Superboy. She nodded before glancing at the crowd around her, “How closely do these other Earths resemble ours?” 

“It varies from Earth to Earth but there is no true way of knowing unless we talk to them.” Barry answered again, “Why?” 

“Because Joker is dead on our Earth. Batman killed him after an…emotional breakdown.” 

“Are you sure about that?” Oliver asked. He sounded skeptical. Sarah shot him a look, but he didn’t waver in his question or his stare. It was easy to see through his playboy facade now and in its place was something darker. 

The Green Arrow and Connor’s brother was The Magician, Information she was given as they rushed to Central City to help save the other Sarah Grayson. (Though no one knew that at the time. All they knew was the call Cisco made to Tommy requesting for his brother because “Caitlin says she needs help with the surgery. She’s never done one.”) Two people who like her, were wearing a version of themselves as a mask. It made her wonder how she missed it. When she didn’t answer, he added: “It’s been my experience that unless you see a body yourself, there is always a chance that the person is still alive.”

The brunette knew the tone and had heard Bruce use it many times before. It was a hard tone that scared people off. Made people not want to question him with an air of finality. But Sarah had grown up with Bruce Wayne as Batman since she was thirteen. She didn’t get scared as easily as some people. 

Folding her arms, the brunette stood up straighter and walked a few steps forward so she was directly in front of Oliver. 

“Besides the fact that every news outlet in Gotham did a story about it, body included by the way or what was left of it anyways. Batman left my-” she started icily before she caught herself almost revealing Dick’s identity, “-the original Robin with a bloody crowbar. It was filled with the Joker’s blood. Too much blood to be surviveable. So yeah, Oliver. I’m sure.”

“What are you?” 

“Excuse me?” Sarah questioned hotly. Connor stepped forward, inserting himself between the two of them.“Oliver. Enough. Come on, it’s already been a rough day.” 

“No, it’s not enough. Because she knows way too much about Batman, who’s an urban legend by the way for a normal person. She blew kryptonite dust, something she had on hand, on Clark and his kid with Clark’s disguise in place. Not to mention the way she rounded that kick and made that punch perfectly as if she had been trained to do that. Then you have her.” Oliver pointed a finger at the screen to where the other Sarah was still pacing, “Wearing a suit looking like a Batwoman.” 

“Oliver, maybe Connor’s right-” Tommy stepped forward now, keeping a hand between his twin brother and best friend. 

“Batman,” Sarah interrupted before she could think about it because Kate deserved that recognition. “There’s already a Batwoman. Both of whom, are not urban legends. Ask the Man of Steel or The Heir to the Demon if you don’t want to believe me.” 

Now the Merlyn twin brothers both turned to look at her with the same guarded expression Connor wore earlier in both of their eyes. But it was Tommy who asked quietly, “How do you know about the league?”

“I’m telling you something isn’t adding up about her,” Oliver told them with his voice low and menacing as he shook his head, his gaze narrowing on her. As if the single look would force her to tell him.

“Oliver,” Clark stood up and moved, probably to stop the fight that was brewing between Green Arrow and her. “It’s okay, I can vouch for-”

“She’s the Mockingbird.” Nyssa Al Ghul announced to the room and up until this point she had been ignoring Damien’s aunt, until now Sarah turned to glare at the other woman. 

“Al Ghul shut your mouth-” Sarah warned in a snarl, but she knew the damage done. The Fucking League. She hated them almost as much as she hated ninjas.

“Mockingbird as in Batman, Robin, and Mockingbird?” Barry asked, looking from Sarah to Nyssa. His gaze slightly lit up as he eyed Sarah with a renewed interest. But Sarah got the sense it was more of a fanboy moment than lust in his gaze.

“Yes, Mr. Allen.” The heir of the demon inclined her head to the man in the flash suit as she continued to speak. “And Batman’s chosen successor to the cowl but she never accepted the honor of taking the mantle.”

The honor of taking the mantle…More like horror.

“But I thought…Mockingbird was dead? Because they only found the charred remains of her suit in San Francisco five years ago.” Felicity questioned softly as her eyes turned on her. 

Sarah flinched again and stepped back from the prying eyes. Yet that didn’t help. She still felt like…like before. Like she was drowning and no matter how hard she swam or tried to keep her head above water, a weight kept weighing her down. Like when her parents died or she put on the suit for the last time. 

“You could be a better Batman than me.” Bruce with all of his expectations. The Titans broke up after Garth was killed and…now this other Sarah wearing the Bat cowl.

She was getting sucked back into this world of masks, superheroes and vigilantes. She could feel it. Helping out Dick sporadically over the last few years was only the tipping point back into the world. 

“Air,” she muttered to no one in particular because she needed to do something, anything to get away from this drowning feeling weighing her down, “I need air.”

Then, before anyone could say anything to her, Sarah darted out of the laboratory.

[waltwhitmansbeard]

If you're still taking the trust building prompts, may I request 16. Consoling Hugs?

Possibly set in MFL the first time Keyleth cried infront of Vax? I remember a long long time ago there was a wave of asks on it and how it was such a hard but important moment for her

16. consoling hugs read these first! finally writing the night vax goes to keyleth, wowowow i can't believe i've never written this before!!

turned my water into wine #34

Fire. Everywhere she looks, flames lick up buildings, walls, carts. The air turns to ash in her lungs, and she is choking. She stumbles forward, blind in the smoke, deafened by the screaming. The world is on fire. Pyrah looks different when it is ablaze. It is somehow bigger and smaller, stretching out and crumbling in. She would shout for help, if her voice didn't come out a gasping wheeze. All around, flesh turns to charcoal, and as a wall of flame ten, twenty, fifty feet high bears down on her, she knows her flesh is next.

Keyleth awakens with a yelp, the dark around her startling after the brilliant orange of where she's just been. She can't see, can't breathe, and the panic only intensifies when the door to her chamber slams open, the muted light from the hall flooding in as a shadow appears in the doorway. A blade reflects the candlelight from the sconces, and Keyleth jolts at the sight of it, preparing to scream—

"Your Highness, are you well?"

It's Vax. That's his voice. Yes, of course, she cried out. She stares at him, the details of his face beginning to come into focus as her eyes adjust, and she sees the worry, the eyes darting around in search of a threat.

And now she just feels foolish. A nightmare, that's all, and she has her guard responding as if an assassin has materialized in the middle of the room. She sucks in a shaky breath, but it does little to still her thundering heart. When she lets it out, a whimper escapes, unbidden, and then she is crying, silly girl that she is. She buries her face in her hands, legs pulling up close to her chest, and sobs.

What must he think of her, this poor man hired to keep her alive, who will likely someday have to call her sovereign? What must he make of her tears, of her shaking shoulders, of her curled form in the dark? Surely he imagines her to be ridiculous, pathetic, hysterical. She can just see his face turning red, embarrassed at the sight of such overwrought emotion, the door inching closed behind him as he resumes his post, wide-eyed and awkward.

But then there are arms, strong and secure, wrapping around her, pulling in her close to a chest that smells of leather and night. She startles a bit, not expecting the touch, but it doesn't take more than a moment for her to realize who is holding her. She turns into Vax's chest and continues to cry, half-ashamed, half-relieved. She curls a hand into the edge of his armor, clinging to him as if he were driftwood in a shipwreck, and she lets the terror and stress of this nightmare, of this war, soak into the leather.

She can hear him, some quiet murmuring above her head, and even though she can't make out many of the words through the din of her own sobs, just the sound of his voice, low and warm like a dying fire, eases the racing of her heart. She feels something in her hair, and it takes a few moments to realize, oh, those are his lips, pressing gentle kisses into the crown of her head.

She is safe. For the first time since this war began, since her father hired on these guards, since the news of the attack on Pyrah reached this castle, she feels truly, properly safe. It is ridiculous, of course; she is no more safe now that she had been ten minutes ago, in the dead of sleep; if anything, she is more at risk, with her door wide open and the man meant to be guarding it wrapped around her instead of interposed between her and danger. And yet. When she breathes in, when she smells him so close in dark, when she hears the drumming of his heart beneath his breastplate, this endless moment is the greatest comfort she's known in a long, long time.

It is not until her crying subsides and she regains control of her breath that she realizes how untoward this entire situation is. She has fallen to pieces in front of her guard, and in return, he has shown her far more tenderness than would ever be appropriate. She straightens herself up, wipes at her soaking eyes, and looks at him. He regards her with a concern that tightens her belly and catches her breath in her throat.

"Thank you, Vax'ildan," she whispers, her voice hoarse. "I am...sorry for the imposition."

His eyes are dark, their pupils wide. "It is no imposition, Your Highness. I..." If that sentence has an ending, he does not share it with her. Instead, he releases his arms from around her, and Keyleth is instantly cold. "Shall I return to my post?"

The word no is snatched back before it can leave her tongue. "Yes. That is...yes. Of course."

He steps back from the edge of her bed, ducks his head in a bow. He strides off toward the door and begins to pull it closed behind him as he exits. Before it is fully shut, she calls out, "Vax'ildan?"

He pauses, turns back. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Why did she stop him? What does she have to say? "Thank you."

He nods, the ghost of a smile on the corners of his mouth. Then he pulls the door closed, and Keyleth is swathed in darkness once more. As she lays her head back onto her pillow, she knows that sleep will not return to her easily, but not because of the lingering fear of nightmares—no, there is a new feeling now, a bubbling anticipation, for what she does not know. She lays there in the dark, eyes open and searching for something she cannot see until the first rays of dawn peek through the curtains to herald the new day.

[avgvst-h]

Stoned ASF!!!

-All characters depicted are of age

-Sorta modernish AU

-ScaraxKazuha

------------------------------------

Kazuha wakes up from a weed coma. He was an avid smoker and never left his house without a blunt or two. He sat up, checking his phone.

He grunts as his phone reads 4 AM. He had plans with Scara before he passed the fuck out. He scans over his notifications and, of course, he had 98 texts and 13 missed calls from Scara.

Scara- Where are you?? 7:34

I've been waiting here for 30 fucking minutes.

???

Hello???

He reads all the missed texts instantly feeling guilty. He quickly texts back;

Kazuha- Hey I'm sorry I passed out. 3:29

U still up?

Scara quickly answered back.

Scara- I'm coming over.

Kazuha chokes at the suddenness, he swiftly ran around his room cleaning up ash, blunts, and dirty clothes. Then he sat in the front room, waiting for Scara's arrival. His legs bounced in uncertainty, checking his phone every couple of seconds.

Several knocks pounded on the door, Kazuha sighed anxiously and opened the door.

"Hey, I'm sorry about today I-" Kazuha got cut off.

"I was waiting there for HOURS! Don't bullshit me saying you were asleep."

"Genuinely, I was! I swear on the archons."

Scara's face scrunched up in irritation. Snow littered the ground behind him. Kazuha continued,

"Just come inside." Kazuha grabbed Scara's wrist and dragged him inside, shutting the door behind them. Kazuha sat on the couch as did Scara.

"It smells like weed in here," Scara announced

Kazuha nods, unsure of what to say.

"Do you... Have any on you?" Scara stammered, a pink tint glowing on his face.

Kazuha smirks, "Of course I do." He chucklef, "Did you want to do some?" Kazuha was shocked, Scara usually avoided weed at any cost, standing at least 9 feet from him if he lit one up.

"Yeah, I just haven't before." Scara glanced at Kazuha, he smiled.

"Let's get more comfortable then," gently grabbing Scara's hand and guiding him to his bedroom.

Kazuha mutes a light into a comfortable brightness and grabs a few blankets and a blunt. Scara sat on Kazuhas bed, slightly ecstatic. Kazuha sat next to Scara, admiring him.

"You look tense," Kazuha proclaimed, "Are you sure you want to smoke?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Turning to face Kazuha, instantly flushing at Kazuhas eyes, His eyes dragged up and down Scaras petite figure. Scara silently shuddered.

Kazuha scooted closer to Scara, "I'll teach you how to do it properly." He sticks the blunt in his mouth, lighting it.

"So, You'll just breath in and hold it," He took a rip off the blunt breathing it in, "then blow out." he says as smoke pours out his mouth, handing the blunt to Scara.

"Your turn." Kazuha smiles sweetly.

Scara does exactly as he says, sucking in then blowing it out except he instantly starts coughing, Kazuha starts laughing.

"How the (cough) fuck did you do (cough cough) that?" He exclaims.

After Scaras's coughing fit they both take quite a few rips off it, both aggressively high.

"I saw this thing on TikTok, do you want to try it?" Kazuha asks

"What is it?" Scara sits up from his previously laying down position. Kazuha takes a rip off the blunt, holding it in his mouth. Kazuha leans forward and Scara and his lips intertwine.

Scara jumps slightly only before melting into the kiss. Kazuha pulls away only to blow the smoke inside Scaras lips.

"How was that?" Kazuha chuckles.

Scara still shocked just stared into Kazuhas ruby eyes. His cheeks probably mirrored that same color.

Scara didn't answer, he just leaned in, sloppily smashing their lips together. Kazuha pushes Scara over onto the bed and h straddles on top of him never disconnecting from the rough and messy kiss. Scara latches onto Kazuhas waist earning a whine from him. Kazuha suddenly sticks his tongue into Scara's mouth earning a surprised choke from him.

Kazuha reaches under Scara's shirt, rubbing his thumb over his nipple. Scara pulled away to whimper. Kazuha smiles at the reaction. He pulled Scara's shirt up, his head hidden by the fabric. Kazuha plants kisses up and down his chest. Scara squirms underneath him. Kazuha feels Scara's dick under him twitch as he licks the pink bud, swirling his tongue around it. Scare breathes heavily, filled with lust and weed.

Kazuha uses his other hand to feel Scara's bulge. Scara gasps, he grabs Kazuhas hand. Kazuha lifts his head from under Scaras shirt.

"Is everything okay?" Kazuha stops everything.

"Sorry, I was just surprised." Scaras face grew even redder than before.

"It's okay, I'll be gentle." Kazuha plants a soft kiss on Scara's abused lips, then he lifts his shirt over his head and slides his pants off. Scara stops Kazuha before taking his boxers off.

"Wait, I want to do it. Lean back" Scara announced. Kazuha repositioned so his back leans up against the headboard, Scara climbs into Kazuhas lap. Kazuha stares at Scaras figure, he imagined his abdomen covered in hickeys and love bites. That itself made him stiffen up.

Kazuha lifts his shirt over his head throwing it across the room, and instantly clutching Scaras waist. Scara connects their lips, roughly making out. Kazuha grabs ahold of Scara's bottom lip with his teeth, instantly linking back into the kiss. As they kiss, saliva spills out of their mouths. Scara rubs up against Kazuha moaning into the kiss.

Scara disconnected the kiss sliding down to Kazuha's crotch. He pulls his pants off. His cock bounces up as his boxers get pulled off. Scara looks at the girth, shocked by the size. Scara spits on his hand instantly latching on to his member. Kazuha shudders and moans at his cold hands on his cock as he digs his nails into Scara's shoulder. Scara plants kissing along the girth reaching the top and swirling his tongue around it, letting go of his grip on the girth and then grabbing onto Kazuhas hips.

He then wraps his lips around the member. Scara gradually bobs his head up and down, Kazuha stares at the scene happening below him never being more aroused at this very moment. Suddenly he starts to speed up, Kazuhas eyes widen at the sudden shift of speed. Kazuha starts panting and whimpering suddenly gripping Scara's hair. Scara chokes on the girth as Kazuha bucks his hips his size going further down his throat. Kazuha digs his nails into Scara's shoulder, just about breaking skin. Scara grunts which vibrated the base of his cock. Kazuha moaned loudly making Scara smile around his member. Scara continues bobbing his head up and down on the girth even faster than before,

"S-Scara I'm gonna come!" Kazuha announced loudly. Scara quickly stopped and pulled off his cock with a satisfying pop noise.

"What? Why'd you stop?" Kazuha asked panicked.

"I'm not done." He simply said, pulling his boxers off. Kazuha marveled at Scaras lower half, His cock twitched slightly almost cumming at the sight. Scara hovered over kazuhas girth, He slowly dropped down on the size only halfway. Scara huffed and moaned. Kazuha grabbed a hold of Scaras hips

"Holy shit," Kazuha mutters, breathing heavily. Scara's dick twitched at the tone of his voice. He slams down on his girth. Kazuha groans digging his nails into his hips, making crescent contours in the flesh. Scara pants, smirking at Kazuha. He grabbed onto Kazuhas's waist, bracing himself to raise himself to the head and slam back down and repeating at the same pace. Kazuha pulls Scara down and starts gently kissing him on the lips, the corner of the mouth, his jaw, then his neck. He plants kisses and starts sucking, leaving red spots. Scara moans, jumping on his cock faster. Kazuha moaned against Scara's neck. Scara began getting faster.

"Kazuha, I-I'm close." Scara breathed backing away from Kazuhas lips.

"mmMH Me too- AH" Kazuha wailed. He grabbed Scara's member, jerking it off quickly.

"AaH!" Scara gasped at the stimulation getting lost with lust, his eyes rolling up and head falling back. Cum squirted all over Kazuhas chest and face Scara moaned loudly, whining while riding out the orgasm. He bounced on his dick faster. Kazuha orgasmed, filling Scara's ass up with semen. Scara ground on Kazuhas dick for a second before falling over onto Kazuha. He rubbed Scara's bleeding hips from his fingernails, kissing his bruised neck.

Scara spoke, "Its better when high."

"I fully agree," Kazuha continued, "Let's go run a bath?"

[thegirlandthewardrobe]

Church by K.G. Reuss

~4/5⭐

Ummm......I'm not quite sure how to feel after reading this book???? There were times the story had me raging and ready to start a war, and other times I was swooning and giggling like a little school girl????? With all that being said, I could NOT put this book down! Something about it was just sooo addicting, and I was constantly left wondering what was going to happen next😩 Long story short, Sirena(our FMC) goes through some pretty traumatic things as a child(i.e. her best friend tries to KILL her and leaves her for dead), and the PTSD leaves her mute. Enter an over religious step-dad who believes the best way to help her heal is to ship her off to an equally religious "boarding school", with questionable practices, and here we are. There Sirena meets the so called "bad guys", who have also been shipped off to deal with their own trauma and mental illnesses. If I'm being honest, I really couldn't tell the difference between any of the guys, with the exception of maybe Ashes? They all give off the same scary, damaged, alpha-male vibes, and to be honest they worked my last nerve for the majority of the story(hence why I docked a⭐). Seth(the former bff/attempted murder) was significantly more interesting. It should also be noted that this book has just about every trigger known to man, so if that's not your thing, STAY CLEAR. I don't even have any triggers and some of the things mentioned in the book(mainly from our MMCs) gave me the ICK. But then again, I still couldn't put this book down. So maybe don't listen to me👀 or do. I don't even know anymore.

As Always,

Happy Reading❤️

[blinkbones]

Title: Human Acts/Celui qui revient Author: Han Kang Translators: Jeong Eun-Jin, Jacques Batilliot "Aren't you the guy with the NO BUYING NEW BOOKS UNTIL THE TBR IS DEAD guy? Shouldn't you be unable to read very recent book? This clearly says 2024 on the cover."

And don't you want to shut the fuck up?

There's a possibility that I entered the bookshop, intending to buy books as gifts, and that I bought a lot of gifts (for myself). Maybe I'll allow myself to buy stuff again. Like a lunatic. (One day, my TBR will surely kill me in a freak accident. A particularly heavy tome will crack my skull like an egg. A worthy way to go.)

Han Kang, then. Wee, hoo! South Korea's first step into my reading activities. I was familiar with her name because of The Vegetarian, so when I saw that she had won a Nobel for this one, I thought, why not?

Human Acts examines the Gwangju Uprising of 1980 -- a popular movement vying for democracy, which got repressed into a bloody pulp -- through the event of the killing of a child ; through the eyes of the people who lived near him around the time of his death ; through much later-on events and happenings that deal with flesh, blood, pain, oppression ; through the inevitability of flesh. It's a poetic book, a rather short book.

It made me sick at several points. I am very wimpy when it comes to gore -- I feel it in my own flesh, I can't take it very well (completely unrelated: it fascinates and attracts me). This book is, in a way, about the absurd and unrelenting pain a body and mind can endure. There are several depictions of torture. I wouldn't even call them very graphic -- they're even a little bit muted. But torture is inherently jarring, the notion of such a violence having been real, having been wanted, and meticulously performed, made me need to take a few seconds to let the waves of nausea recede. I mean, that or I was just sick. I was also just sick at the time. I also got fully unrelated waves of nausea because I was sick.

This book is sticky with blood. Every other page, you will be made intimate with the nastiness of a human body made of flesh. It literally opens on the dealings of the temporary morgue set up after the initial massacre. Bodies rot, flesh decays, souls watch it turn into putrid goo and ashes. This was my favorite part. It's beautiful and interesting.

Petit aparté en français -- le texte traduit m'a vraiment beaucoup posé question. J'ai buté sur plusieurs points de confusion. Au départ, j'ai accusé mon propre manque de compréhension, notamment dans le deuxième chapitre. Mais pourquoi, si ce chapitre est sensé être du point de vue d'un des deux garçons, pourquoi est-ce qu'il est genré au féminin ? Et pourquoi seulement une partie du temps, et de manière irrégulière ? Pendant ma lecture, je n'ai jamais totalement compris qui parlait dans ce deuxième chapitre, pourtant un de mes préférés. Il y a aussi le cas des irrégularités comme le nom d'Unsuk, qui est épelé différemment vers la fin, et enfin, celui de la phrase marquante du roman ; "Ne les laissez plus humilier mon frère", qui sonne si plat, si plaplat, en français, alors que je l'imagine d'une portée différente dans le texte d'origine.

Loin de moi dans l'idée de juger du travail effectué -- c'est leur expertise, que je ne partage pas. Mais alors pourquoi, pourquoi ? Bon. Je n'aurai pas la réponse aujourd'hui.

[dfroza]

“Blessed are those who understand what is afoot and stay on My narrow path.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 11th chapter of the book of Matthew:

With that, Jesus finished instructing His disciples, and He went on to preach and teach in the towns of Galilee. John, meanwhile, was still in prison. But stories about the Anointed One’s teachings and healing reached him.

So John sent his followers to question Jesus.

John’s Followers: Are You the One we have been expecting as Savior for so long? Are You the One Scripture promised would come? Or should we expect someone else?

Jesus: Go back and tell John the things you have heard and the things you have seen. Tell him you have seen the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the lepers cured, the deaf hear, the dead raised, and the good news preached to the poor. Blessed are those who understand what is afoot and stay on My narrow path.

John’s disciples left, and Jesus began to speak to a crowd about John.

Jesus: What did you go into the desert to see? Did you expect to see a reed blowing around in the wind? No? Were you expecting to see a man dressed in the finest silks? No, of course not—you find silk in the sitting rooms of palaces and mansions, not in the middle of the wilderness. So what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes. Yes, a prophet and more than a prophet. When you saw John, you saw the one whom the prophet Malachi envisioned when he said,

I will send My messenger ahead of You,

and he will prepare the way for You.

This is the truth: no one who has ever been born to a woman is greater than John the Baptist. And yet the most insignificant person in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. All of the prophets of old, all of the law—that was all prophecy leading up to the coming of John. Now, that sort of prepares us for this very point, right here and now. When John the Baptist came, the kingdom of heaven began to break in upon us, and those in power are trying to clamp down on it—why do you think John is in jail? If only you could see it—John is the Elijah, the prophet we were promised would come and prepare the way. He who has ears for the truth, let him hear.

What is this generation like? You are like children sitting in the marketplace and calling out, “When we played the flute, you did not dance; and when we sang a dirge, you did not mourn.” What I mean is this: When John came, he dressed in the clothes of a prophet, and he did not eat and drink like others but lived on honey and wild locusts. And people wondered if he was crazy, if he had been possessed by a demon. Then the Son of Man appeared—He didn’t fast, as John had, but ate with sinners and drank wine. And the people said, “This man is a glutton! He’s a drunk! And He hangs around with tax collectors and sinners, to boot.” Well, Wisdom will be vindicated by her actions—not by your opinions.

Then Jesus began to preach about the towns He’d visited. He’d performed some of His most fantastic miracles in places like Chorazin and Bethsaida, but still the people in those places hadn’t turned to God.

Jesus: Woe to you, Chorazin! And woe to you, Bethsaida! Had I gone to Tyre and Sidon and performed miracles there, they would have repented immediately, taking on sackcloth and ashes. But I tell you this: the people from Tyre and Sidon will fare better on the day of judgment than you will. And Capernaum! Do you think you will reign exalted in heaven? No, you’ll rot in hell. Had I gone to Sodom and worked miracles there, the people would have repented, and Sodom would still be standing, thriving, bustling. Well, you know what happened to Sodom. But know this—the people from Sodom will fare better on the day of judgment than you will.

And then Jesus began to pray:

Jesus: I praise You, Father—Lord of heaven and earth. You have revealed Your truths to the lowly and the ignorant, the children and the crippled, the lame and the mute. You have hidden wisdom from those who pride themselves on being so wise and learned. You did this, simply, because it pleased You. The Father has handed over everything to My care. No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son—and those to whom the Son wishes to reveal the Father. Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Put My yoke upon your shoulders—it might appear heavy at first, but it is perfectly fitted to your curves. Learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble of heart. When you are yoked to Me, your weary souls will find rest. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 11 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Quite frankly, John is perplexed. He has been awaiting the Anointed, but he believes that person will be a great political ruler, a king, or a military hero. Jesus seems to be all about healing people and insisting that the poor and the meek are blessed.

Today’s paired reading from the First Testament is the 5th chapter of the book of Amos:

Hear this message I sing about you;

it is my dirge for you, people of Israel:

The virgin Israel has fallen,

fallen never to rise again;

Forsaken in her land, forgotten where she lies.

No one is there to help her rise again.

So says the Eternal Lord:

Eternal One: The city that sent out a thousand soldiers

will see only a hundred of them survive;

And the town that sent out a hundred

will see only ten remain for the house of Israel.

So says the Eternal to Israel:

Eternal One: Turn back to Me and you will live. There is still time.

But don’t hang your hopes on Bethel,

Or travel to Gilgal or Beersheba or any other sanctuary expecting help,

because Gilgal will surely be sent into exile,

And the shrine at Bethel will come to nothing.

Turn back to the Eternal One, and you will live.

If you don’t, He will flame up like fire against the house of Joseph,

Burn it to the ground, and no one in Bethel will be able to put it out.

Listen, you who distort justice and make it taste bitter

and trample righteousness to the ground.

The One who set the Pleiades and Orion in the heavens,

who turns night’s shadow into morning and darkens the day with night,

Who calls forth the waters of the sea to pour down rain and flood the earth—

the Eternal One is His name,

Who destroys the mighty in a flash,

and crashes against the fortress with the force of a tidal wave.

Those of you who hold power now hate the one who judges in the courts at the gate

and detest anybody who speaks the truth.

So because you have climbed to success on the backs of the poor

and your wealth comes from taxes you impose on their harvests,

You may well build mansions of expensively-cut stones,

but you’ll never occupy them.

You may plant beautiful vineyards,

but you’ll never enjoy their delicious wine.

For I know the depth of evil that you’ve done,

and I see the gravity of your sins:

You persecute those who do the right thing, you take bribes,

and you push the poor to one side in the courts at the city gates instead of helping them.

So the wise may decide to keep quiet just then,

because truly, it is an evil time.

Search for good and not for evil

so that you may live;

That way the Eternal God, the Commander of heavenly armies, will be at your side,

as you yourselves have even said.

Hate what is evil, and love all that is good;

apply His laws justly in the courts at the city gates,

And it may be that the Eternal God, the Commander of heavenly armies,

will have mercy on those descendants of Joseph who survived.

So says the Eternal God, Commander of heavenly armies, the Lord of all:

Eternal One: Get ready to hear wailing from every street,

people crying out in pain and sorrow along every highway.

The farmers will be pulled away from their fields to mourn,

and those who are trained to grieve will wail with them.

In every vineyard, there will be mourning

because I will pass through the middle of you.

Says the Eternal One.

How horrible for you who look forward to the day of the Eternal One!

Why do you want it to come?

For you, its arrival will mean darkness, not light.

It will be as if you were to escape from a lion

only to run headlong into a bear,

As if you ran into a house to hide, leaned against the wall to rest,

and a poisonous snake latched onto your hand.

Will not the day of the Eternal One be darkness instead of light,

pitch black, without even a hint of brightness?

Eternal One: I hate—I totally reject—your religious ceremonies

and have nothing to do with your solemn gatherings.

You can offer Me whole burnt offerings and grain offerings,

but I will not accept them.

You can sacrifice your finest, fattest young animals as a peace offering,

but I will not even look up.

And stop making that music for Me—it’s just noise.

I will not listen to the melodies you play on the harp.

Here’s what I want: Let justice thunder down like a waterfall;

let righteousness flow like a mighty river that never runs dry.

Did you offer Me sacrifices or give Me offerings during the 40 years I guided you in the wilderness, people of Israel? But now you place your trust in false gods; you pray to the idols Sikkuth (your king) and Kiyyun (the star god), those detestable images that you’ve made for yourselves. Because of your worship offered to man-made images, you must go away—beyond Damascus.

So says the Eternal God, the Commander of heavenly armies.

The Book of Amos, Chapter 5 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

Amos looks into the future to a day when God’s judgment will fall on His people. But judgment and destruction are not intended to be the end. The last word belongs to God, and it is a word of mercy on His covenant people. Sin, of course, must be dealt with; it must be punished decisively. But in God’s grace, some will survive the onslaught. These survivors the prophets call “the remnant.” They are the ones God destines to be restored and to carry on His name. Centuries later, the remnant will refound Israel and extend the covenant blessings to every family on the face of the earth.

•

Most people think they are OK with God; it’s the other fellow who should be worried. Some apparently think that they will fare well in the day of the Eternal One, a day when God will judge sin and defeat His enemies. Ironically, God’s own people have become His enemies. So Amos warns that the day of the Eternal One will bring a big surprise to those who think they are in good standing with God. It will be a day of darkness, not light—a day of gloom from which there will be no escape.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, january 17 of 2024 with a paired chapter from each Testament (the First & the New) of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about divine focus:

Sin is insanity. It is preferring finite joy to infinite joy, creatures to the Creator, an unhappy, Godless self to a happy, God-filled self. Only God can save us from this disease.” - P. Kreeft

====

"I determined not to know any thing ... apart from Yeshua the Messiah and him crucified" (1 Cor. 2:2). This mode of "not knowing apart" bespeaks a radical intimacy that mediates and transforms all other thought within you. It is the axiom of spiritual existence, the matter of "first importance," the heart of everything: to know the healing love of Messiah and the power of his resurrection on your behalf (Phil. 3:10). When you accept the Divine Presence in Yeshua, everything becomes simple, unified, and focused. Choosing to know everything "through" Yeshua moves you to the center of reality - where the present moment is lit up with the glorious light of the eternal... You begin to see past the distractions of this world - "for God is not in the earth, wind or fire" (1 Ki. 19:11-12) - beyond the ups and downs of your life, the hunger and thirst of your heart, past all your fears, desires, and sorrows, to hear the "still small voice" (i.e., kol demamah dakkah: קוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה), to enter wonderful peace, the place of God (i.e., ha'makom: הַמָּקוֹם) which is your true home, the habitation of our all-loving Father who calls you by name...

"To all who overcome I will give a bright stone..." (Rev. 2:17). But what do you overcome if not unbelief, the fear that the miracle is not for you, the terror that you are not welcome in the most significant sense of reality? Many forfeit the highest for the sake of lesser things. We overcome despair by means of faith - by trusting in the One who gives us the victory (1 Cor. 15:57; 1 John 5:4-5). There is no "overcoming" apart from the love of God, who takes us up into his life and gives us his triumph over sin and death. Glory belongs to the Lord...

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Psalm 104:31 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm104-31-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm104-31-lesson.pdf

1.16.24 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

בְּכׇל־דְּרָכֶ֥יךָ דָעֵ֑הוּ וְ֝ה֗וּא יְיַשֵּׁ֥ר אֹֽרְחֹתֶֽיךָ׃

In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He will make your paths smooth.

b'-KOL d'-ra-KHE-kha da-E-hu, v'-hu y'-ya-SHEIR o-r'-kho-TE-kha

Proverbs 3:6

King Solomon charges us to acknowledge God in all of our ways. The literal meaning of the Hebrew word, translated here as acknowledge, is “know.” Meaning, “In all your ways know Him.” This is the most striking word in this verse. The verse does not say “In all your ways remember Him.” It does not say, “In all your ways think of Him.” If the lesson of this verse was simply that being aware of God keeps one on the straight path, the verb used would not have been “know.”

It is also worth noting that the verse does not say, “At all times know Him,” or “Know Him all of your days.” If the point of the verse is that we should think about God at all times, why does it tie knowledge of Him to behavior – “all your ways” – rather than time?

[“Knowing” in the Bible]

The Hebrew verb da – “know” – used here, means much more than the mere knowledge of an idea. For example, this verb is used in the Bible as a euphemism for intimate sexual relations.

Now Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived and bore Cain, and said, “I have acquired a man from the Lord.” – Genesis 4:1

Now the young woman was very beautiful to behold, a virgin; no man had known her. – Genesis 24:16

The reason for this euphemism is that the Hebrew verb da – “know” – implies integration of a concept into the self, rather than mere intellectual awareness. In other words, just as a man and woman are bonded together in intimacy, an idea that is truly known is integrated and bonded to the personality of the person who knows it. The idea that is known becomes a part of the person himself.

[Knowing God]

With this more precise understanding of the Biblical meaning of the Hebrew word da – “know”, we can better understand what the Bible means when it speaks of knowledge of God.

Jeremiah 22 records a prophecy of rebuke to Jehoiakim, king of Judah. Jeremiah calls out Jehoiakim for his unethical leadership and abuse of power. Jeremiah opens his rebuke with a call to the king to rule ethically:

Hear the word of the Lord, O king of Judah, you who sit on the throne of David, you and your servants and your people who enter these gates! Thus says the Lord: “Execute judgment and righteousness, and deliver the plundered out of the hand of the oppressor. Do no wrong and do no violence to the stranger, the fatherless, or the widow, nor shed innocent blood in this place. – Jeremiah 22:2-3

Jeremiah goes on to warn Jehoiakim that his kingdom will be destroyed if he does not mend his ways. Then, he invokes a contrast with the righteous reign of his father King Josiah:

Your father ate and drank and upheld justice and righteousness, did he not? And then it went well for him. He judged the case of the poor and needy. And then it went well for him. Isn’t this what it means to know Me? – Jeremiah 22:15-16

“Isn’t this what it means to know Me?” In this rhetorical statement, God Himself (through Jeremiah) explicitly states that to know Him is to behave according to the principles of justice and righteousness. This same idea is expressed in another passage in Jeremiah.

Let the one who boasts, boast in this: that he understands and knows me, for I am the Lord who acts with gracious love, justice, and righteousness in the land. I delight in these things,” declares the Lord. – Jeremiah 9:24

To sum up, knowledge of God is not an intellectual awareness of God. It is not faith in the common understanding of the word. It is not even a personal feeling of God’s presence in our lives. Knowledge of God, biblically speaking, is a consciousness of God that is so deep-seated and integrated into ourselves that it expresses itself in ethical, altruistic, and righteous behavior.

Look again at the passage from Jeremiah 22. God does not say that knowledge of God leads to ethical behavior. He says that knowledge of God is ethical behavior. In other words, if someone claims to know God but their behavior is not righteous, we may say that they have faith in God. We may say that they are aware of God. But we can not say that such a person knows God.

Now we can fully understand our verse, “In all your ways know Him, and He will straighten your paths.”

To know God is to be intimately bonded with the idea of God. Like the marriage of a man and a woman, this knowledge transforms one’s identity and dictates behavior.

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

January 17, 2024

A No-Name Sandwich

“And they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach unto heaven; and let us make us a name.” (Genesis 11:4)

According to Genesis, people after the Flood built the Tower of Babel to make themselves a name. This theme runs through the Scriptures and our lives. We sinners exalt our own names. We want credit! This self-centeredness might drive us to outpace others in a career or to offer words that make us look wise. But at Babel, they took this desire to its extreme by collaborating on a monument of self-exaltation.

One snag with self-made names is that they rob God of the glory He deserves. After all, the Lord gave us any knowledge, intellectual ability, or physical prowess we may have. It is also idolatry since it implies we believe we can save ourselves. “Thus saith the LORD; Cursed be the man that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm, and whose heart departeth from the LORD” (Jeremiah 17:5).

The brief account of Babel in Genesis 11 is sandwiched between “name” passages. Genesis 10 names Noah’s major descendants, and Genesis 11:10-28 names the generations from Shem to Abram. In contrast, God chose not to honor the names of the wicked Babel builders. In other words, even the literary structure in Genesis emphasizes the futility of trying to make a name for oneself.

What should we then do? “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up” (James 4:10). “So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen” (Matthew 20:16). Magnify the Lord’s great name and receive in the end “a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that receiveth it” (Revelation 2:17). BDT

[iamhomewardbound]

8.28.23

TW - death, graphic descriptions, depression

My Dad died last May.

He died at 3:10 PM on a Wednesday afternoon after a lifelong battle with alcoholism. He died before I turned thirty, before he could walk me down the aisle, before he could meet my future children.

On a late Sunday afternoon I drove home because he was in the hospital again. My mom said they had mentioned that he may have six months to live. Huh? I don't know how I drove for over 3 hours after hearing that. Over the course of the next eleven days, his prognosis went from months to weeks, and from weeks to days.

And on the eleventh day, we sat around him, exhausted beyond words after days and nights of exasperated caretaking that spiraled into infinity. I cannot physically bring myself to write what we experienced, but just know when you liver and kidneys fail simultaneously, ammonia builds up in the body and pretty much makes you go insane. So the parent you love with all your heart is writhing, bucking and tearing at their own skin as their body succumbs to the end stages. They are hallucinating and angry. They are awake all hours of the night and asleep all hours of the day. They are diapered and spoon fed. They are helpless.

As we sat around him on the 11th day, his breathing began to labor. I looked up from the newspaper I was reading and suddenly it was time. We gathered (or floated? I don't even know how I got there) around him and I took his hand in mine. It was oddly lukewarm and slightly rigid. I didn't think anything of it at the time, in fact I'm not sure I was capable of coherent thought at all. His big giant hands that held me as a child, that would rustle my hair and envelope me in massive hugs. Those giant hands. How, Dad, how?

His wrist pressed against mine, and I realized couldn't feel a pulse. His breathing paused for longer than normal. I put my two fingers up under his jawline and suddenly he let out, what I did not know at the time, the very last gasp of air from his lungs. I was so startled I laughed. Not sure why I did. Then suddenly our family nurse was there and my mom told her solemnly that he seemed to have stopped breathing. Seconds, minutes, hours, maybe even days passed by, and then she put her fingers on his neck to check his pulse, and then some words came out of her mouth that indicated he was dead but there was that ringing sound in my ears. My mom and sister erupted into animalistic sobs, but the ringing sound™ got louder, louder and louder like in the movies. All other sound is muted. There is nothing, only ringing.

Somehow I watched my Dad get put on a stretcher and loaded into a hearse. They zipped the black bag up around his face and I wanted to cry out, "STOP, you're suffocating him!!!"

But it was me that couldn't breathe. I was the one who was suffocating. I couldn't breathe, and I wouldn't be able to really breathe for the next several months. Maybe even the rest of my life.

It's been a little over a year. A year of the core part of my being collapsing into itself and rotting into the diseased seas of despair and depression. You thought you were sad? You thought you were really fucking sad?? Try losing a parent under highly traumatic circumstances and your lowest moments will feel like a goddamned vacation compared to this.

The worst feeling of all is this is year 1/X; 1 of X.

X being a lifetime.

The mortuary called us on Father's Day to let us know my Dad's ashes were ready to be picked up. You know, cause Father's Day clearly was the best day to do this (sarcasm).

Something they don't tell you about ashes is that there's bits of calcified bone in it. So, if you move it, rebottle it, or shake it, it goes klink-tink. It is also a beige, almost skin-like color, not what I would have expected, and kind of sombering.

And so this is my life now. Consumed forever by the sudden, highly traumatic death of my father. I continue my existence pretending to seem like I'm okay when I've been dealt probably the craziest fucking blow I could have never forseen coming.

I can't vocalize the absolute horror and pain I've had to see and go through. I just can't.

Hug your parents. Hug your Dad. forgive them. Go visit them.

I would give up all my earthly possessions just to be wrapped in a big bear hug from my Dad, but I will never again in my life get that privilege. Just writing those words out into a sentence is incomprehensible.

You don't even know the magnitude of knowing never again in your life will you see, hear, or touch someone you love. These words shift continents and collapse black holes. They pause time and halt gravity.

So, I urge you to you go tell your parents you love them, and give them as many hugs as you still can. Please.

For me, if anything.

[yourtypicalmillennial]

It's been almost a year since the last time I posted my journal here. And the same old story will be written again here. My crying and heartbroken story will fill my Tumblr again. No, I don't go back to him. Only few pieces of aching feelings are left. I just need to get rid of them before it gets bigger and bigger.

Around May this year, I found out that he has been back from his Twitter hiatus. I didn't notice that he was there since April because I had muted him. I don't unfollow him for a childish reason. I don't want to be the first to unfollow because I might look like a coward trying to avoid the past.

I was using my Twitter second account to scroll through tweets quoting a tweet from a popular selebtweet. And I happened to see him quoting it using a screenshot of someone sending him "I LOVE YOU!" text through Twitter DM. I, in fact, had no idea whether it was a screenshot from his own DM or he took it from the internet. Nevertheless, I couldn't resist the temptation of clicking on his profile. And there I was, my screen displayed his bio. It took me one or two minutes before I swiped up to see what he tweeted. This sudden indescribable feeling heated up my chest. It wasn't a kind of pain but it wasn't a good feeling either. At first I thought I was feeling unhappy because he has found someone and I haven't. But it wasn't. I wasn't hurt by the idea of him replacing me with someone else because one day I'll definitely replace him with someone better. Then again, I was stupid to finally decide to see how he has been getting on. Checking up on him was something I thought I wouldn't do, but I did it anyway.

He seems to get by. He lives well as he should. I don't hate him for living well. But there is this anxious feeling that I can't describe how and why. I don't hate it but I don't feel happy for him either. I used to hate knowing that he had no regret hurting me but today it doesn't hurt me as much. I don't regret that we were over. I wished him a terrible life. But now I wish I hadn't said that wish. He's a good guy with good intentions but life sometimes tricks us and turns us into a villain. And I believe he was in such a situation when he was with me. I've tried to understand him better from a good spotlight now.

I shared my wrong during our relationship. I wouldn't say I was without a sin. I might have hurt him in the part I didn't know and for the reasons I didn't know. I admit that I had made a lot of stupid decisions that damaged the relationship to some level. And I had been blaming myself too much for making him decide to break up with me. With which I felt I fed my insecurity for over a year. Calling myself stupid whenever I remember my mistakes was like my daily affirmation. Convincing myself I wasn't worth anyone's love did a damage to my self-esteem.

I'm glad I hold on to my religion. I don't persuade anyone to do what I do because different individuals have different way of operating their coping mechanism. I only have my God. I constantly practice the mindfulness my religion has taught me, like praying every day, seeing everything from a positive light, reading more books, holding myself back from giving nasty comment on social media and the like.

Sometimes the only thing I need is to be alone so I can be empty. And the emptiness can give me a chance to rewrite my story with a happy ending. Now that I forgive myself, I feel better about myself. And surprisingly, I can genuinely forgive him. I don't have to tell him this, do I? Not that he needs it badly.

I have been quite optimistic for a while. But I still don't get what, how, and why this weird feeling appears out of nowhere. I assume the ashes of my last negative feeling is still lingering. It's fine. I'm not in rush when cleaning up things. I'm taking my time scraping out that weird feeling.