#Words: 1647

[pink-tk-a-latte]

The fingerprint indents on Bernini’s sculpture make me insane and it’s not for the reasons you may imagine

[pitchsidestories]

birds of a feather II Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

masterlist I word count: 1647

a/n: dear readers, the inspiration for the oneshot was this request here, we hope that we did the great idea justice.

warnings: contains coach abuse through a parental figure

“Come on move over, Viv!”, Jonas yelled before pushing Vivianne stronger than it would have been necessary.

Watching this scene unfold from the bench brought back memories which were engraved into your brain. But none of your teammates noticed your skin turn pale or the slight wobble of your underlip.

The harshness in your coaches’ voices and the physical aggressivity reminded you of your days in the youth team your stepfather had coached. Back in the day all you did was helplessly staying silent, eager to please, whatever he wanted from you to become what you wanted to be a professional footballer.

Unlike your child self the Dutch midfielder’s reaction wasn’t silence.

“What are you doing? You just said I should get ready!”, she shot back, visibly frustrated by his behaviour.

“You were too slow!”, the Swedish man replied angrily.

“You should have told me in time then! God!”, Vivianne shouted

Listening to their fight made you shrink a little bit more, every word they exchanged felt like a whiplash to you. Their sentences opened cuts you thought have long healed, but they turned out to be still open and you had a hard time to stay focused on the game in front of your eyes.

Flashes of the past returned to the forefront of your mind; you tried your best to ignore those, knowing fully well they would haunt you in your dreams tonight.

“Come on, guys, stop that nonsense.”, much to your relief the co-coach separated the two fighting parties.

“Can you believe that?!”, the forward asked you, sounding exasperated.

“Viv are you okay?!”, you whispered.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”, she assured you.

“Okay, good.”, you nodded. Although nothing was good. Not really, but you weren’t sure you could confide into her. You were still new to the team, and you didn’t want to bother her with things which laid in the past but had a way to resurface in the present.

After the game which resulted in a draw you were the last to be in the shower. Under the harsh waterjet you tried to scrub off what happened today, the skin turned already red, because of your strong rubbing against it.

“Hey, are you coming? You don’t want to miss the bus.”, Kim cleared her throat impatiently to get your attention.

“Yes, everyone is waiting for you.”, Leah added, standing right next to your team’s captain, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“I’m coming.”, you promised.

“Do you need help with anything?”, Lia asked concerned.

“No, I’m good, we can go.”, you waved her off while getting dressed, the clothes clinging to your skin and your hair was still wet when you left the changing room with your teammates.

You were quiet on your way back. You did not want to be that quiet. Everyone around you was talking and joking. But you just sat there, your thoughts spinning.

You barely even managed to say good bye to your teammates before going home.

Standing in front of the door of the small apartment, you could already hear your stepfathers voice.

He was yelling again.

For a moment you considered just leaving but then you thought better of it.

Carefully, you opened the door.

“Hi, I’m home.“, you announced yourself quietly.

Your stepdad immediately turned to you: “You played like shit today.“

You flinched as he stomped towards you: “But I…“

His hands wrapped around your upper arm. The sport bag dropped from your shoulder as he pushed you around in anger: “Whatever your coach said, he’s wrong! Remember who got you to where you are now?! Who coached you first and saw your potential!“

His face was so close to yours that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

You could not get yourself to meet his eyes.

“I’m tired… I just want to go to bed.“, you said calmly, to not risk upsetting him even more.

He continued, pushing you backwards repeatedly until your back hit the wall with full force: “You better remember that! And you better work your ass off at the next game. I refuse to let you embarrass me again!“

There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to shout how glad you were that he would never coach you again and how sorry you felt for the other kids. You wanted to scream that you owed him nothing, that you were the one who had built this career for yourself.

But you felt too drained to fight, so you just nodded and disappeared into your room without another word.

At training the next day, your stepfathers words reverberated in your head and you found yourself subconsciously pushing your body to its limit at every exercises.

This did not go unnoticed by your teammates.

“Woah, hey. Slow down, little one.“, Beth stopped you. She was smiling but there her eyebrows were knotted together in worry.

Steph appeared on your side as you caught your breath: “Yes, you don’t want to hurt yourself in training.“

“I won’t.“, you said plainly, hoping they would back off and would let you continue.

“Y/n…“, Beth started, the smile suddenly gone.

“Yes?“

“Relax a bit. This is almost as obsessive as Leah is with her training.“, she chuckled but you knew she was serious.

The blonde defender grimaced at her: “Excuse me?!“

Her voice went soft as she added: “But yes, something is off… Y/n, if you want to talk about it, you should know that we’re here for you.“

You could feel the tears well up in your eyes so you just shook your head.

“And if not to us, there’s also a psychologist here.“, Lia continued empathetically.

“It’s fine. Really. Just need to be better at the next game.”, you tried.to wave their worries off.

“You played like ten minutes. Not many players can make a difference in ten minutes.”, Katie argued.

“Yes, but it’s not good enough!”, you shouted, pushing the arm of the Irish woman which stretched out for a hug away.  

“Alright, calm down. Katie rolled her eyes annoyed at you, before turning her head to your other teammates who stood there equally clueless about your sudden emotional outbreak, sounds like she really does need to see our psychologist.”

You were close to shout at her, telling the older woman that she had no idea what was going on inside your brain, how unloving and dangerous your home felt. That family wasn’t always as perfect as the club painted it to be. But you decided to be quiet and continued to do your training.

It was after the next match day at home when Kim noticed that your stepdad was pushing you around.

” Girls, look.”, the captain nodded worried into your direction.

“We can’t just-“, Katie begun, already rolling up her sleeves, ready to fight against the taller man.

“Katie. He’s gone.”, Caitlin interrupted her girlfriend.

“Y/n?”, Kim was the first who was at your side, the rest of the team swiftly followed her.

“Kim? Katie?”, you blinked at them in surprise.

“Are you good? Is he bothering you.”, the Irish player wanted to know from you with deep concern in her voice.

“He’s my stepdad, he always acts like that.”, you looked down, ashamed that your home wasn’t as beautiful and wholesome as theirs.

“You know, I don’t think I like him an awful lot.”, Beth admitted.

“The next time he pushes you, I’ll push him back. Such an asshole!”, Katie cursed.

“No one’s pushing anyone here!”, Kim demanded in full captain mode. All she cared about was your well-being. The rest could be solved at a later stage.

“Right, and we need to get y/n out of this unhealthy situation at first.”, Lia added earnestly while brushing softly through your open hair with one hand to calm down her and your nerves.

“You really are the personification of Switzerland, Wally.”, Katie teased her, attempting to lighten up the depressive atmosphere.

“Someone has to find a reasonable solution.”, Lia defended herself.

“Maybe she could sleep at one of our places tonight until we have a plan?”, Kim suggested.

“Sounds good.”, Leah agreed seriously.

“She can stay with me and Viv.”, Beth announced, giving you a warm smile.

“Yes, she can stay as long as she wants. Plus, Myles will be so excited to see her again.”, the Dutch footballer grinned at the memory of their little puppy who loved you a lot.

“Thanks, girls.”, you mumbled gratefully.

Gently, Beth put her arm around your shoulders: “That’s what we’re here for.“

“Yes but all your families are so cute and then there’s mine… so I thought I never belonged.“, you admitted, not sure if you were making any sense.

Alessia shrugged, her gaze fixed on you: “Not everyone has a perfect family.“

“And family is not always blood-related.“, Beth added softly.

For a moment you were sure that you saw tears glistening in her blue eyes but you could not blame her. She had been through a lot.

“What do you mean?“, you asked.

“What Beth is trying to say is that we can be your family, y/n.“, Leah explained.

You looked up at her in surprise: “Really?“

“This is what this team is and always was.“, Kim nodded solemnly.

“A family…“, you said conclusively.

You looked at your teammates and were left speechless by the determination and empathy in their faces.

After years of suffering through the abuse in youth teams, your heart felt full with gratefulness and adoration for your teammates. But it simultaneously was also breaking for the children still having horrible coaches and being dismissed.

In that moment, you made a promise to yourself to make whatever team you would join a safe space and a family as well.

But for now, you were ready to let your guard down and let your Arsenal family take care of you.

[misspygmypie]

A One-ce Upon A Time Celebration

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x reader, Lando Norris x Baby Maebry, Max F x Maebry Charles and Oscar make an appearance :) Words: 1647 Request: By the lovely @landossainz "for meet and greet universe, can you write where it is Maebry's first birthday and they celebrate it with their families and friends." Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

On this special day the Norris family backyard was transformed into a fairytale wonderland. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the sound of joyful laughter as Lando and Y/N prepared for a celebration that would mark their daughter Maebry’s very first birthday. Their chosen theme, “One-ce Upon a Time,” promised to be a magical day and they had spared no costs in bringing their vision to life.

Lando was the epitome of Prince Charming in an outfit that looked like it had been plucked from a storybook. His ensemble featured a dazzling jacket with golden embroidery, a crisp white shirt and a smile that seemed to outshine everything. He moved with pride, his heart swelling each time he glanced at his little princess.

Y/N, ever the elegant queen, was dressed in a flowing pastel gown that shimmered with every step she took. The gown was adorned with delicate embroidery of magical creatures and enchanted forests and her crown of flowers added a touch of fairytale magic. She floated through the garden, her eyes twinkling with happiness as she greeted guests and ensured that everything was perfect for their daughter.

Maebry, the star of the day, was a vision of cuteness in her stunning gown of layered yellow tulle and blue ribbons, resembling her favorite Disney princess: Snow White. Her head was topped off with a giant red bow that made her look every bit the princess she was wanting to be. Her tiny red shoes twinkled with each step she took and her face was a picture of wonder as she explored her “One-ce Upon a Time” world.

Noah was dressed as a brave knight, his silver armor shining in the sun. He had a toy sword strapped to his side and his little chest puffed with pride as he took his role as protector of his baby sister very seriously. He was the guardian of the day, always nearby to defend Maebry from any imaginary dragons or mischievous trolls that might dare to disrupt the celebration.

The garden buzzed with excitement as guests arrived to experience the fairytale wonderland. There was a “Royal Tea Party” corner where children and adults alike could enjoy tiny pastries and sip from small teacups. A “Prince and Princess” dress-up area especially made the little ones happy, they were able to pick crowns and capes to join the royal festivities. Nearby, a “Storybook Reading” nook featured comfy cushions and enchanting tales read by Y/N’s close friends, adding an extra touch of magic to the day.

Lando’s parents, who had traveled to Monaco from Bristol to celebrate their granddaughter’s special day, were absolutely besotted with Maebry. Cisca had been knitting a blanket for Maebry since before she was born. Today she was thrilled to finally present it to her granddaughter, her eyes brimming with tears of joy.

“Look at this beautiful girl,” Cisca cooed as she wrapped the soft blanket around Maebry. “I’ve been working on this for so long and it’s finally here. You truly are our little princess, darling.”

Maebry giggled as she felt the softness of the blanket, reaching out to touch her grandmother’s face. Lando’s father Adam, with a proud grin, showed off pictures of Maebry to the other guests. “Have you seen these? She’s grown so much since the last time we saw her. And just look at her in that gown!”

A group of Lando’s Formula 1 friends arrived, among them Max Verstappen with his girlfriend Kelly and daughter Penelope, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo and also Charles Leclerc who immediately started gushing over Maebry.

“Wow, Lando, she’s absolutely adorable,” Charles said as he crouched down to Maebry’s level. “Are you sure she’s only one? She’s already got her own fan club.”

Maebry’s giggles grew louder as Charles made playful faces and he gently lifted her into his arms, rocking her back and forth. “This little princess is stealing all our hearts today.”

Oscar Piastri, Lando’s teammate, also made a grand entrance and immediately made a beeline for the “Prince and Princess” dress-up area, where he enthusiastically took a toy crown and cape, playfully pretending to be a prince alongside Maebry.

“Look at me, I’m the prince of this land,” Oscar declared with a grin, playfully spinning around. “And I’ve got the best little princess by my side!”

Lando, watching the interaction with a smile, was surprised at first. Oscar was usually more of a quiet type but everytime he was around Maebry he turned into the fun uncle instantly. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Lando said eventually to the other drivers, “it means a lot to us that you’re here to share this day with us. Maebry’s been looking forward to celebrating with all of you.”

Charles waved a hand dismissively. “It’s our pleasure! We wouldn’t miss it for the world. And you know, she’s already got us all wrapped around her little finger.”

“Absolutely,” Oscar added, adjusting his crown, “she’s the real star of the show. I think we might have to make her our team’s official mascot!”

Maebry’s birthday party was in full swing and one guest was extra excited. Max Fewtrell, Lando’s best friend and Maebry’s godfather, had been eagerly waiting for the perfect moment to present his special gift. Dressed in a perfect Flynn Ryder outfit Max smiled as he approached Lando and Y/N, who was holding Maebry.

“Hey, guys,” Max called out, catching Lando’s eye. “Can I borrow Maebry for a moment?”

Y/N, not hesitating at all, gently handed Maebry over to him. “Of course, she’s been looking forward to seeing her favorite uncle.”

Max cradled Maebry in his arms, his face lighting up and everyone could see how much he adored her. “I’ve got something really special for you, little one,” he directed at the girl just as he was sitting down at a table. “It’s not every day you turn one, after all.”

He reached into a large, pink gift bag and carefully pulled out a beautifully crafted storybook. The book was bound in rich, deep blue leather with gold lettering on the cover that read, “Maebry’s Magical Adventures.” It featured illustrations of mythical creatures, enchanted forests and twinkling stars.

“Look at this,” Max said, showing the book to Maebry as she gazed up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I had this made just for you.”

Max opened the book to reveal its contents, which were not only filled with personalized stories but also featured memories of Max and Maebry together. The first few pages contained charming tales of a brave little princess who looked remarkably like Maebry, embarking on magical quests and discovering new lands. Each story was accompanied by illustrations that included subtle nods to special moments Max and Maebry had shared so far, like their first meeting or a day spent playing in the park.

On the final page was a special dedication from Max, written in elegant script:

To Maebry, my dearest goddaughter,

May this book be the start of many magical adventures. Whenever you open it, remember that you are loved beyond measure and that there is always a world of wonder waiting for you. With all my love,

Max

Max’s voice softened as he continued, “I thought this would be a great way for you to have a little piece of magic with you every night as you grow up. And when you’re older you can read the stories together with your parents. It’ll be a special keepsake from your first birthday.”

Maebry’s eyes widened in delight as she traced the gold lettering on the cover. Lando and Y/N watched and Y/N couldn’t hold back the tears from forming in her eyes. “That’s an amazing gift, Max,” Lando said. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Max looked up at his best friend, his eyes shining with sincerity. “She’s my goddaughter, after all. I want her to have something magical to remember this day by and something she can cherish as she grows up. I’ve been showering her with gifts and little surprises since she was born and I’m not going to stop, ever, but I wanted this to be extra special.”

Y/N reached out and gave Max a heartfelt hug. “Thank you, Max. It’s perfect. Maebry will treasure it forever.”

Max carefully placed the book into Y/N’s hands and she held it close to Maebry. “I hope you love it as much as I loved picking it out for you,” he said softly, giving the girl a loving kiss on her cheek.

Maebry clapped her hands with joy, her eyes sparkling as she gazed at her new book but soon Max whisked her away to rejoin the birthday activities.

As the sun began to set Lando and Y/N took a moment to themselves. They watched as Maebry played with the other kids, her eyes sparkling with happiness. Lando’s gaze, however, was not just filled with pride, it was also tinged with just a touch of sadness.

“It’s hard to believe my little princess is already one,” Lando said softly. “It feels like just yesterday we were bringing her home from the hospital. Watching her grow up so fast… it’s both wonderful and a little heartbreaking.”

Y/N noticed the look in Lando’s eyes and gently took his hand. “I know,” she said, her voice soothing. “It’s incredible how quickly time passes. But look at her now, she’s so happy, surrounded by people who love her. We’ve made so many beautiful memories already and there are so many more to come.”

Lando nodded, his gaze returning to his daughter as she giggled. “You’re right. Today has been perfect and I’m so proud of her. I just wish time didn’t move so quickly.”

“We can’t stop time but we can cherish every moment,” Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder.

________

AN: Thank you so so much for requesting this @landossainz UGH I was so excited to write this, I may have gone a biiit over the top lol! I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya @sltwins

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hii this is not a request (unless u want it to be *wink wink*) just a horny thot i had that i needed to share lol but imagine frank’s girl having a rough day or being super down and frank saying “use me” to her while she’s on top and just passionate times ensue

a/n: okay but this turned out so mind-meltingly domestic and hot uuurrggghhhh

word count: 1647

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

Switching the light off, you stepped out of the small bathroom. Glancing over at Frank as he plugged his phone into the charger at the bedside table, he asked quietly, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Crossing the room, you shook your head, “no,” and he reached for you, tenderly pulling your frame towards him. Curling your arms around his head, you hugged his seated figure back, “I don’t wanna talk tonight because if I do then I’ll just cry a bunch and get a massive headache…” you ran your fingers through his short hair, scratching his scalp soothingly as you exhaled heavily, “I just wanna feel better.” 

As he tilted his head up to look at you, you only gazed at his gentle expression a moment before you leaned down and pressed your lips to his. 

The soft goodnight kiss soon grew and morphed into something more as your arms tangled around his neck and he instinctively pulled you into his lap. As his frame slowly began to sink down against the mattress, taking you with him for the ride, his warmth felt so good that you couldn’t help but melt down against him completely. 

When his fingers found the muscles along your spine and soothingly pressed down, a low groan escaped your lips and vibrated against the kiss as he continued to massage your back.   

Sighing moans seeped from your lungs as your hips instinctively rolled down against his. 

You knew each other so well at this point, that words weren’t always necessary in situations like this. He knew what the shiver down your spine meant, just as you knew what meaning lied behind his tongue when it lavishly danced against your own. 

When the flame had sparked into such a fierce fire that you were only moments away from ripping each other’s sleepwear off, a breathy prayer escaped Frank’s lips.

“Use me.”

You didn’t pull back, only hazily lingered in his warmth as you hummed, “huh?” your nose ghosting against his own. 

“I wanna help you, make you feel better,” his hands swooped up to the sides of your face and drew you back enough for his gaze to catch yours, “so, use me,” his words caused your eyes to flicker back at him, “what do you want, huh? Because you just say the word and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

A soft sigh flowed from your lips as you gazed down at him in adoration, “can you make me forget about everything? Turn my brain off… even just for a little while…”

“And how would you like me to do that, sweetheart?”

Offering him another roll of your hips, you breathed, “I think you already know,” and seized his lips once more. 

Your nightgown fluttered and rode up with his movements as his broad palms brushed up and down the curve of your frame, occasionally curling around your bottom and grazing his light touch over your underwear.  

Though suddenly, a breathy yelp tumbled out of you as Frank yanked you further up the bed, sculpting you till your thighs were planted on either side of his face. Curling his arms around your hovering hips, he firmly pulled them down. 

“O-oh…” a shaky sigh escaped your lips as his sloppy kisses soddened your covered core.

You reached out to the headboard for support as Frank’s sturdy nose nudged against your clit. Tightening his grasp on your hips, he gently began to move them down against his hot mouth till you slowly began to take over and grind down against his efforts. 

“Oh, fuck,” he soon groaned when he lifted you slightly off of him. His puffs of breath only fanned across your saliva-soaked underwear a moment before he yanked you off completely, “come here,” and flipped you around, readjusting himself so that he sat up against the headboard and had you slotted in between his thighs, your spine pressed up against his chest as he moulded you against him. Reaching down, he adjusted your legs, cracking you open and planting either one of your feet on the outer side of his knees. Casting his glance down over your shoulder, “ahh, look at that,” his warm touch travelled up your inner thigh before it found your panties, briefly tugging the clinging cotton up till the gusset dug deliciously into you. 

As he let the fabric spring back, all of his fingertips on that faintly balled-up fist swooped down to tickle you over the cotton, drawing feather-light circles that caused your frame to squirm from how good it felt. His lips nipped at the pulse thrumming on the side of your neck, even as he eventually ceased his caress with a playful tap against your puff. 

“Take them off,” he whispered in your ear as you felt him shift lightly behind you, craning over to the bedside table as you wiggled the pour panties down your legs. Fishing a bottle of lube out of the drawer, he then squeezed a dollop onto the pads of his fingers.

It wasn’t like you really needed it after all of his wonderful caresses, but a little added slickness never hurt no matter how ready you were, the only thing it ever managed to accomplish was increase your pleasure, and that was never something to deny yourself off, especially when it was just within arm’s reach.  

Your head tilted and your cheek smooshed against Frank’s chest as his fingers curled inside of you. His other curled around you as well, squeezing the softness of your tits through the thin material of your nightgown and nearly cradling you in the process as he slowly pumped two thick digits inside of you. 

“Oh, you’re so warm…” Frank’s deep voice rumbled softly behind you as his thumb stretched up to roll your clit. 

Tilting your chin, your lips parted as you gazed up at him. Curling your fingers around the nape of his neck, you drew him down enough to steal a kiss, his hot tongue swiftly sneaked out to join the party as you slowly turned your frame. 

Slipping his fingers out of your cunt, his touch stayed near your centre as he then lifted you up into his lap. Clawing needily at his dark boxers to free his cock, in a heartbeat you found yourself slowly sinking down upon it, his firm grip around you doing all of the work. 

“O-oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as he slowly eased you down, “I always kinda forget how fucking big it actually is until you put it in.”

Your grasp slid further up till you cupped each one of his scruffy cheeks, lowering your forehead to his as you trembly blew out short breaths of adjustment. 

“Well, I never forget just how incredible you feel,” one of his thumbs swirled over your skin as the rest of his digits dug into your flesh, leaving Frank-shaped imprints in the plush of your ass, “fucking amazing…”

You didn’t have to do a thing except let yourself sink into the sensation as Frank began to move you. His arms flexed around you as he slowly lifted you up, dragging your pussy over every little detail of him before he brought your back down, his brawny embrace practically cradled you as he gently bounced you in his lap. 

After your cunt had creamed all over his cock and he’d held you there in his arms a moment, just littering your face with his kisses, he then lowered you down to lay on the bed.

Propping both a pillow beneath your head as well as one beneath your hips, your legs curled over his bent ones as he dragged the bulbous tip of his dick through your puffy petals, “you are so beautiful,” parting them lavishly as he uttered, “my Y/n…” before he slowly slid back inside, “my love…” sinking down on top of you so that he became your entire reality, “I love you so much, you know that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, your legs curling up to hook around his back, “I love you too,” you felt your thighs begin to tremble on either side of him as he buried himself completely, “I love–, oh fuck…” as the length of him nuzzled impossibly deep within you, coherent words became awfully difficult to get out. 

He was so deep, you could feel him everywhere. And from the way that the tip of him kissed the deepest part of you with every euphoric roll of his hips, you were sure that if his comforting weight hadn’t been pressed so snugly against you, that you’d be able to glance down and spot a dull bulge form in your lower stomach with every single mind-melting thrust. 

But suddenly his intense and intoxicating movements eased and froze as he asked in a soft tone, “wow, wow, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, why did you stop?”

“Baby, you’re crying,” his thumb swiped over your misty cheek. 

“I am?” your brows furrowed fuzzily as you sniffled, “I didn’t realise, I’m sorry. I’m alright, I swear, you just feel so fucking good, I love you so much,” the words bubbled out of you like the tears that sprung from your eyes. 

“Oh, Y/n,” he gazed down at you as a gentle smile warmed his features, “you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, please just don’t stop, keep going, you’re so fucking deep.”

His face scrunched up in a heavenly expression as he rocked back into you, “I love you,” hovering right above you as he fucked you into oblivion, “I love you so much… I’m right here… you’re right here, with me… the day’s all done… just focus on this… focus on me… on how I feel… how you make me feel… nothing, and I mean nothing’s, gonna hurt you… I’ve got you… I’ll keep you safe… I’ll always keep you safe…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: He Came Home [Yandere Michael Myers x Reader]

Title: He Came Home [Yandere Michael Myers x Reader]

Synopsis: You're being stalked by the Boogeyman but no one believes you.

For Horrorfest request:

I'm so happy you write for Halloween omg 👀 can I request a stalker ish michael Myers, more yendere than I'm going to murder you brutally right away lol

Word Count: 1647

Notes: Yandere, stalking, death/killing (not reader); some graphic violence descriptions.

It’s someone playing a prank. People always do it around Halloween.

You shouldn’t make up stories using Michael Myers. It’s not funny. He really killed people, you know.

If you don’t have concrete evidence, we can’t do anything for you. It’s probably just some teen messing with you.. Keep your doors locked and call us if anything happens.

You’re being stalked by the Boogeyman and not a single person in your life, your whole damn town, believes you. And maybe there’s a reason for it, God knows that it wasn’t uncommon for people to pull pranks like this--to turn tragedy into mockery and entertainment.

Damn kids, and all that.

But it’s different now because it’s real and it’s happening to you. And you are not crazy or lying and this is not a prank. You’ve seen him more than once, a shadow at first, something you brushed off.

The next time, he was standing down the street, half hidden by a tree. But you saw him. And he saw you. And every muscle in your body had tensed before you whirled around and ran. It was a joke, a teenager with a morbid sense of humor, maybe one of your friends praying on your scaredy-cat tendencies. 

But then you saw him from your bedroom window, standing down below in the grass. 

And your kitchen window, behind the fluttering sheets you’d tacked up earlier in the day.

And you know, you just know, that one day he will be inside your house.

Coming for you.

--

No one believes you. But that doesn’t stop your friends from laughingly agreeing to have a sleepover to ease your worries, something none of you have done since you were teenagers. Only this time instead of sneaking booze from mom’s locked cabinet using the pilfered key and drinking until you saw stars, you were going to be stone-cold sober and sleeping with a knife.

If (when?) he came for you, you’d be ready. 

Glenn disappears first, after announcing that he’s heading out to the garage to grab a beer. Like he’s at some teenage kegger.

Your friends laugh when he doesn’t return--maybe he’s chugging them all and not saving any for the rest of us--but you start to tear up and Tina sighs and says she’ll go out to get them.

But Tina doesn’t come back, either.

The house is silent and it’s just you and Nancy, and Nancy is the sensible one. She won’t make jokes about what you say you’re experiencing, even if she’s keen to downplay it as a prank. She doesn’t dismiss Glenn and Tina not coming back as something silly. Instead, she locks the door to the garage and flicks off all the lights and grabs a baseball bat.

Don’t, you should say, don’t go looking for them. But you’re too afraid to look yourself and Nancy, Nancy is strong isn’t she? Strong and brave. She won’t do anything stupid. So she heads to the front door and tells you to lock it as soon as she leaves, then wait by the phone and call the cops if she isn’t back in a few minutes.

And you do, with fingers that fumble and sweat. The lock clicks hard and you run to the phone, hand trembling on the receiver so hard that you keep lifting it off and hearing little bursts of dial tone. 

You glance down at your watch, squinting in the dimness to see the time. It’s been a minute, maybe two. How long should you wait? Maybe Nancy was chewing them out, scolding them for scaring you. Yeah. She would do that. Then she’d make them come in and apologize, like she’d had to do before when they pushed your buttons too hard. 

This fantasy carries you through to the next minute, and the next, until the garage door bursts open, and you can hear the wood splintering and cracking, swiping away anything but an awful reality that sends your heart rate sky-high.

You should run, really, but it feels like your legs are stuck to the floor. Rooted like a tree, even though your hands are now shaking wildly. You dimly hear the dial tone and remember what you’re supposed to do, and your finger shoves itself into the rotary dial, twisting and twisting the local sheriff’s office--

Until the phone is ripped out of the wall like a piece of paper, and you turn around to see the real-life boogeyman standing in front of you. No longer far away and through glass, but flesh and blood, close enough to see, close enough to smell. 

Close enough that you can see the glint of a knife in his hand.

You can even see his eyes through the mask and meet his gaze, your own eyes wide with pinprick pupils, and his merely staring at you through the holes in this mask. You hear, softly enough, the sound of breathing; his or yours? 

A gasp is caught in your throat when he grabs your shirt and shoves you away from the ruined phone, hard enough to knock you off your feet. You land on the floor, but your legs no longer feel rooted, and you scramble to your feet and do the only thing you can do: run.

The ruined garage door is the path of least resistance, and you run through the doorway and grope for the railing but miss it. 

You trip down the stairs, landing on the concrete hard enough to make your palms sting and even bleed, but--no, that’s not your blood. That’s not your blood at all. The blood on your palm is thick and wet and when you look up, you see Nancy’s corpse sprawled out on the ground, face down, stab wounds oozing from her back. Tina and Glenn are behind her, both bleeding heavily from the chest. Tina’s red chest heaves and maybe her eyes look at you, but you can’t tell if she actually sees you.

“Oh,” you say, voice suddenly unrecognizable to your own ears. “Oh.”

And there’s a shadow above you, the shadow of shadows, and you don’t even have time to turn around as his hand grips the back of your shirt and pulls you backward. 

Words flash through you--I’m going to die--before there’s a dull awful pain at the back of your head (why the knife blunt?) and darkness overtakes everything in the world.

--

You don’t expect to wake up, but you do. 

And when you do, you’re sitting in an unfamiliar space full of dust and dirt. A simple room with nothing in it but a ragged blanket and some stray, dusty furniture--an old wooden chair, a wooden chest. The windows are boarded up, but you can tell it’s night-time.

A house that no one has been in for years, maybe. A house that has fallen into disrepair and ruin. There weren’t any houses like this in town proper, you knew, so you must be in the woods outside of town, where there were occasionally remnants of abandoned places. 

Why were you in the woods? Why were you in a house?

The thoughts are clear and simple, piercing through a swimming ache in the back of your head. You focus on these thoughts to keep you from passing out again. In the woods, in a house. In the woods, in a house. In the woods, in a house.

But why?

And then you remember. Michael Myers. Your friends. The blood. The pain.

As if on cue, there’s another sound in the house. A sound that is distinctly familiar, heavy footsteps and yes, it must have been his before--the sound of breathing. Soft and subtle, like a stray sound muffled through the wall. 

You move to stand on weakened legs, but keep yourself pressed back against the wall as the figure of Michael Myers walks and stands in the doorway.

It’s as if the air itself becomes thick and heavy with his presence, and you almost want to sit down again. But you force yourself to stay standing. At least if you’re standing, you have a chance to run, if you can.

But he doesn’t give you one, not at this moment, anyway. Instead he stays in the doorway and simply stares at you.

Long enough for your tongue to loosen, words coming out dry through your chapped lips. How long were you out, anyway?

“Why… why did you bring me here?”

No answer.

“Where are we?”

No answer.

Finally, you swallow spit, and ask a question that you don’t really want to be answered. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

You swear you hear him inhale through his nose, a short, thin sort of breath. 

He takes a step into the room. There’s nowhere for you to go, and you feel helpless sobs start to bubble up in your throat. You look down and there’s no knife--that you can see--but that doesn’t stop the visuals of your murdered friends and vague impressions of everyone you know who has been killed by him from flashing through your head.

He stops right in front of you. You half expect him to grab your neck and twist. Or grab your throat and squeeze.

But all he does is tilt his head slightly, looking at you through the holes in his mask. You wish you could erase the visual memory of his eyes, wish that you’d never seen them at all; the faraway impression that he had two big black holes was more merciful than this. 

And then his hand reaches out and touches your face, callused fingertips brushing against your cheek. 

His fingers leave behind traces of grime and your friends' dried blood. 

[thatlotuscookie]

get this, a hawks x fem reader where she's a spy working for the League of Villains but starts catching feelings for Hawks while undercover? and there's a scene where she has to decide whether to betray him or not, and the angst is REAL. happy ending please!

✧･ﾟ: a/n : ANONN, i love this idea so much, it was so nice to write out, the mix of angst and romance got me ROLLING. its too good. If enough people want, I can even make a series or just a few oneshots with these two, let me know in the comments!! thank you for the request and i hope you enjoy!~

✧ Title: ✧ Between Loyalty and Love ✧ ✧ Characters: Hawks (Keigo Takami) x Reader (Fem!Reader, Spy!Reader) ✧ Genre: Angst, Romance, Spy ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: While working undercover for the League of Villains, you find yourself developing feelings for Hawks. As the line between your growing affection and your mission blurs; you face a heart-wrenching decision: betray the trust of the man you've come to care for, or protect him at all costs. ✧ Content Warnings: Angst, Betrayal, Emotional turmoil, Spy themes, Mentions of espionage ✧ WC: 1647 words // 9.1k chars

You weren’t supposed to feel this way.

Being undercover for the League of Villains was a task, a mission you had trained for years to perfect. Blending in, earning trust, and playing your role—those were your skills, the ones that made you so valuable to the League. And that’s exactly why you were chosen for this job: infiltrate the hero world, get close to Hawks, and gather information.

At first, it had been easy. Keigo Takami, or Hawks as the world knew him, was exactly what you expected. Smooth, charismatic, always wearing that charming smile like an effortless mask. He was everything the League told you he would be—a dangerous mix of power and charm. And it was thrilling to be close to him, working side by side.

But then, something had changed.

It started with small things. The way he’d glance over at you after a tough mission, exhaustion clear in his eyes but still trying to offer you that carefree smirk. The way he would confide in you, his voice soft and unguarded, sharing pieces of his past—things you weren’t supposed to know. He trusted you. Hawks let his walls down around you, revealing a man who wasn’t always so put together. He was vulnerable in ways you never imagined a pro hero would be.

And that’s when you started to fall.

The League would have seen it as a weakness—your growing affection for him—but you couldn’t stop it. Every time Hawks opened up to you, every time he teased you with that stupid grin, a piece of you broke off from your mission. You tried to remind yourself why you were here, why you needed to stay close to him. But every time, it got harder. The line between loyalty to the League and your feelings for Hawks blurred more with each passing day.

Then came the night you almost walked away from it all.

It had been a long day for both of you. You had just finished a joint mission, gathering intel on a dangerous villain threat, something unrelated to your mission but still intense enough to have you both running on fumes. Afterward, the two of you found yourselves in a quiet, dimly lit bar tucked away in a corner of the city.

Hawks sat across from you, the usual teasing grin absent from his face. He leaned back, nursing a drink, his wings lazily draped over the back of his chair. For once, he looked tired—really tired. His eyes were half-lidded, his guard down.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “I think I’m starting to hate this city.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Hate anything?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not hate, exactly… It’s just… It gets exhausting. Pretending like everything’s fine all the time. Keeping up the act, y’know?”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling the weight of your own pretense. “Yeah… I get that.”

Hawks looked at you then, his eyes softer than you had ever seen them. For a moment, you wondered if he could see right through you, if he knew the lies you were carrying.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one trying to keep the world from falling apart,” he said quietly. “But it’s too big. Too broken.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. You had never seen this side of him before—the vulnerability, the weariness. It made you feel even guiltier for what you were about to do. You weren’t supposed to care about him. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“You’re not alone, Hawks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve got people who care about you.”

For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, something unreadable in his eyes. “Do I?”

Your heart ached at his question, the doubt in his voice making you want to reach out, to tell him everything. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

The next day, the League’s order came.

You had known this day would come eventually. The mission had always been clear—get close to Hawks, earn his trust, and when the time came, betray him. But knowing it was coming didn’t make it any easier.

You sat alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. The League had sent you the final instructions. They needed one last piece of information—something critical that would bring Hawks and the entire Hero Commission down. All you had to do was send it.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a thousand pounds. One tap, and everything would be over.

But you couldn’t do it.

The memory of Hawks’ tired smile from the night before haunted you. The way he had confided in you, the way he had trusted you. How could you betray that? How could you betray him?

The door to your apartment suddenly creaked open, and you jumped, quickly hiding your phone. Hawks stepped inside, his usual confident swagger in full force, but there was something different in his eyes. Something darker.

“Hey, there you are,” he greeted, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “You’ve been off the radar. Everything okay?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “Yeah, just… tired.”

Hawks’ gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if he was trying to read your mind. “You sure? You seem a little… distracted.”

Your heart raced, fear and guilt twisting in your stomach. Did he know? Could he tell?

“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push it either. Instead, he walked over to the window, looking out at the city below. His wings twitched slightly, as if he was restless.

“You ever think about how fragile it all is?” he asked, his voice quiet. “Everything we’re fighting for… how easily it could fall apart.”

You stared at his back, your chest tightening. He was talking about the Hero Commission, about the world they were trying to protect. And here you were, holding the power to destroy it all.

“Hawks, I—”

Before you could finish, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You froze, dread filling you. It was the League, no doubt checking to see if you had completed your mission.

Hawks glanced over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. “You gonna get that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, and that was all it took. Hawks’ expression shifted, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with something far more serious. He crossed the room in an instant, his hand gently but firmly taking your wrist.

“(Y/N),” he said softly, but there was an edge to his voice now. “What’s going on?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic rising. You tried to pull away, but he held you in place, his gaze piercing through you.

“Hawks, I—”

“You’re hiding something,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve noticed it for a while now. You’re not telling me everything.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You had been so careful, so sure you could keep your secret hidden. But Hawks was smarter than you gave him credit for.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

His grip on your wrist tightened for a moment, and then, slowly, he let you go. He stepped back, his wings shifting restlessly behind him. “Tell me the truth.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of your betrayal crashing down on you. “I’m a spy. For the League of Villains.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Hawks’ eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“You… you’re with the League?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. “They sent me to get close to you, to gather information. I was supposed to betray you.”

Hawks didn’t move, didn’t speak. His wings drooped slightly, the usual energy that surrounded him fading away.

“And now?” he asked quietly. “What are you supposed to do now?”

Your voice cracked as you answered. “I was supposed to send them everything today. But I couldn’t. I can’t.”

Hawks stared at you for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a long, shaky breath. “Why?”

“Because I care about you,” you admitted, your heart aching. “I didn’t mean to, but I do. I care about you too much to hurt you.”

For a moment, you thought he might yell at you, might push you away. But instead, Hawks stepped forward, his expression softening.

“I knew,” he said quietly, his voice full of a sadness you hadn’t expected. “I knew from the beginning that you were working for them.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “You… you knew?”

He nodded, his wings ruffling slightly behind him. “Yeah. I had a feeling from the start. But I didn’t care.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Because I liked you,” Hawks said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. “I liked you enough to take the risk.”

He took another step forward, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “Now I know you’re not like them.”

Your heart ached at his words, the weight of your emotions crashing over you. “Hawks, I—”

Before you could say anything else, Hawks leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, tender kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—just a quiet moment of understanding, of forgiveness. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet determination. “Together.”

Tears welled up in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from guilt or fear. They were from hope.

For the first time, you believed that maybe, just maybe, things could turn out alright.

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

a whisper in the autumn wind

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1647 | Read on AO3

A chill racks your body as you and Mark make your way through the cool night. You mentally curse, wishing you were wearing more layers, though you know anything more wouldn't have fit under the tactical vest that sits snugly around your torso.

Your heist partner doesn't seem to notice you shiver, busy making sure the coast is clear before proceeding and gesturing for you to follow.

You do your best to keep pace with your friend's manoeuvres as he darts an odd pattern through the museum, triggering a bout of slight nausea that causes you to stop in your tracks.

‘Hey, keep up!’ Mark whisper-yells, turning around just in time to miss you steadying yourself after a wave of dizziness.

Somehow you make it the rest of the way without collapsing or being seen, but you're now all too aware of the fatigue in your muscles and the soreness in your throat. Meanwhile, your partner in crime carefully but swiftly wraps the stolen artefacts and slips them into his bag.

Your prize this time? A series of ancient tablets that you plan to sell to an illegal collector. You can't imagine what practical use someone would have for these, but at the end of the day, a job's a job and money is money.

It is only on your way out, that you feel the tell-tale itch in your nose that you have been dreading all evening.

As you scrunch up your face, Mark looks at you in confusion.

‘Buddy, you've been acting off all night, what's up with you? You good?’

You nod, desperately wanting to move on and for this to be over with.

The first couple of sneezes you manage to quell without too much fuss, but you can already feel a larger one threatening your nostrils.

While crouched behind a display, hiding from some guards, comes the point at which you can no longer hide that you're suppressing sneezes.

‘Alright, we are so close to being scot-free— hey what are you —? You're not sick are you? Really? Now?!’

Mark shakes his head back and forth with a string of frantically whispered "no"s as you fight your reflexes, but it's futile.

The sneeze that finally escapes you is resounding, and there is a beat of stunned silence and lack of movement from every party involved before you and Mark react first, bolting out the exit with the guards in pursuit.

It's a mad dash with a lot of ducking and diving, adrenaline probably the only thing keeping your body going, but by some miracle the two of you manage to lose them, eventually making it to where your getaway vehicle is parked some ways away so as to not be suspicious.

Piling into the passenger seat, exhaustion hits you all at once and you're thankful that Mark is the one driving. You pull off your gloves and hat and he does the same.

With no one following you, your partner drives cautiously in order to not draw any unwanted attention, careful to abide by traffic laws and always on the lookout for cops.

‘There's tissues and water in the glove box,’ he says after a few minutes, expression hard-lined and inscrutable, eyes focused on the road.

There's a thick tension in the car, uncharacteristically quiet save for the limited traffic outside and the rumble of the engine. You blow your nose, and it feels awkward in the silence, only broken on occasion by your sniffing. You take a sip of water, grateful for the coolness against your chapped lips and dry throat.

Eventually, you decide you don't want to endure the tension any longer, and you're too tired to let your little mishap turn into an argument; it was your fault, after all.

‘I'm sorry.’

Mark sighs. He glances at you, then back to the road.

‘It's okay. It's not your fault you're sick, it's just… Why didn't you tell me?’

‘Didn't want to ruin the heist.’ You laugh, but it's strained and weak, void of any real mirth or humour. ‘But I guess I kinda messed up on that anyway, huh?’

He lets out a small huff of laughter. ‘Yeah, no shit.’

You look down at your hands, folded in your lap.

‘Hey, it's not a big deal,’ he consoles. ‘We got what we came for and we didn't get caught. That's about as much as we can say for most of our heists.’

Your gaze stays downcast; he does make a good point, but it doesn't stop you from feeling a little guilty.

Mark must notice, because he reaches across to place a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, other hand still keeping the wheel steady.

You put your own hand over his, grateful for the comfort. You close your eyes and will away the growing dizziness and brain fog, the warmth from his now ungloved palm reassuring.

‘Look buddy, I need you to know I'm not mad or anything, just a bit upset that you didn't tell me in the first place… and annoyed at myself for not catching onto the fact sooner. I just thought… I thought you felt like you could be honest with me about this stuff.’

There's an undeniable hurt in his tone that makes you look up at him. He is still intently focused on the road ahead, despite there being rather few other people and cars out at this time of night, and you know it's out of choice — he takes his eyes off the streets in favour of looking your way for much longer than necessary when he wants to. Usually you'd chide him for doing so, but right now you can't help but wish he'd properly meet your eyes, just for a moment.

‘No – I can. I can tell you nearly everything, I – I'm sorry.’ You take a steadying breath, organising your thoughts. ‘You were just – really looking forward to this one, and there was no better day for it, everything lined up perfectly for us to go tonight. This stupid cold had to turn up and it started out as just a sore throat, no big deal, and well… I thought I could stick it out a little longer despite feeling like crap, but…’ You trail off, turning to look out the window as he approaches your shared base, returning his hand to the wheel.

He pulls up, setting the car to park, and finally turns his head to fully face you, placing a hand on your knee to get your attention.

He says your name, and it sounds like a term of endearment. For someone so bold and often brash, he can be surprisingly tender, a side of him that rarely anyone but you gets to see. ‘I rely on you, and you can rely on me… but part of that means we have to tell each other these things.’

‘Yeah, OK…’

‘Pinky promise?’

‘What are you, five?’

‘I'm serious,’ he says firmly, holding out his finger to emphasise the point.

Smiling, you hook your pinky around his own and shake on it, but not without rolling your eyes first.

‘Good,’ he says, pleased. ‘Now that that's settled, let's get inside, hm?’

While Mark retrieves the loot and stows it for the time being, you let yourself in, settling on the small couch in the living room. You take off your shoes and unzip your vest, easing it off your aching limbs.

The nausea and dizziness seems to have passed but you feel hot, yet a little shivery, and you're on the verge of nodding off when Mark appears in front of you, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. If it's even possible, you feel incrementally hotter with his touch as you return his concerned gaze through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

‘I think you've got a fever, bud. C'mon, time for bed.’

You groan in protest, too drained to move, instead letting your head fall forward to plop against his chest, the soft texture of his plain black sweater a comforting feel against your fevered skin.

‘Oh boy, what am I gonna do with you…?’ he murmurs, bringing a hand up to pat your hair. He speaks softly, and with such affection that your heart would probably be doing somersaults if you weren't so tired and ill.

‘Alright, upsy-daisy.’ In one quick motion, he picks you up, carrying you bridal style to your room, and for once you don't object.

‘Hey, you better not make me sick too,’ he warns without an ounce of actual distaste, as you practically nuzzle your face into him.

He gently lays you in bed, tucking covers around you.

‘I'll be right back.’

You instantly miss his presence, tugging the blanket up a little around yourself.

He returns before long with a box of tissues, the bottle of water you'd been drinking and some painkillers, leaving them by your bedside. He places a wet face cloth beside you as well.

‘I know you're probably feeling cold but I don't want your temperature to get too high, so use this, and keep drinking water.’

You nod, about ready to drift to sleep.

‘Call me if you need anything, OK? I won't be far.’

‘Don't you want to sleep?’

‘I will in a little while, but you can still call me.’

‘Ok,’ you reply appreciatively. ‘Thanks for… looking after me.’

‘Someone's got to.’ He smiles at you gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.

After a pause, he gets up to leave, pulling the door closed but leaving a gap the width of his face.

‘Rest up, buddy.’

He makes a quick kissing sound in your direction before shutting the door fully, his footsteps receding down the hallway.

Your face feels very warm.

Must be the fever, you think, placing the towel on your forehead with a yawn, before swiftly falling asleep.

[critter-genfic-events]

This week, we have eight amazing timeskip/future fics recced! Some skip ahead a handful of decades, while some skip ahead centuries, but all of them are wonderfully heart wrenching and hit just the right spot. Check them out under the cut, and as ever, comment or kudos if you like them!

The Matter of Lot 19 by pagerunner (10102,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings:

Keyleth returns to Whitestone after many, many years to see about a unique and precious clock that's up for auction. But she's not the only one intending to bid...and her competitors might not only be interested because of the clock's connection to a certain legendary de Rolo.

Reccer says: Beautiful and Bittersweet and has a lot of great older Kiki and Sun Tree moments.

Library Magic by westwind (2739,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

After the Mighty Nein's adventuring days are over, Caleb travels with a library in an enchanted wagon. He comes across a stranger who's nevertheless familiar.

Reccer says: I liked it

The More Things Change by FinnsKeeper (4922,Teen) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings:

Beau is hurt. The best chance they have of saving her is asking for her to be consecuted

Reccer says: A heartbreatking but fascinating take on the nein being consecuted

Unexpected and Predictable by alullabytoleaveby (2131,General) Warnings: Pairings: Verin Thelyss & Caleb Widogast

The last thing Caleb expects to hear on a rainy Tuesday evening is the sound of a knock at his door and Verin Thelyss, Ambassador of the Bright Queen to the Dwendalian Empire, on his doorstep. But he should have expected it. After all, Essek had already prepared for this eventuality.

Reccer says: I love this glimpse of Verin, and Caleb being able to explain his relationship to Essek's brother.

What Makes a Home? by literalfuckinggarbage (3188,General) Warnings: Child abuse, abusive parenting Pairings: Beau & TJ

TJ turns up on Beau's doorstep after running away from Kamordah. Beau takes care of her little brother.

Reccer says: It's really lovely seeing an older Beau step up to being an older sister and the relationship between her and TJ is incredibly sweet. They have a rapport, they banter, and the love that's grown between them over the years is plain in each word between them. The ending is so wonderful too and it's a concept I really should rotate more.

cycles by justsleepwalkin (500,General) Warnings: Major Character Death Pairings: Caduceus Clay & Essek Thelyss

Caduceus and Essek take a walk among the falling leaves and have a talk about endings and beginnings.

Reccer says: Beautiful and atmospheric - a perfect moment between the two of them.

From the Mixed-Up Files of The J. Lavorre Catalogue Raisonné by renquise (2328,General) Warnings: None Pairings:

An art history report on the famous artist Jester Lavorre

Reccer says: I adore epistolary fics and this perfectly scratches that itch. Seeing what people might say about Jester and her friends centuries after they are gone is a treat!

a little birdie told me by Ink_Beneath_Her_Fingernails (1647,Not Rated) Warnings: None Pairings:

Kiri absently wonders if the Gentleman somehow had the foresight to keep her name out of their ears, and how he'd managed it for all these years. (Or: The mob boss Kiri we all deserve.)

Reccer says: Mob Boss Kiri - what's not to love?

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

Next week, we'll be featuring prank fics!

Then, it'll be Ashton focused, Hair Care, and Pre-Campaign!

Any fics coming to mind?  Well, then use this form to submit!

If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[trafficlife]

Dance Among the Embers (Revisit a Life I Still Remember)

Even though the Relation had burned, Joel and Etho's relationship became stronger in spite of it all.

And, because of it all, Etho finally understands why the universe made them soulmates.

word count: 1647

ao3 link

Etho had done this dance before, with the fervent flames as his stage. 

It happened so long ago but watching the Relation burn down brought back so many memories. Memories of a simpler time, when nobody expected to return for another round, much less two.

And Etho wasn’t usually one to dwell in the past. But the similarities were so uncanny, that it almost felt scripted.

****

It was a beautiful tree Etho had built in the center of the village. 

It was a dark oak tree, considered a rarity in this world, and Etho was so proud of his work. He didn’t think anyone would dare to burn it down the very first week.

That was his first mistake.

If given a match, almost every contestant would light it and throw it away, to let “nature” take its course. And usually, “nature” directed itself toward another contestant’s most precious symbol.

Something changed inside Etho, as he watched his tree disintegrate. He was bitter and cold and vengeance was making a nice home in his brain. But he didn’t take it too far. Apart from a few shenanigans, he knew to keep it cool. He knew how to play but, perhaps if he were smarter, he could've won. 

****

Etho glanced back at their work, lighting up in pride. "The ship burns, everything burns," Joel had declared. And he was certainly true to his word. The server had completely dissolved into flames, smoke, and embers billowing in the air. The wildfire spread fast, leaving nothing but destruction and ashes in its path. 

It was breathtaking.

Etho never felt so good being red. And he had Joel to thank for that. Joel earned a reputation for being unstable and violent, always bloodthirsty but never satisfied, desiring to cause as much mayhem as he could.  

The soulbond always united their emotions. But their current status amplified their emotions tenfold and Etho never felt Joel so intensely before. He never felt his soulmate's emotions like this. All the thoughts of vengeance and fire and bloodlust were as overwhelming as it was enticing. Joel would continue to play with fire, even if it meant getting burned, and Etho would follow him to the end of the game, to the ends of this world, even if he burned as well.

Some would call Joel reckless. Etho calls him beautiful.

They returned to the remains of their ship, the smell of burning dark oak lingering in the air. Etho watched Joel the entire time. Actually, it was more accurate to say Etho was admiring him. 

Joel's nails were painted with dried blood and his ruby red eyes were wide. There was a permanent maniacal look in his eyes, an indicator of his diminishing sanity. As terrifying as they were, Etho couldn't help getting lost in them, lost in Joel's presence as a whole. He drank in the sight of his partner, his soulmate, standing there like a God with the flames of his havoc in the background, and Etho was down here, worshipping him, and—

And… Man, was Etho in love with him.

Joel rolled up his sleeves, to reveal faint burns on his arms, and crafted additional flints and steels. Etho had seen the burns several times. Sometimes, he’d absent-mindedly take Joel’s hand and gently brush his thumb over the wounds, mostly for comfort. He didn’t think anything of the burns at first, just that they hadn’t completely disappeared from the previous games. But suddenly, his mind was racing with thoughts and more memories from the past. However, it was Joel's thoughts that Etho was seeing now.

This… Never happened before. 

Memories were seldom shared between soulmates. This only happened if they had an inseparable bond, outside of the tether that connected their lives. 

(Etho’s heart skipped not just beats, but an entire symphony at the implications of that. But if Joel felt that too, it was only the adrenaline and not the shared sensations.)

****

Joel was surrounded by the fire, his roof encased in an inferno. His skin was already scorched from his first death, red and covered with welts that hadn’t completely healed. But he couldn’t escape the fire. He couldn’t put it out fast enough. And he couldn’t heal fast enough. Actually, he couldn’t heal at all. He was too focused on putting out the fire, despite his roof already being a lost cause. Wherever he turned,  there was another flame to step into. 

Below Joel, watching the entire spectacle with a satisfied smirk on their face was Cleo, who was satisfied at first, until Joel mistepped and burst into flames. And he came back, like a phoenix rising from his ashes, but he was one step closer to his grave. 

Joel couldn’t believe that this was all over a missile, that didn’t even work as intended—

Wait. A missile?

Oh. Oh.

That was Etho’s fault, wasn’t it?

It was Etho's plan to fire a missile at the Crastle. He got Joel roped into it. The missile was disarmed before it could set off but Cleo was still furious. Like Joel, Cleo enjoyed playing with fire but was better at not getting burned. Like Etho, Cleo knew how to stay frosty but she was better at winning. Unlike the two of them, however, Cleo knew when to stop getting revenge.

Joel and Etho didn't know when to stop. They didn't want to stop. They'd put an end to this when the universe puts an end to their relationship. And Etho hoped that wouldn't happen for a long time.

“I know what you’re thinking, Etho.” Joel’s voice snapped Etho out of his thoughts. Now that his bloodlust was satisfied (for now), he sounded much gentler and his voice was softer. “Thinking about the burns you gave me, right?”

“Well- Yeah.” Etho walked over to Joel and took his hand, gently running his fingers over the burns. They melted into his skin so well but they didn’t diminish his beauty in any way, shape, or form. In fact, they only enhanced it.“I don’t think I ever apologized for causing them.”

Joel smirked. “Don’t have to. I got burned so many times, it’s honestly ridiculous. Remember Dare to Flare?” 

Etho chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, you gotta give it to Tango. He knew how to make it sound enticing.” 

“He did, he did. And, well, you know me. Always looking for a little danger to spice things up.”

Etho raised a brow, intertwining his fingers with Joel’s. “Maybe that’s why I’m your soulmate,” he hummed, “since I’m so dangerous.”

“Yeah, right…” Joel leaned his head against Etho’s chest, the flames from afar continuing to spread and inch closer to them. “I think I’m the dangerous one here. Dangerous and tall and handsome—”

“And crazy,” Etho interrupted. “You are literally up to my chest right now.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “You could at least pretend. Plus, you can’t say you don’t find my craziness at least”— he rested his hand on Etho’s shoulder—“A little attractive.”

Etho shrugged, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” He lightly grasped Joel’s hip, taking a step backward. Joel reciprocated, a grin slowly appearing on his face. His eyes glittered slightly, like polished gemstones in the light, and Etho’s heart fluttered at the sight. 

They swirled around, the flames in the distance catching up to them. The fire was their stage and, as opposed to succumbing to it, they controlled it, together. It was a dance with death, but Etho and Joel were taking the lead. They’d take this world, hollow it out, and burn its remains while dancing on its ashes. Etho never thought he wanted this. Then again, he never thought he wanted Joel. But the universe proved him wrong.

And he didn’t mind that. 

Etho couldn’t keep his eyes off Joel. He didn’t want to because how had he spent these past few games, not giving Joel anything more than a second glance? How did it take him this long to notice Joel, to notice how seamlessly they worked together? And how could he not admit that he loved Joel, that he’d do anything he asked of him?

Void, did Etho fall for Joel. But he didn’t just fall hard. He fell directly onto bedrock.

Lost in a daze, Etho leaned down to kiss him but was stopped by Joel’s finger. “What, did you forget about the mask?” Joel asked, lips curled up into a smirk.

Ah, right. Etho forgot to take off his mask so often, it was as though it became a part of him.

“Yes, I did,” Etho said as he pulled down his mask. “But you distracted me.”

“Ah! So you do find me attractive!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I think you did.”

Etho tilted his head, slowly closing the gap between them. “I haven't made my case yet.”

“You don’t have to. I already won, just by being my intelligent and handsome sel—” Joel was interrupted by Etho’s lips, pressing against his own. Etho smirked against Joel’s lips. The message was clear: I’m the winner here. 

And Etho had won, as cheesy as it sounds. Though the Relation ship was reduced to ash, their literal relationship felt stronger and more fortified than before. And to Etho, that was a better prize than making it to the end of this game. Now, don’t get him wrong, winning would be nice. But even if their allies backstabbed them, even if they burned together because that was their destiny at this point… That didn’t matter to him.

What mattered was that they were still together, still strong.

And they were both aware that, as the captains, they would both go down with the ship. As long as they went down together, and took the world down with them… it would still be a perfect ending to their story.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Birdcage

by nighhtwing (divineauthor) You’ll always be a Robin. After months of silence, Bruce calls Dick home. Words: 1647, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Canon Era, Alternate Universe - Canon, POV Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Introspection, Identity, Character Study, Post-Spyral (DCU), Dick Grayson-centric, Family Dynamics via https://ift.tt/Vxm4GLC

[a-d-nox]

telemachus, hero's son (asteroid 15913)

Telemachus was the son of Odysseus and Penelope. Notably, Odysseus attempted to get out of going to war with the Trojans to be with him and Penelope - but that didn't work out. For years, Telemachus was raised solely by his mother. When he came of age, he travelled the Mediterranean to find his lost father. Inspired by the words of Athena, Telemachus visited Nestor then Menelaus and Helen all of whom told him stories of his father. At last (because that is quite the distance between the two visits), he reached Eumaeus who was hosting the disguised Odysseus at the time. When Odysseus exposed his true identity, father and son set off to kill the suitor of Penelope. IN MY OPINION Telemachus in your chart can indicate a) being raised solely by your mother/maternal figure, b) your curiosity about your father, c) your loyalty to your father, and/or d) your protectiveness of your mother.

i encourage you to look into the aspects of telemachus along with the sign, degree, and house placement. for the more advanced astrologers, take a look at the persona chart of telemachus AND/OR add the other characters involved to see how they support or impede telemachus!

OTHER RELATED ASTEROIDS: athene (881), pallas (2), odysseus (1143), ulysses (5254), penelope (201), helena (101), menelaus (1647), and nestor (659)!

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[r3g-p14y3r]

Okay so, to start off this is a ficlet for my new OC Catal! Made it to help myself develop ‘em. Uh, 1647 word count, so not too long. Tags: @gyxtar0luvs @aquacomet @cosmic-quakes err…not sure who else!

Assistance Required

“So, uh, that’s how today went. Terrible, really, but I’m confident that I handled it pretty well.”

Even with what’s essentially their brain being poked and prodded at, Catal remains unfazed due to the frequency of these checks.

After having had numerous incidents of the previous mechanic’s shop harassed by some of their “fans,” they decided that they’d hire a personal one for the sake of that poor soul who had to deal with the nonsense that only he himself should have to deal with.

Speaking of—

“Mind opening your eyes? Want to make sure everything is still working properly.” The organic’s voice interrupted his thought (rude; he doesn’t remember what the sudden spark of realization was for anymore), leaving him to pull away from the memories of the last few hours.

Snap. With a simple command, Catal complies with the request. What follows is the usual routine: rerun some tests, offer words of gratitude to the mechanic, and then usher said mechanic out of the house. The barrier between him and the outside is quickly shut as soon as the other is gone.

“Now, what was it that popped into my mind before?” The bot leans against the comparatively large door as his antennae slowly sink. “What was it? I know it was something important…”

Did I forget to eat? No…I did that several days ago.

What about my work schedule? M…no, no, I double checked all of the battles for the week and which ones are assigned to me to watch over. None of that has slipped from my mind.

So…if it isn’t food or work, then what is it? Maybe tracing back to what he was thinking earlier might help.

There was that train of thought about his previous mechanic, for one. Tsk, a pity that he had to switch because of some nosy little—

Wait that’s it. Fans.

“OH! I WAS GOING TO LOOK FOR A BODYGUARD!” he exclaims as he perks up.

Catal doesn’t miss a beat and practically bounces off the surface they were supported against like a ball, bounding toward their room up on second floor.

No, they did not almost trip on the stairs.

…Okay that’s a lie. He still needs to get those atrocious slabs modified; they’re built for the average organic, not a 4’0 automaton like himself.

“Alright, let’s see,” they mutter bemusedly to themself once they ricochet inside and swing haphazardly into their rolling chair beside their bed. “I’ll put up a job posting tonight since I’ll be quite busy tomorrow,” they declare after a long period of silence.

The plush likeness of himself to the right of the monitor says nothing in response to the ramblings of the announcer, content to simply sit, observe, and support as they type out the requirements for the listing. One pair of tiring hands work on the keyboard, and the other drums its fingers idly on either side of the one typing.

As time ticks by, the bustle of the outside world fades in Catal’s audio receptors and the sky settles into a warm— yet bright— red-orange gradient with the setting sun. The cool colours of the room’s interior mix with this warmth, carving harsh shadows into the unaffected areas like whittled wood as the day draws to a satisfying close.

“And…there! Posted.” A peppy voice pierces the quiet veil. The owner of that voice dusts their hands off their slacks. “That’s done,” they sigh. “Now, hopefully, someone will accept. Well, someone competent to be specific.”

The gentle hum of the monitor whirs to a stop once he clicks the power button, which afterward has him getting up from his seat to close up the soundproofing curtains.

Shff, the fabric shifts against the curtain rod.

The room is plunged into absolute silence.

It’s eery, yes, but in his opinion it’s much better than having to listen to the screech of metal and rubber from whoever hosts those stupid races on the street. “People are trying to sleep, for goodness sake.” With pinned-back antennae, they make their way over to the far side of the room. “Maybe I should put a restraining order on the culprit. If not for me, then for the rest of those who are closer to that atrocious ruckus,” they grumble unhappily before dragging themself to bed and hopping in.

He shuffles to the centre. “Sorry my little friends, no show for you tonight.” Three pats are given to each individual plush sat on all edges of the mattress; no more, no less. Each one is as soft and warm as the flames that flare in The Glass Tower’s biggest lounge. “I’m tired since I didn’t rest well last night. Perhaps another time.”

Without leaving that warmth, Catal stretches an arm to the switch, shuts off the lights, and proceeds to flop into a supine position as that arm snaps back into place. The only thing that greets his eyes is the dark ceiling high above.

He shuts them.

It’s peaceful, this environment. No outside sounds, no light— no disturbance.

No sound. No light. No…no...

Okay scratch that, it’s empty. This environment feels empty. It doesn’t matter how many plushes he surrounds himself with, how much decor he stuffs in this tiny room, or how long he plays music from the radio for. It still feels like something is missing.

It’s always felt as though something is missing.

“What’s missing?” Oh, but that is a rhetorical question. He knows what the answer is: company.

No, not the overwhelming bustle of the audience cheering for today’s fighters.

No, not his colleagues and their comments as he narrates the events of the battle he watched over.

No. Neither of those seem right. They aren’t…what’s the word? Close? Personal—

Personal, that’s it. They aren’t personal enough. All the time spent in either kind of company he thought of are merely surface level and distant. It doesn’t satisfy the hole in his chest.

Catal is lonely, that he knows for sure. The thrill of violence is still there, as well as the privilege of being seen in a positive light by the public, but it isn’t enough. Bloodshed doesn’t bring about close connections, and neither does fame.

“Do I want the scrutiny of an individual though?” That theoretical person— if they were to get close— could pick me apart at a moment’s notice with how fragile my shell is. That person could narrow me down; my likes and dislikes; my habits; my fears and hopes and dreams.

He’d be perceived if anyone grew close enough. He’d be vulnerable. And vulnerable is a state he hasn’t experienced since the moment he lost his arms. He isn’t ready to be vulnerable.

They open their eyes.

The sheets ruffle underneath the bot as he flips onto his stomach and reaches for a plush, bringing it closer to inspect its features.

This particular cuddle buddy resembles a Crellic; long tufts of baby blue fur cover its body, speckled with maroon here and there. Beady, coal black button eyes stare back at him with no emotion as his gaze drifts to the broad tail, and then the antennae. It’s like him in that sense, the little appendages sticking out atop its head, and the reason why it’s his most favourite among the rest.

His thoughts scurry away from the stuffed creature in his hands and back to people.

With a crowd, to have their favour, you don’t have to pay attention with every single one of them. You gather what gets the majority going and stick with it unless the pattern changes. However, when it comes to individuals and bonding with them…

You have to look closer; you have to truly observe their expressions, microexpressions as well as the rest of them. You have to learn what makes them tick to form a strong connection—

And Catal isn’t good at that. He’s good at entertaining, not… not whatever that is.

One hesitant finger idly traces the outline of the plush’s right eye. Then the left, and then its stitched-on fangs. “Oh, what am I doing? I should be asleep,” he whispers, “not thinking about relationships and feelings.”

After repeating the motions of their hand a few more times, they hiss through their teeth and return to laying on their back, this time with the small thing in tow.

“I should be asleep,” he repeats.

<><><>[][][][][]<><><>

That night, he doesn’t get sleep.

“Oi C, ready to star—” a string of gravel erupts from the Nexili’s mouth, which is soon cut off as soon as the man sees the state the announcer is in. “Oh. Bad sleep again?”

“It was more so no sleep, my friend.” The nickname comes as easy as blinking, however untrue it may be; everyone is called a friend. Doesn’t mean they are.

All four of Mx. Insomnia’s hands drag behind him like shackles against the patterned carpet in the announcing deck. “Nothing to worry about though; this was just a one-time incident. I’ll be in better spirits tomorrow,” they dismiss with a few flaps of a hand. It feels heavy with emotion, though it’s hard to figure out what exactly.

Catal clears their throat for dramatic effect. “With that aside, the people are waiting! No need to dilly-dally any longer, now is there?” They flashes the most energetic smile they can muster behind himself to his fellow colleague.

Another day, another chance to wow the crowd.

Another day of trying to fill the ever-expanding void.

“It’s showtime.”

[ao3feed-twiyor]

Walking corpse

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PbKhG91 by MDSpencer Twilight was known for his honey pot missions, he was known for being the romantic type, the kind of guy that could have you swooning. Words: 1647, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: SPY x FAMILY (Manga), SPY x FAMILY (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Loid Forger | Twilight, Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess Relationships: Loid Forger | Twilight/Yor Briar Forger | Thorn Princess Additional Tags: Character Study, Angst, Asexual Loid Forger | Twilight, Implied Sexual Content, sex is mentioned quite a bit but nothing happens on screen, the author is too ace for that, Demiromantic Loid Forger | Twilight, essentially just aspec Loid navigating his lack of bodily autonomy read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PbKhG91

[anastpaul]

One Minute Reflection – 17 Octoberber – “The Month of the Most Holy Rosary and of the Angels” – St Margaret Mary Alacoque (1647-1690) Virgin – Ephesians 3:8-9, 14-19, Matthew 11:25-30 – Scripture search here: https://www.drbo.org/ “For My yoke is sweet and My burden light.” – Matthew 11:30 REFLECTION – “People who complain about the roughness of the Lord’s yoke have possibly not completely rejected, the heavy load of the lusts of the world, or, if they did reject them, they have enslaved themselves to them again, to their greater shame! Outwardly, they carry the yoke of the Lord but inwardly, they submit their shoulders to the burden of the world’s cares. They set on the balance of the Lord’s yoke, the hardships and difficulties which they inflict on themselves… As for the yoke of the Lord – it is “sweet and its burden light”. Indeed, what is sweeter, what more glorious, than to see oneself lifted up above the world by the scorn one shows it and, seated at the summit of a conscience at peace, to have the whole world at one’s feet? Then, one sees nothing to desire, nothing to fear, nothing to envy, nothing of one’s own which might be taken away, no evil which might be caused one, by another. The eyes of the heart turn towards “an inheritance which is incorruptible, undefiled and unfading which is kept for us in Heaven” (1 Pt 1:4). With a sort of greatness of soul, one gives little importance to this world’s goods – they pass away; to the pleasures of the flesh – they are contaminated; to the world’s pomp – it fades and, in one’s joy, one repeats the words of the Prophet: “All mankind is grass and all its glory like the flower of the field; the grass withers, the flower fades but the Word of the Lord remains forever” (Is 40:6-8)… In charity – and nowhere but in charity – dwells true tranquillity and true sweetness, for, it is the yoke of the Lord!” – St Aelred of Rievaulx (1110-1167) Cistercian Monk (The Mirror of charity I:30-31).

(via One Minute Reflection – 17 October – “For My yoke is sweet and My burden light.” – Matthew 11:30 – AnaStpaul)

[itsmemateinnit]

2024 fic summary

This year had a slow start, but I still ended up with a satisfying amount of fics. I'll try to write some longer fics next year, though!

Title: Curiosity Kills Summary: Kent goes to investigate somewhere he shouldn't and gets tangled in something he doesn't understand Word Count: 15455

Title: Stand on your own two feet Summary: Kent's scars are bothering him more and more, but he's not a fan of Chandler's helpful suggestion Word Count: 4147

Title: Shards Summary: Kent and Chandler have to retreat to a safe-house when Kent's life is threatened. Word Count: 7176

Title: To Become Summary: Chandler once again has to deal with Kent's superstitious beliefs, but this time he gets more than he bargained for. Word Count: 2921

Title: Over the Edge Summary: Kent is witness to the incident room being thrashed once more, but this time it's much much worse. Word Count: 4183

Fics from The Whitechapel Christmas Prompt list! Thanks for giving me the push I needed to get some more fics out there this year, @unwillingadventurer

Title: Silent Snowfall Summary: Sometimes you just need to take a walk in the snow to clear your head Word Count: 1814

Title: Spirits Summary: Kent is visited by the spirit of possible future Christmases. Word Count: 1647

Title: Hand in Hand Summary: The team goes ice skating together Word Count: 3028

Title: Season's Greetings Summary: Chandler, Miles and Buchan discuss the message left behind at their latest crime scene. Word Count: 1103

Title: Up High Summary: Kent has a panic attack at work and flees to the rooftop. Riley knows the place. Word Count: 1689

Title: Wham Summary: Kent and Mansell's undercover mission takes a violent turn Word Count: 1551

[writesaboutdragons]

Is the Bible REALLY the Word of GOD?

There are so many ways to address this question, but today I want to unpack the idea that the bible was written by men out of their own heads, and cobbled together by some committee, leaving hundreds of other books out for no good reason other than popularity.

The Bible (the Protestant one) is a collection of 66 books, 39 in the Old Testament, and 27 in the New Testament. There are 40 human authors that wrote the various letters, prophesies, and histories contained in it, over a span of about 4000 years.

These men came from all walks of life. Some where shepherds, some were doctors, some were kings. Musicians and vagabonds. Scribes and Pharisees. Tax collectors and fishermen. Even within its pages, people remark on the responses of some of them, as they've never been to school, how could they know the scriptures so well?

[Act 4:13 KJV] 13 Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were unlearned and ignorant men, they marvelled; and they took knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus.

I've studied this book of books for around 40 years now. Read it through a few dozen times, and done countless in-depth studies into its wealth of content. One of the things I've noticed is that almost every verse in the bible has a reference to another verse. Often because the other verse is a prophesy in THIS verse that was fulfilled hundreds or even thousands of years later.

There's plenty of historical evidence, including the Dead Sea Scrolls, that the Old Testament books were written over a thousand years before the New Testament, yet there are thousands of references to Jesus, his life and ministry, his trial and crucifixion, and his resurrection and ascension. His coming again. His millennial reign. His final judgement and the beauty and majesty and eternity of heaven.

Those cross-references are indicated in the picture I included above. Tens of thousands of them, drawn out from point to point.

Fishermen and vagabonds, musicians and shepherds would have had a hard time writing anything, and predicting the future events a thousand years away? Um, no. It smacks of an omniscience not only across simultaneous events, but a knowledge of future events as if you were there. A knowledge only God could have. For example, in Psalm 22 David writes:

I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint: my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels. My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death. For dogs have compassed me: the assembly of the wicked have inclosed me: they pierced my hands and my feet. I may tell all my bones: they look [and] stare upon me. They part my garments among them, and cast lots upon my vesture. (Psa 22:14-18 KJV)

Indicating a knowledge of crucifixion that wouldn't be invented for a thousand years. Of the gambling for Jesus' clothes, a common practice for the soldiers of that time.

I don't have room here to unpack more, but this should make it clear. Men didn't write this. Oh, they held the pens. But God gave the words.

As to the inclusion of those 66 books and the exclusion of others? Well, that happened over time, from the Council of Rome in AD 382 and Council of Trent in 1563 AD. And finally, the Protestant canon was decided by the Thirty-Nine Articles in 1563, and almost 100 years later by the Westminster Confession of Faith in 1647.

These councils didn't make these decisions based on popularity. All of these letters, histories, and prophesies were examined thoroughly and had to pass various tests, including reference by other works in the collection, references TO other works in the collection, indication of prophecy fulfilled, and agreement with the rest of scripture as a whole. Other works, like additional books found in the Catholic Bible, like Tobit and I and II Maccabees, were found to be divinely inspired, but not in agreement with the whole of scripture. For example, Tobit was disputed as part of scripture by the first-century Jews. And found in the Protestant council to have theological differences.

Those books were deemed Apocryphal. Other books were declared Pseudo-Apocryphal, that is, out and out forgeries with spurious claims to having been written by one of the biblical characters, like the Gospel of Nicodemus. Containing inaccuracies and spiritual pitfalls and heresies.

What is in the Bible that we have today is the Word of God. it contains over 600 prophesies fulfilled in Christ. And several thousand more fulfilled throughout history. The bible says it best:

All scripture [is] given by inspiration of God, and [is] profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness: That the man of God may be perfect, throughly furnished unto all good works. (2Ti 3:16-17 KJV)