#dawn of redeeming grace

[chicleeblair]

The Dawn of Refereeing Grace companion fic isn’t going up until at least next week. I have a corneal abrasion in my good eye and can’t put in my contact. My glasses script isn’t as good and while I can write on my phone, editing and proofreading is harder

A little worried about pushing a Christmas fic out too far. Anyone have thoughts on that?

[nyctoheart]

this until dawn remaster is making me ship sam/josh ......

[808airsoftbros]

Christmas Wish (Female Idols)

Author: Merry Christmas everyone, here is my special holidays oneshot. I may or may not write a New Year's special sequel as I did plan to write a smut into this but I didn't have the time and energy spent on the Holiday mayhem. Anyway, hope you enjoy and if you want to check out more stories go to Masterlist.

Silent night, holy night All is calm, all is bright Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child Holy Infant so tender and mild Sleep in heavenly peace Sleep in heavenly peace

Silent night, holy night Shepherds quake at the sight Glories stream from heaven afar Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia Christ the Savior is born Christ the Savior is born

Silent night, holy night Son of God, love's pure light Radiant beams from Thy holy face With the dawn of redeeming grace Jesus Lord, at Thy birth Jesus Lord, at Thy birth

Y/N's POV

It was another night of singing Christmas carols in my local church theatre, just like every year on the holidays. Despite the years that had passed, everyone showed up in droves, and family and friends came together.

Some are apart for most of the year for study or work, and seeing them come together again as a union once more makes me envy them.

My whole life I grew up as an orphan, I don't even know what my family looks like or what it's even like to have one. I was unwanted, cast aside, and not even worth a penny in this society.

Then why do I sing these stupid Christmas carols? I don't even know myself... Maybe because it's all I know because there's nowhere to go? Perhaps.

But the real reason doesn't matter much now, does it? No, not really. I don't even know the meaning of life, and I have no idea of my purpose.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for taking the time to come to this wonderful Christmas chorale this evening! It was such a pleasure to always host this yearly tradition in this glamorous town! And it's such a wonderful feeling seeing all of you reunited with family and friends you may not have seen in years, now, please give a warm applause to our singers!" The host spoke to the crowd and they all cheered as they clapped the sounds echoing in the church.

As we all dispersed from our group, I didn't even bother staying for the after-party as nobody cared about me and wouldn't notice I was gone. I knew I was simply a meaningless character in the background of everyone's story.

Once I walked inside the comfort of my apartment I sighed as I closed the door, I sat down on the couch cracking open a bottle of apple soju from the fridge just dazing in my thoughts.

"Silent night~. Holy night~. Yeah, shut the fuck up..." I said to myself as that stupid chorale was stuck playing in my head as if the Universe was mocking me.

Why does my life fucking suck? I don't know and I don't even care at this point... Because what's the point in life anymore?

Everyone has a purpose in life, whether to be working, being a celebrity for everyone to admire and fan over, or whatever that may be. But here I am slouching in my apartment like a waste of space in this world.

What is my damn purpose here? To be a pathetic joke and stain on society? Wow, what a way to start my life and this will likely stay that way forever.

Looking at the clock, I sighed deeply as it was nearly time for me to go to work, I slipped on my shopkeeper's uniform before heading into the store to relieve my co-worker who was wrapping up his shift for the day.

"Ah, Merry Christmas, Y/N, right on time as usual," He greeted and I nodded.

"Busy today?" I asked and he nodded.

"Yup, the store's been packed with tourists all day, but tonight should be slow since nobody is out at night so it should be a pretty slow and chill shift for you," He sighed as he grabbed his things.

I watched as my co-worker walked out of the store and into the winter snow as the sun was slowly starting to set down and darkness slowly began taking over the city.

Settling down on the stand, I placed in headphones listening to chill music to pass the time as I stared at the empty store, even though this was going to be boring as hell it was free money for me and I pretty much had the run of the store.

I did ring out a few late-night customers that I see every night buying beer and smokes along with snacks but other than that the streets are empty.

"That would be all tonight for you miss?" I asked politely and the customer nodded.

"Yes please," She replied as I rang up her items.

Just as I was about to finish up the transaction I heard the doorbell ringing, glancing to see who was entering, it was a woman wearing a black mask and a black winter coat wearing high heels with black stockings.

This made me raise an eyebrow as I had never seen the woman around here before, I thanked the lady for shopping there as I handed her the bag of her stuff, and I silently watched the strange woman as the lady walked out of the store.

I sighed leaning back on the chair as I quietly watched the woman browse the snack and beer section with a hint of curiosity but I kept it subtle so as not to create an awkward situation.

About maybe five minutes later, she grabbed some snacks along with the most expensive wine available which is a bit surprising as nobody has ever purchased it as long as I worked here.

"Hello, miss, will this be all tonight?" I asked in that same professional and polite tone.

The lady didn't reply but just nodded and I shrugged as I assumed she wasn't a talker, I ringed up her snacks but when I rang up the wine the POS locked me out requiring me to enter a date of birth.

"Can I see your ID real quick?" I asked politely and she seemed hesitant.

"Sorry miss, but if you don't show me your ID, I cannot sell you this," I informed her and she sighed as she pulled out her wallet before showing me her ID card.

Reading the date of birth the expiration date along with the authenticity, everything seemed to check out as she was above the age of 18 but the issue was her face as she was wearing the mask.

"Again, I'm sorry, but could pull down your mask? I need to see if the picture on your ID matches yours," I instructed and she seemed a bit irritated.

"Come on, I'm over 18, and I got places to be," She complained and I sighed as it seemed she was another difficult customer.

"I deeply apologize ma'am, but this is the law we're talking about here and I unfortunately don't make the rules here. Either show your face or you'll have to leave the wine behind," I explained to her and she huffed still refusing.

Just as I was about to take the wine off, I heard the doorbell ringing and another lavish woman walked in looking confused.

"Yah, Chewie, what's taking so long?" She asked her.

"Well, this idiot here thinks my ID isn't mine," The woman nicknamed Chewie answered and she sighed.

"Probably because we're wearing masks. Just do it, Chewie, before we're late, and besides, nobody else is here at this hour," the strange lady pointed out, and Chewie rolled her eyes.

Reluctantly, the woman pulled down her mask and picture on the ID, and her face checked out, allowing the transaction to finish up and me to not have to put up with her rich, snotty attitude.

"I'm sorry about that, sir. She doesn't get along with strangers well," the lady apologized on her behalf.

"No worries, it's part of the job," I assured and the lady sighed in relief seeing I wasn't too angry about the petty issue.

As they grabbed the bag of items, I watched them leave making me sigh in relief as I could get back to my other duties. I have dealt with many stupid customers in the past but this was a first, having some rich snot thinking they're above everyone else and the law.

I shrugged it off as I went to cook up some fresh hot dogs for the hot food stock along with pretzels stuffing the pre-made dough in the oven.

After I finished restocking the store, I wiped down the counter when I heard the doorbell ringing again and I looked up to see a couple of women wearing the same masks as the previous two did but their clothing was more casual this time instead of the lavish designer clothes.

Naturally, I kept my guard up and ready for their nonsensical rich crap as I wiped down the counter until the two women walked up to me holding a couple of cases of soju.

"Good evening, ladies, will this be all today?" I asked politely.

"Yup, that will be all, do you need to see our IDs?" One of them asked and I was a bit surprised.

"Uhm, yes, please," I answered they showed their IDs without a fuss and pulled down masks proving the pictures matched.

"Aight, your ladies check out," I informed them.

"By any chance, did our little friend Chewie give you any trouble tonight?" Haseul asked kindly and I raised an eyebrow.

"Who again?" I asked a bit confused.

"You know, the tall Taiwanese woman that just walked in here," Heejin chimed in and I chuckled.

"Eh, somewhat, nagging about pulling down her mask," I answered but also kept it professional and they giggled.

"Yeah, she's like that, that's why we don't often take her out much because she always causes trouble and we can't have news reporting scandals about her, can we?" Haseul mentioned as she inserted her credit card into the pin pad.

"What do you mean?" I asked and they seemed surprised by my question.

Haseul and Heejin looked at each other for a moment, somehow assuming that I might've heard about them like they were some sort of celebrities. Or perhaps they are and I live under a rock.

"N-Nevermind, how much do I owe?" Haseul asked giving a nervous smile and I told her the amount due.

Once the transaction was complete I handed over the receipt and they left without saying another word. I grabbed the cleaning cloth when I noticed Haseul had left her phone on my counter.

I grabbed the phone and rushed out of the store but by the time I got out, I watched them start their car and drive away and I sighed as I went back into the store seeing no point in chasing after them.

Getting back behind the counter trying to figure out what to do next, after thinking for some time I got an idea, I grabbed a paperclip in the drawer and bent it out to make a needle.

I take the phone out of its case carefully making sure I don't damage or scratch anything, I find the hole on the side and insert the needle popping out the SIM card slot.

"Bingo," I muttered holding the SIM card.

Seeing there were no customers around and the store was neat and tightly for now, I had plenty of spare time to kill as I took out my laptop plugged the SIM card into the slot, and used software to decode the information and find her phone number.

When I finished getting the necessary information, I managed to write down her number before sending her a text informing her that she had left her phone at my store.

I placed my phone down feeling rather odd at how she easily trusted me despite being a stranger to her, I guess she must be that busy and desperate to trust me that much.

Welp, there's nothing much more I can do about it unfortunately and I can only wait until my shift is over so I can turn her phone over.

Looking up the address on Google, it luckily wasn't too far away and within walking distance, but it's also impressive that they are located in the most expensive hotel in the city which shouldn't be all that surprising.

When I finally finished my shift, I made my way to the hotel but as I was walking I just wondered why Haseul didn't ask how I got her number in the first place. Strange now I think about it...

Whatever, the least I can do now is return her phone and get out of their hair for good, and it's not like they'll drag me into their hotel room and make me their pet, right? Some sort of delusional Christmas wish.

Anyway, I finally made my way through the hotel lobby after getting the number of their room, I hopped onto the elevator to the top floor, making my way through the corridor filled with pots of plants and statues.

Walking past the various rooms, I managed to find the right one, I took a breath before hitting the doorbell button.

"Who could that be?!" I heard a female voice ask loudly.

"I hope it's not a saesang! Let me check!"

Hearing footsteps coming upon the door, assuming the person was looking through the peephole, the door opened soon after.

"Can I help you?" A squirrel-looking Japanese woman asked and I held up Haseul's phone.

"I came to return Haseul's phone, I believe this belongs to her," I informed her handing over the phone to her.

"Oh, why thank you but how did you find it?" The woman asked cautiously.

"Haseul texted me to come here, I used the SIM card to track her number... I hope that doesn't sound too creepy, I didn't know what else to do," I explained nervously hoping that they don't call the cops on me.

The woman looked at me checking me out and making sure I wasn't some creepy stalker or hacker coming to steal her information or something.

Soon after, she called Haseul over and she came over soon after sighing in relief that I arrived before handing back her phone.

"Oh, thank you so much! You're a real lifesaver!" Haseul thanked me profusely.

"Yeah, it's no problem, Noona, Merry Christmas," I replied and was about to walk away.

"Hold it!"

I froze in place, slowly turning around to see what they wanted, my stomach hung in balance as I could only imagine the worst about to come.

"You really thought we'd let you leave without thanking you properly~?" Haseul asked with a warm smile and I raised an eyebrow.

"Uhh... What?" I asked.

"What she's saying is that we want you to stay for the party, if you're free of course," Nayeon chimed in and my eyes widened.

Well, I'll fucking be...

"Uh... yeah, I am," I confessed nervously and Nayeon came forward taking my arm and dragging me into their room almost seeming the ridiculous Christmas wish was coming true after all... At least most of it.

As Nayeon got me inside the room, the squirrel woman closed the door behind us, I was taken into the living room where I was astonished to see it was all girls.

"Oh, Haseul, is that Y/N? The one you kept talking about?" A Thomas-looking woman asked and Haseul nodded.

"Well, he is cute,"

"Is he staying for the party?"

"Ugh, why is he here?"

"Yah! Chewie, be nice to our guest for once!"

"Hmph!"

As the Japanese woman introduced herself, Sana seated me on the couch next to her, keeping her arm locked around mine. The girls just chuckled amusingly, seeing how clingy she was around me.

"Yah, miss flirt, you might give the guy a nosebleed if you keep holding him like that?" Jeongyeon pointed out at Sana pressing her boobs on my arm and she giggled only putting more pressure.

"So what if I do? I do enjoy pampering... Especially young men," She replied with a sultry tone as she caressed my chest making me gulp.

"Oh, God, Unnie, you always are a creep. You know that?" Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but Sana took no notice.

"Don't worry about them sweetheart, I have a surprise Christmas present waiting in the bedroom... If you know what I mean~," She giggled in a flirty way and I swore I felt my nose was about to bleed any second.

Soon after, the sassy idol Chaewon approached me, wrapping an arm around mine and forcing me away from her, but Sana brought me back.

"Yah! I saw him first!" Sana bickered.

"No! I won't let you corrupt him! Especially on the Holidays!" Chaewon replied as she continued tugging at me.

"Yah! Girls enough already!" JiU butted in breaking them and sighing in relief as I felt I was gonna get split into two.

"Look, girls, like Chaewon said, it's the Holiday season, and Christmas is around the corner. How about we all just enjoy each other's company while it lasts? We've all had a busy year, and we certainly don't need to add more problems right now, so how about we move on and enjoy ourselves?" Jihyo proposed, and the girls agreed.

"Does that mean I go home?" I asked raising my hand and the girls all shook their heads.

"No!" They all said in unison and I sighed.

When the party was done being set up for tonight, the girls went out shopping, of course, I was dragged along against my will with Gaeul, Handong, Sana, and Chaewon.

We all split into multiple groups, and I stayed with the four girls, who kept me in place and took me around the massive mall full of toy shops, gaming surplus, and much more as the girls shopped for clothes.

"First off, my dear, let's upgrade that Dinosaur of a phone," Handong pointed out.

"But it's the iPhone 4..." I mentioned and Gaeul facepalmed making me confused as this is the latest phone... At least that's what I thought.

"Pabo! Were you living under a rock? Come, let us show you the magic of modern technology," Chaewon said, taking my hand and leading me into the Apple store.

Looking around, I marveled at the accessories for Airpods, Beats, and iPads, and I was surprised to see the new iPhone lineup. I was living under a rock, being so busy with work and staying at my apartment most of the time.

One of the staff members approached, asking if they needed assistance. The girls asked the guy for the most expensive iPhone they had, and he took us over to the iPhone 16 Pro Max, which made my jaw drop as it was a whopping $1,599, the initial price for 1 TB.

Of course, being idols this was nothing to them as they paid for the new phone and soon set me up with the new model.

"Jeez, I know I returned your phone but this is quite a bit much," I commented checking out my new phone.

"No worries, dear, this will not even be close to denting our bank accounts compared to the rest of the shopping trip," Sana giggled.

"So best prepare yourself to be spoiled all day," Chaewon said, and I sighed as I was dragged along with them.

The entire day was spent just the girls buying shit for me like luxury brands like Gucci, Louis Vuitton, and even Lego sets that I've wanted. All of this would've made me broke but I guarantee none of these expenses wasn't even close to making dents to their accounts.

"Come on, Y/N, we still got more shops to look at! I gotta get Christmas gifts for my family!" Chaewon said in a demanding tone as she held my hand.

"Oh, yeah, that reminds me I need to find something for my siblings," Sana remembered as she looked around the stores.

"Same, I gotta find gifts for my parents," Handong mentioned.

"I also have to find a gift for my Oppa and parents," Gaeul chimed as she looked around the stores to see if there were gifts they might like.

Following the girls around various stores, it felt like forever as the girls searched the clothing stores and jewelry shops until they finally settled on the perfect presents.

"Ah, this is perfect! My Eomma is gonna love this!" Sana said in a satisfied manner as she inspected the custom butterfly necklace that was laced with diamonds.

"Wow, that is so pretty, Unnie!" Gaeul agreed.

Wrapping up the Christmas mall shopping, we all reunited holding multiple shopping bags but I saw Jihyo holding the most compared to me.

"You gonna lend a girl a hand~?" Jihyo playfully asked and I looked down seeing my hands were full as it is.

"Kidding, Y/N, I see you're hands look like they're about to fall off and I've handled more bags than this, especially when the girls go out shopping in many places around the world," Jihyo chuckled.

We walked to the two vans we took to drive here placing all the bags into the trunks before I joined Gaeul and the three girls in one of the vans.

"You look tired, my dear, you can lay your head on my shoulder or lap if you want~," Sana offered wrapping an arm around my waist.

"Yah! No, listen to that old hag! My body is more comfy!" Gaeul rebutted and they bickered making me groan as I leaned against the headrest enduring the noisy girls the entire ride.

Once we finally made it back to the hotel, we carried the shopping bags inside the room making sigh in relief as the bags were heavy as hell.

The girls were starving, of course, JiU, Haseul, and Jihyo agreed to order room service making lots of orders as the girls wrote down what they wanted.

"So what do you want, my dear, Y/N~?" Heejin asked handing over the paper and pen.

"Uhm, not sure if I want... Hehe," I politely declined and she pouted.

"Oh, come on, Y/N, it's on us and we did promise to spoil you~," Heejin insisted and I sighed as I couldn't resist that adorable pout.

Writing down what I wanted the girls chimed in money to pay for the food before making the order on the phone, Choerry and Liz sat next to me hugging me from both sides.

"So how do you think of the party so far~?" Choerry playfully asked.

"It's something... Though I never expected to be here for simply returning a phone," I nervously answered and they giggled.

"I know, kinda reminds you of one of those Wattpad fanfictions, huh?" Liz asked and I found it funny now I think about it.

"And would you know that, Liz?" Leeseo asked raising an eyebrow and Liz blushed almost sheepishly admitting she had been reading fan fiction.

"Oh, no worries, Liz! I think we all have read some of them at one point, I do find them interesting and some are quite ho-" SuA was about to say but Yves quickly covered her mouth.

"Hey! We have babies here!" Yves shushed her as she pointed at Leeseo and Eunchae.

"But I'm an adult now, right~?" Eunchae teasingly mentioned.

"Doesn't matter! You are still a baby!" Yves refuted and Eunchae pouted.

Just as I thought Liz and Choerry were enough, I found Yeojin sitting on my lap and curling up to me. She hugged me and nuzzled her face into my neck, which I found oddly cute.

"Yah! Yeojin! I want a turn!" Eunchae demanded but Yeojin stuck out her tongue in a mockery manner making the girls roll their eyes playfully watching the Maknaes fighting over my attention.

Well, my friends, I guess the lesson here is that you should expect the unexpected, especially during the Holiday season. Here I am, a background character being the main protagonist in this new world.

What do I expect next? I don't know, but I do know that I am not going anywhere with them all over me. Merry Christmas.

[danauschaewon]

my thoughts on dimension 20: fantasy high junior year ep 19 ragenarok Discourse™

⚠️ spoilers! ⚠️

from a watsonian perspective, the bad kids don't know of any way to cure a rage star. if any of the characters were stressed enough sufficiently to be angry (rage token), porter seems to be able to immediately control you so even not directly being controlled by a rage star seems to put you under ankarna's domain. there's no reasonable watsonian expectation for them to believe the ratgrinders could be redeemed, notwithstanding whether teenagers would show other teenagers who hate them that grace.

additionally, the Discourse™ seems to forget that there's ultimately a choice between following porter or not. lucy frostblade's sacrifice was extremely poignant because she chose to die rather than go against what she believed in. buddy dawn's immediate switch perfectly aligns with how religious fanatics believe/claim to believe whatever is convenient for them without any internal consistency. that doesn't mean that they weren't groomed by porter but there's really no ground for some of the moral absolutism I've been seeing here.

that also leads to something that I haven't seen people discussing; kipperlily and oisin straight up murdered buddy (their own party member, who they secretly treated as a pawn the whole time) by slitting his throat to try and keep the bad kids from being revived??? it's implied they also killed lucy and covered it up for so long that she is almost beyond reviving just so she couldn't snitch on them?? even if you liked the ratgrinders, they're much more ruthless than bad kids are, even if you take riz and fabian's comments into account. also, if the entire school was in fabian's house, they essentially tried to kill all 500 other students in their school + jawbone to beat a magical loophole to ascend porter.

and the obvious being: if you are fighting to end the world (remember they did bring down fig and gorgug, even if they are uncoordinated in pvp), don't be surprised when people fight you to save the world.

from the doyleist perspective, others have already pointed out that dnd is a combat focused game. if you fail a persuasion/intimidation/deception roll, regardless of what makes more sense for the story or the themes or your character, you probably have to fight to the death. this isn't a story written with a single overarching vision from one mind, it's real people being filmed in real time playing a game designed around roleplay AND combat. combat is gonna happen.

secondly, this is a world where powerful individuals have the ability to directly control the universe (magic). "might makes right" is a terrible moral system but that's also how reality works (laws are only (as strong as) their enforcement system, the police are an occupying army, etc).

human beings are social beings and our intelligence/creativity allows us to imagine a world where no individual or socioeconomic group can use might to make right. but our imagination also is limited by our own inconsistencies, ignorance, socialisation, habits, etc. and most importantly, our stories about the world mustn't confuse us from how the world actually is. not everyone can be redeemed, even if you want them to be.

if you want the world to change in a certain way, you have to gather enough strength to change it. the more it deviates from the status quo, the more strength you need. that's not just martial or economic power, there is social power that can be influenced by a collective moral or intellectual sense. however, those with the power to directly eliminate your existence will need to be sufficiently worried about consequences to not use that power (e.g. american police know they face no consequences for executing black people in cold blood, that's why they actually do kill instead of simply want to kill like other non-police racists).

if the ratgrinders want to kill the bad kids and ascend porter to godhood, they have to actually have to develop their skills to do so. that's why they exp levelled, they tried taking advantage of the last stand, one of them sent their grandma to kill the entire school at one kid's 18th birthday party. and correspondingly, if you don't want your 18th birthday party to end with your death + your entire school's deaths + the ascension of your teachers as the new god of rage, you gotta kill some grandmas and poorly coordinated exp levellers.

[whiteowl-18]

My favorite Buddie Fics

I will add more as I find them.

. Take What the Water Gave Me- Merman Buck and trans Eddie

. Radiant Beams from Thy Holy Face With the Dawn of Redeeming Grace- A Christmas Carol AU where Eddie is visited by three ghosts

. Enigmatic in the Strangest Way- Buddie's daughter from a parallel universe visits the main 911 universe

. Going for the Title- Buddie football (soccer) AU

. All that We Need- Buck wins the lottery, is very generous with his family and Eddie has a lot of feelings about it

. Howling Love- werewolf Eddie and Chris; Buck cuddles with both of them

. Three Strikes and You're Out- T doesn't kiss Buck on the kiss cam; Eddie does something about it

. Hymn to the Sea- Buddie Titanic AU

. Salvation in the Form of Your Grace- Chris calls Buck dad; Buck has a lot of feelings about it

. Crazy for Feeling so Blue- Kim gets obsessed with Eddie and kidnaps him; Buck does whatever it takes to save him

. No Others, Before Thee- Buck is a god and Eddie is his husband; when Eddie is kidnapped, the kidnappers have a very bad day

. Every Word You Say (Sends Goosebumps all over My Body)- Spiderman Buck and a very possessive Eddie

. Time Makes You Bolder (Children Get Older)- Buck and Eddie are elderly men in a a nursing home; Buck doesn't remember Eddie and Chris

. To You I'm Just a Man (To Me You're All I Am)- Buck is the son of the President of the Unites States and makes friends with Eddie, who isn't being entirely honest with him; based on the movie First Daughter

. Sometimes It's Hard to See What the Future Holds- Olympics AU; Buck is a swimmer, Eddie does Taekwondo

. Catch your Breath- Buck has Hanahaki disease while pinning for Eddie; Eddie has no idea

. This Never Would've Happened in a Catholic High School- Buck and Eddie have an awkward conversation with Chris about sex

. So Much Left in Store- Buddie college AU with baby Chris

. Are We Still Friends? Can We Be Friends?- Buck dates Josh; Eddie has a lot of feelings about it

. Gonna Make Love to You for the Rest of Our Lives- it's Buck and Eddie's wedding night and they get steamy

. We Could Follow the Sparks, I’ll Drive- everyone at Chris' school thinks Buck and Eddie are married; Buck has a lot of feelings about it

. The Sound of Your Voice- Buck and Eddie can communicate telepathically before they even meet

. Seeing You With Him Just don't Feel Right (You're Giving Me a Heart Attack)- Gerrard has a heart attack when he sees Buck and Eddie kissing

. This May Be Practice, But I'm an Experienced Idiot- Eddie takes Buck on a series of dates; Buck is an idiot and thinks it's just practice; this is probably the sweetest Buddie fic I've ever read

. Split the Difference- Buck is a human/cat hybrid; Eddie has a lot of feelings about it; this one isn't finished, but it hasn't been updated since 2021, so I assume it never will be

. When the Lost are Found- Buck and Eddie have a weird soulmate identification system

. Everything's Coming up Milhouse- Eddie takes over the LAFD Twitter account and gains quite the following; his followers start shipping him and Buck

. In You, Darling, I Trust- continuation of the previous fic

. Now Our Love Lives in the Radio- Buddie college AU; Buck has a radio show and Eddie is a mysterious caller

. 8 Days a Week- Buck thinks he's too much for the Diaz boys, so he tries to minimize his presence; Eddie and Chris set out to prove him wrong

. Lay your Cards Down, Down, Down- Buck and Eddie get drunk and get married during Chim's bachelor party; the funniest Buddie fic I've ever read

. Left Unsaid- a group of tsunami survivors is looking for Buck; Eddie finally realizes the extent of Buck's actions during the Tsunami

. Tomorrow Will Always and Forever Now be Today (Tomorrow is Our Always and Forever)- Eddie gets stuck in a time loop on the day Buck marries Natalia

. Both Blade and Branch- a Buddie Orpheus and Eurydice retelling; without a doubt, the best Buddie fic I've ever read

. Benign Fatality- Buck has a rare condition that makes him relive a day every time he dies; Eddie helps him through it

. f.r.i.e.n.d.s- a series of fics where Buck and Eddie's relationship is a recreation of Monica and Chandler's relationship in Friends

. It’s Not the Roaring Dream, It’s the Silent Lightning- in Buck's coma dream, he and Eddie are married and have 3 kids (Chris plus two); this was the very first Buddie fic I've ever read

. Any Other Way- AU where Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations

. How Long Do You Wanna Be Loved? ('Cause I'm Never, Never Givin' You Up)- Buddie Omegaverse AU; I'm usually not into Omegaverse, but this one is really good

. Shatter-resistant- Eddie finds out what happened to Buck with the therapist in Season 1 and does his best to protect him from insensitive jokes

[unkreativstermensch]

A ghost flies into his living room. That’s the third one today, Jesus, Eddie’s going mad.

This one is wearing pretty normal clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, but there are tiny instruments floating around them, playing the soft melodies Eddie heard. The ghost is also…well. In human years Eddie would guess mid twenties, but who the hell knows, and-

“Are you a guy or a girl?” he asks.

The ghost blinks. “Are you kidding me?” they ask. “That’s the first thing you say to me?”

Eddie grimaces. “Sorry, yeah, that was pretty rude. And Buck keeps telling me uh- I- I meant what are your pronouns…”

“Dude,” the ghost deadpans. “I’m a ghost.”

Which. “Fair point. Sorry. I’m new to the whole…paranormal thing.”

It makes sense. Ghosts probably don’t really conform to gender norms. Not that humans should or anything! It’s just that- wow, Eddie’s having a woke-off with himself. In his brain. He should definitely stop.

Plus…whatever the ghost is or isn’t…they’re really pretty. Eddie kinda can’t stop staring. The instruments around them are mesmerizing and so are their curls, framing their face perfectly with the-

Wow, he needs to get a grip like right now.

“Sure,” the ghost says. “Well, whatever. Hi. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

“Christmas present,” Eddie parrots, a dumb grin on his lips. “That’s funny.”

“Ugh, everyone makes the same joke,” the ghost complains and rolls their eyes. “Let’s just get to it, okay? I don’t have all night.”

from my Christmas Carol AU:

[likehoneyandsilk]

Ease My Mind

Seldom did Joe lose his serene and composed demeanor. At least not outwardly. It periodically became easier to notice the shift, the sway in his everyday presence. As July rolled in, when the weeks passed in a haze, hot summer heat idle in the air, you observed as your lover lumbered through another day without a vocal complaint. It was the soft sighs, slouching shoulders, tender muscles, and tired eyes repeatedly finding salvage between your arms. Within your grasp, lips pressed against your chest and silky strands brushing underneath your chin, was where he felt most at peace, the voices in his head muted.

It was uncanny, you thought, sitting at the edge of the tub as Joe leaned back, body immersed in an ice bath. Uncanny that a season like Summer symbolizing warmth and positivity became such a dreadful time for him. The pressure he placed on himself tormented, gravely demeaning. It was times like this when the expectations from himself and the public, the desire to perform beyond optimal perfection, settled deep into his soul, rattling his bones, and forcing him past even his own lengthy limits. He was never unrestrained from his job. Instead, he was entirely devoted and enthroned till his very last game. Till the final call, the end of an era belonging to Cincinnati’s golden boy.

When February ended, and March peeked into your lives, it was bliss. You gave Joe grace for a few weeks to wrap his mind around another completed season and permit him time to heal and redeem his emotions. By late February he'd recomposed, football aside, and you both played house. From hometown trips, aimless drives, mid-day chatter, and the ever-so-thrilling nights in bed. The following months leading up to this moment, when the kisses and embraces became more compassionate, the moments held fragile, and the memories of another off-season taunting.

And today as you sat before him, watching dawn grace his face golden yellow, concealing those electric blue eyes, you could not help but feel a twinge of guilt. Off-season despite its bliss, signified more acknowledged time apart. It was easier during the season to work, share meals, take evenings in, lazy mornings in bed on off days, spend your weekends cheering him on, road trips, and fancy team dinners. Any moment together was treasured, the routine ironically steady. But now you pondered if a phone call to the hospital would suffice the turmoils in your stomach. A harmless sick day, an opportunity to play hooky, a chance to pull Joe away from his mind. Your feet moved before the gears in your brain, and within seconds you managed to escape the tiring but rewarding 12 hours ahead, to instead look after your lover.

Upon returning to the bathroom, you met with those captivating blue eyes. Joe smiled at you softly, eyes glancing over your frame. His voice barely audible as he muttered a “Hey you”. Some mornings were brief. He’d catch your lips in a rush, pulling the hem of an oversized shirt covering your body closer precipitously. His hands would find your waist, consuming your senses in just a few seconds, till you’d split, forced to conquer your days. He missed the feel of you against him, the hours spent keeping each other warm, and his ears sought the medley you’d spill from within, only made for him. But his muscles were sore, his legs throbbing, and when he had you alone he selfishly craved your nursing. Familiar hands massaging every aching spot, lips pressing pleasant kisses to sections of pain, and those loving eyes he prayed to call his forever laced with concern before he’d dismiss your mind, venture to revoke the fear in your voice, drive away all worry and pull you into sleep with him, holding you close as if to persuade you he was well.

And as you lay next to him, watching him drift away, observing the crease between his brows resolve and his chest rise and fall with tiresome depth, you knew he was attempting to convince himself.

This morning, however, he noted the relaxation in your stride. His gaze observed as you sat near him, pulling your long hair back before those angelic eyes inched closer, and you pressed your lips to his dearly. The water shifted, barely jumping at the contact of his cold and wet hand against the warm skin of your neck until another held you in place, securing your bare legs, thick fingers pressing into your skin. He groaned as your part, a lazy smile on your lips. The hem of your shirt was wet, water trickling down your neck. Joe's profound chest was littered with droplets, shimmering against the ray of dawn. You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes as the feel of his hands crept closer to your bottom. He muttered incoherent remarks at the first feel of thin lace. Before he could pull you in, you spoke.

“What time is practice?” your voice was sweet, almost hushed. His head fell back, a desolate sigh leaving his lips. The room fell quiet again. You placed your lips against his neck, painting a pathway of gentle kisses to his jaw. “Around noon.” His fingers tugged the thin material covering your body, distressed hands longing to have his way. Pulling away, you nodded, your eyes wandering to the large window behind you. The sun was barely up, and Joe had finished an early morning workout already. “Well then,” You faced him again, reaching for a towel on the vanity, holding it out for him. “Better get you some breakfast.”

The house was beginning to glow as the sun inched steadily above the horizon. The white walls became yellow, the hardwood floors shining. The aroma of coffee engulfed Joe’s senses as he made his way down the stairs toward the kitchen. He found you assembling freshly toasted frozen waffles on a plate, dousing them with savory syrup. Before he could protest or retreat from anything outside of his strict diet, you spoke.

“Not today Burrow, one sugary breakfast won’t hurt you.” You motioned to the coffee cups as you lead him to the balcony, nudging the large French doors open with your foot, setting the plates before both of you on the table, as you relaxed into the patio couch. Joe took a hearty bite of a waffle, mouth overcome with sweetness and delight. But nothing matched the pacifying look in your eyes when he turned to face you. “Told you,” you whispered, a smile lurking on your lips. You both ate in silence for a moment, watching the day come alive before you. Finally, Joe spoke aloud, his arm circling your waist.

“Don’t you have work today?” He asked, confusion spreading over his face. He toyed with the hem of your shirt, tips of his fingers daring to graze skin. “No, I called in,” you declared simply, watching as the furrow between his eyebrows became apparent. “I want to spend the day with you.” You added, extending your leg over him, placing your weight on his large thighs. Your hands ran up his neck, as you bent towards him, lips barely apart. “I want to look after you today.” You whispered, exploring his eyes for a sign of solace. “Y/N you didn’t have to …”

Joe admired your drive and passion for your profession. He was in awe of your selfless nature to look after others day and night. During the season you put aside your career some weeks to help him focus, support him and be present with him. And he despised pulling you away from what you loved and did best. “I know, trust me I know, but I want to calm down whatever it is going on in here.” Your voice was an analgesic, and your fingers recovery as they ran through his hair, stroking his scalp. He fell loose before you, allowing you to take authority as you kissed him. His body settled beneath your touch. Your hands ran up his arms which had grown over the last few weeks, along his torso which was more firm. And as your chest pressed against his, your hair falling to frame his face, the taste of syrup and coffee filling his mouth, he guided you underneath him. His calloused restless hands found residence beneath your shirt, feeling the panes of your back as Joe released his weight gently onto you. Your hips pushed against his, a gasp escaping your lips when those blue eyes flashed before you, the larger man practically crawling down your body.

Despite the yearning, regardless of the butterflies in your stomach, you withdrew, mumbling a breathless “Wait”, the tips of your digits pushing into his broad shoulders. “Not yet,” you whimpered, sighing. You swiped the sole curl on his forehead aside as he fell next to you, face nestled into your neck. “Not yet.” You whispered, feeling his lashes flutter against you, the silent consolation when he found your skin underneath fabric again, legs entangling with yours. The pleasure he desired was not a remedy for easing his mind. And while you held him, grazing your fingers through his hair, you observed as his body rose and fell steadily. And as the day awoke, Joe slept within your arms, and you didn’t dare wake him till just before noon.

The sun was fully awake as you stood on the sidelines of Paycor Stadium. The sky above you a vivacious blue, not a cloud in sight. You watched Joe run drills with the team. Those long muscular legs were quick and fast. Daring blue eyes hyper-focused. And every throw was meticulous, as the football spun seamlessly into the hands of his receivers. His orange jersey brought out the tan in his skin which glistened underneath the heat.

As the whistle blew for a water break, Joe permit himself to look at you. When you followed him to the car this morning, any dread of practice seeped through him when you declared you would join. And now, as you stood a few steps away, engaged in polite conversation with the training staff, Joe pulled his ears from the banter amongst his teammates, tuning their voices out, and found serenity at the sight of you.

It was a challenge not to fixate on you during drills, knowing in the back of his mind, from the corner of his eyes that the pretty girl in the blue sundress with tiny daisies was his girl. The sun gleamed down on your rich skin, hair loose, blowing slightly with the soft breeze. White cheeky heart-shaped sunglasses rested atop your head. Your cheeks were rosy from the heat and that pretty smile on your pink lips filled him with warmth greater than the scorching heat as you listened intently to your speaker. Far too mesmerized, Joe barely heard the whistle blow near him. It wasn’t until Coach Taylor yelled his name demanding his attention, followed by the snicker of his teammates as they glanced back at their quarterback's weakness did he ultimately draw his eyes from you, but not until catching sight of a reassuring smile you sent his way.

In another two hours, you had sought shade in the tunnel watching as practice concluded. As the men made their way off the green grass, some stopping to embrace you, you watched Coach Taylor pull Joe aside. At first, his broad shoulders seemed to tighten, those fine lips pursed, but then as the words left the Coach’s mouth you watched him ease back into comfort. The pair approached you then, anticipation bubbled as a glistening Joe headed straight for you. “Joe is excused from media obligations today Y/N.” You smiled at Coach Taylor as he sent you a wink, bidding you both well.

Your chest rose and fell prominently as Joe stood before you. Your fingers intertwined with his as your backside depressed against the firm wall. “I don’t know what you did, but thank you.” The skin of his cheeks and forehead was sunkissed, the redness evident, and his baby blue eyes more luminous outside. The hair atop his head was messy, which he pushed back with his hand. With weary eyes Joe scanned near and far, before resting a hand over your head, bending down to press a grateful kiss to your lips. His right knee lightly pushed against your thigh, the edge of your little sun dress lifting dangerously higher. Your mind felt foggy, swamped with the fragrances of sweat, grass, and remnants of his cologne. Your arms wrapped around his neck, trying to reach his height as you stood on your toes, practically falling into him. And you didn’t pull back, not until a stream of whistles emerged from nearby. Joe laughed as he walked back into the locker room, turning to find your cheeks blushed, pulling the sunglasses over your eyes.

The house was silent, except for the sounds of soft breaths, the pages of your novel turning as your eyes skimmed over words, and the scratch of Joe’s pen against paper. The sun was beginning to descend below the horizon, the sky outside a canvas of cotton candy pink. The sound of Joe’s heartbeat filled your ears, as you lay your head on his chest, meshed into the couch. Much to your dismay, Joe was distracted with an article on his play. The writer critiqued his form, speed, and resilience. You listened as his heart quickened, frustration evident as he shifted uncomfortably against you. He obsessively underlined phrases and lines, reading over and over what this foreign man claimed he needed to improve. Unable to take it anymore you shifted, your weight no longer pulling into him and he forced his eyes away, a sudden panic as you stood up. Your novel fell in your spot on the couch, unfazed as you lost your page. "Put it away, please, for your sanity just put it away.” Joe watched as the familiar fear clouded your eyes. 

There were only so many times he could play dumb.

Circling your hand around his, you gestured for him to join you. Trailing behind you like a lost puppy, he watched your fingers skim as you flipped light switches, the house becoming dark as did the sky, a sleek dark blue. Reaching the bathroom, you pressed your palms into Joe’s chest, pushing him back towards the vanity. He watched as you filled the tub with warm water, the steam rising. You made your way effortlessly through the bathroom depositing rose and lavender Epsom salts into the water. Finally, when the tub was full, the waft of rose and lavender swallowing him, you came closer, your dainty fingers falling to his gray cotton shorts. Your fingers danced through the strings, loosening them as your hands slid up higher, pulling the black shirt over his head. Your eyes never met his, but he kept his on you, watching as the concern laced your features, tears threatening to spill.

“I want you to get in.” your voice was hushed, sending a shiver down his spine as he nodded, forcing his hands away from your waist as you turned without a glimpse. The door shut behind you, and you lingered, holding your breath till you heard the water shift, his relieved sigh loud as you imagined him descending into the water. After a few minutes of solitude, you knocked, peaking your head into the bathroom, catching Joe in utopia, head back, eyes closed as the warmth around soothed every muscle, each nerve, and delighted his skin. Quietly you sat next to him, your hips in alignment with his head. 

His eyes opened at the first feel of your touch and closed almost immediately. Loving hands massaged his shoulder, your palms outlining the pane of his collarbone, gracing his back, watching as he tensed and eased back into you. Dipping your hands into the water, you brought them back up, running your fingers through his scalp, washing away the scents reminding you of locker room shampoo. You worked quietly, shifting to press your hands into any exposed skin, bringing his arms to rest against your bare thighs as you relieved each knot, every tense form.

His eyes opened as his head fell against your stomach, his large hands closing around yours resting on his bare chest. The silence was comfort. The night had become cool, the floor beneath your feet icey. “What is it that’s on your mind?” He shifted against you, a sigh following a long pause. “What if I’m not good enough? What if I let everyone down again?” You purse your lips at these words, scouring for the right things to say as your head dipped lower in gloom. “You’re always going to think you need to do better. And whether you see it or not, you are better, every year. A trophy doesn’t prove your worth.” You hovered your hand underneath his chin, pulling his head back as you grazed your lips over his. He kissed you feverishly. “You just have to remind yourself you are getting better. It isn’t fair to not love and appreciate yourself the way you do others.” His features softened, eyes fading into realization. 

As he fell back into you, your hold tighter, you whispered into his ear, pressing your lips against it as if to seal the deal. “You play the game for a living, but you can’t live to play. There will always be someone to tell you that you aren’t better, but if you choose to listen and drive yourself into suffering when instead you can use it to build yourself soundly, I can only speculate how your mind would ease.” For a few more minutes you held him, listening to the sound of his breathing as his eyes stared out into the darkness, your words shifting in his brain.

And as you started the shower, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, you left the bathroom, retreating back to settle your own mind.

When you entered the bedroom again he sat against the headboard, long legs hanging off the bed, feet planted firmly on the ground, and a sober look on his face. Wordless, he reached for you, drawing you near, your legs draping over his thick-toned thighs, skin unveiled as his shorts rose higher. “You’re right Y/N.” The two simple words lingered between you, the concern in your eyes overcome with endearment. You pressed your lips into the crook of his neck, cheek resting on his shoulder as your arms wrapped around him. You breathed in the smells of rose and lavender, your brain fuzzy and stomach filling with butterflies. His fingers danced in your hair, an arm draped across your waist holding you close. “Lean back Joe.” he groaned ever so softly as you pulled away, in search of what it is you needed. 

He watched through heavy lustful eyes as you rummaged through the drawers, smiling as you pulled a pain relief oil from one. “Tell me where it hurts.” The room was dim, and as your bodies made shadows on the walls, the glow warm, your eyes glistening before him, Joe obeyed, guiding your hand to his left thigh. Sitting before him on your knees, settled between his outstretched legs, he gulped as you raised his shorts higher, heat rushing to your cheeks as the oil you rubbed between your palms met his thigh, fidgeting underneath your tedious hands. Slowly you made your way through every painful location, and as you pulled the his shirt over his head, your own eyes heavy, you beckoned to switch spots, settling behind him, drawing circles into the panes of his back, up his spine and down his biceps. And with every ease of pain, every delicate touch of love, he fell deeper in love if possible.

He listened as the water ran in the shower, waiting for you as the effects of the oil seeped into his muscles. For the first time in days he felt free. For the first time in days he didn’t dread tomorrow. And as you opened the door, eyes catching his, you made you way back to him hesitantly, afraid to inflict more pain. “There you go, that’s better.” You chuckled at his teasing remarks, cheeks crimson as your core met his thigh, his hands pulling the lace robe off your body, revealing white lace in the most intimate of spots.

“Thank you for today, and everyday,” he whispered, bringing you down with him, rolling over to face you as you fell beneath him. You nodded, knowing slowly but surely Joe understood. Your fingers traced the brim of his nose, the outline of his lips before digging your fingers into the hem of his shorts. You shuddered as his hands inched higher up your thighs, his lips trailing from your lips, down your neck, and descending below your sternum.

You sunk further in bed, engulfed by the sheets as his hands got lost in your hair, trailed down your warm arms and cupped your cheeks as his teeth grazed your bottom lip. “I wish I could make you forget it all” you whispered, words dripping with sympathy. He nodded against you, “I know ..., I know ...”. Your heart fluttered as his hips pressed against yours, skin meeting skin as your bodies entangled. Cupping his face within your hands you halted him, watching those desperate eyes hold your gaze intently. “You’re more than enough nine”. You watched the calm wash over his face, pictured the wave of relief running through his mind. And you kissed him, drawing him from his woes, pulling him into another world, reminding him just how much you loved him. 

[bardic-tales]

I accomplished a lot this week, as I focused on both the original content and fandom side of FWC.

New Character Profiles

I have been putting off creating profiles for David and Sarah Moore, which I knew I had to get to someday, as these two play an important part of Bianca's development and the FWC timeline.

New character

Over the last few weeks, I have been debating with myself how big of a part did Inuyasha actually play in FWC and if it really matched well for what I was trying to accomplish with the passion project. The answer? No. It wasn't.

I created a new love interest by recylying an old one from another project: Timeless Souls. I want to introduce Mordecai Delacroix. The spelling is intentional.

Mordecai, a guilt-ridden vampiric incubus, mentors and marries Bianca Moore, ultimately sacrificing his life in a battle against her father, Asmodeus, to protect her and atone for his past.

New Headcanons

I am focusing on headcanons heavily, as I'm working to fill out the tag system for Written Muses.

Most of the headcanons this week features Bianca and Final Fantasy 7:

Bianca has a feminine grace that seems predatory in nature.

Asmodeus' shadow haunts every relationship that Bianca has ever had. She worries about losing people to his influence or losing them.

Zack Fair's optimism often feels childish to Bianca. He believes everyone could be redeemed; she sees the world as cruel.

Last Lines

I have been working backwards with this flash. I need to completely redo the beginning of it, and I wrote the conclusion's last paragraph last.

The two of them stepped out of the crevice and into the snowy landscape of the North Crater. The dawn sun casting a soft, orange glow over the frozen wasteland, as they made their way to the Northern Cave.

tagging fellow creators club: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow

[milune-vox]

The Dawn of Redeeming Grace

previous chapter <=> next chapter Chapter 8:

(weeks after the last date)

   Wisdom is often associated with old age.

Now, he is, in fact, old. Older than the vast majority of human beings around. One would assume that, in all his time on Earth, he would have accumulated a wealth of wisdom.

This assumption is incorrect.

The only bit of wisdom he’s ever retained is this: wisdom, as a state of mind, as this stoic, zen master type of attitude, is much like the art of balancing pebbles in neat little heaps at the water’s edge. No matter how much one masters the art, when a wave comes crashing down, the entire structure is ruined, finished, gone—you’ve got to rebuild it all. Start again. There’s no going against the power of nature through sheer fuckin' will, contrary to what some might believe.

When you’re struck down, you’re struck down.

When you’re drowning, you’re drowning.

You’re always where you’re at.

Right now, Hob’s in a rather miserable place. He’s so tired he wants to die.

But that’s not what he’ll do. It’s just how it feels. He knows that he will never ask for death, thank you very much.

This is another thing he’s learned in his long life. Most feelings are bullshit. Most thoughts are too. Meaning, anything he’s previously stated in the haze of his exhausted mind probably was bullshit as well. And perhaps believing it is bullshit is also bullshit in its own right.

They are but consequences of things that are far removed from his motivations and spirits.

Tired? Suddenly he curses the world and wants to bite the bullet.

Sick? Suddenly he dreams of curling up in a ball under the sheets to never come out again.

Hungry? His thoughts spiral into horrible recollections of what it felt like to starve, and despair claws at him, making him want to eat until his belly bursts.

Restless? He wants to break jaws and snap necks and bash skulls in. Those of others or his own. Not too picky in those moments, truthfully. 

He has learned to recognize when his mind is bullshitting and discard its input, focusing on getting rest, treatment, or a nice, healthy, balanced meal. As for the restlessness, a bit of workout usually does the trick.

But sometimes, he is a little too tired, too sick, too hungry, too restless.

Too heartbroken.

Sometimes, he just wants to give in and stop fighting, because, what’s the point, his mind asks in a sultry, apathetic voice, what’s the point of life, of going on, of—

A neighbor knocks on a wall and shouts, “Oi!”

It’s not for him, who’s been staring in silence at the wall from his seat on the couch for the better part of an hour. It must be for the students next door, partying hard, walls pulsing with music and shouting.

Yeah, right. That’s why Hob still can’t sleep. Not just the heartbreak this time.

He rubs at his face and sighs. What a fucking day.

He wishes he was privy to more occult knowledge, if only to get ahold of some metaphysical line and ring Dream up.

“Hey there, friend,” he would say. “I know you kind of left in a hurry last time, and I feel like I must have done something wrong again, though, unfair, like, you could have told me if I’d done something to offend you, right? Anyway, not the point. If you are not too mad at me, would you please come on down from wherever your bloody realm is, and sully yourself with my o-so-beneath-you human presence, and just, I don’t know, put me to sleep for the next hundred years? Like, if you’re going to make me wait, might as well not be conscious this time around, alright? I’m tired. I’ll still wait, okay, but I’m tired. I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired—”

The more he thinks about it, the more his lips start shaping the words, silently first, then a murmur, then he speaks them out loud, and his voice breaks, and he does it again and again until he breaks down in tears.

It happens for a total of seven seconds, after which his face, contracted in sobs, goes blank, and he stares off into the distance with an unbothered look.

His rational mind catches up with him and very helpfully provides that self-pity isn’t a very productive course of action. What’s the point of moaning about his issues? It wouldn’t fix them; it would only make them worse, deepen the wound, twist the knife in.

No need to get worried over things out of one’s control.

And so he goes, putting down the first pebble on the shore.

He rises from the couch, feeling like Atlas carrying the world, his body an uncanny mix of numbness and ache, his joints feeling every bit their six hundred years of age. He does not notice the mysterious figure looming down the street below, nor the gun glinting discreetly in a gloved hand.

***

A small black dot grazes the heavy sky. The rain has let up, for now. The dot free-falls like a meteor, but before it reaches the ground, its trajectory pulls up, aiming toward the castle with the speed and precision of a guided missile.

It flies through the open doors, under the ever-watchful eyes of three terrible gargoyles, past countless rooms and corridors.

Finally, after a convoluted, impossible route, it perches at the top of an extinguished candelabrum, its claws clicking against the metal as it shifts anxiously from foot to foot.

“Matthew,” greets Lucienne, her eyes still set on the book she’s reading. She gestures with a swift, accustomed motion.

“Eh, hi boss lady. How you been?”

No matter how many times Dream scolds him, he never drops the nickname. Lucienne doesn’t comment, so he thinks he’s in the clear.

“I have been well, thank you,” she replies, then adds, looking at him over her glasses, “Busy, as you can see.” Matthew considers leaving, though he truly doesn’t want to. His questions have questions, and he can’t think of anyone else to ask in the Dreaming. “Sorry,” he mumbles half-heartedly under her stern glare.

She focuses back on her book, and after a while, comments nonchalantly, “I’ve heard the weather has been less than desirable. I believe I can see the clouds slowly lifting?” She looks pointedly at the high arched windows further down the alley.

“Yeah,” Matthew sighs, answering the unasked question. “He’s with his sister right now, I think. Cool lady.”

“He is?” She stops reading for a moment, surprised. Then her face softens, and she nods to herself. “… Good.”

They sit in silence a while longer until Matthew’s claws start clicking against the metal perch again. Eyes snapping back to him like a librarian catching a noisy visitor, she asks, “Did you want something else?”

Matthew puffs his little feathered chest, bracing himself for the question he’s been burning to ask. “Do you know why he’s been like that? I don’t mean to snoop or anything, but, err, I’m Dream’s raven. I got to, maybe, know about stuff so I can help out? Like, if he’s in danger or something, I’d like to know.”

She halts, breathes in, then sighs. “He is not in danger, and he hasn’t confided in me. If he had told me and not you, I wouldn't break his trust by sharing with you.”

“Ah, okay, well, no, that’s fair, I guess.”

He’s still shuffling on his feet, now in tune with disappointment. “I guess I’ll—” he starts, but is interrupted by Lucienne’s voice.

“However, I have an inkling as to what might have happened.”

“Oh yeah?”

She takes too long to answer, and getting restless, he flies to perch on her chair’s armrest, ready to give his best impression of a begging cat if that’s what it takes. “Come on, spill the beans. You can’t tease a big reveal and drop it like that. You sound like a Marvel post-credit scene, you’re killing me, Lush.”

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “I believe it may have something to do with a friend of his.”

“He’s got a friend?” he croaks, perhaps too surprised, for Lucienne raises an eyebrow. He rushes to correct himself. “Not to be disrespectful or anything, but he’s not got a very, uh, friendly personality. I mean, he’s nice enough with us. Sometimes. But how did that happen? Do I know them? Are they here?”

“He is not in the Dreaming. Hob Gadling belongs to the Waking.”

“Oh, it’s the guy, isn’t it? The guy from the pub. And the flat. And, yeah, I guess it makes sense they’d be friends; they met quite a few times. I just assumed it was some kind of business, like, made sense, you know. Usually, it’s how—wait, what did you say his name was? Hob? Never heard that one.”

“An old nickname. Several hundred years old, to be more accurate.”

“Yeah, well, he must be an interesting fellow if he caught the boss’s attention—wait, when you say several hundred years, you don’t mean… it’s not just an old nickname, is it? Please don’t tell me the dude is actually that old.”

“He is. I don’t know his exact age, but considering the number of centennial meetings, I’d wager he is around 600 years old, yes.”

“Centennial what?”

“Our Lord meets with one Hob Gadling every century. Or so it was the case. We understand this schedule has recently changed.”

“Holy shit. Leave it to the boss to have the weirdest friendship in all of existence. Well, if they’ve been meeting more often, shouldn’t he be, like, in a good mood?”

“He has been. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“...Yes? I don’t know. He’s been okay, I guess. Well, before it all went to shite.”

She sighs.

“Flowers.”

“What about flowers?”

Lucienne takes out a book, revealing pressed roses inside.

“Pressing flowers, Lush? A new hobby?” Matthew asks.

“I’ve been finding them in the castle. In the library. Growing unbidden, in secret places. Barely noticeable for now, but it’s happened before. If the sun comes back, and it seems like the clouds might be dissipating, then they’ll start growing everywhere.”

“I, yeah, I mean, I guess it’s nice that we get spring here, although with all this rain they’re probably all—oh. The flowers are like the rain. They, like, mean something, don’t they? What is it?”

Lucienne raises an eyebrow at him, waiting patiently with a knowing look. Matthew suddenly caws in realization.

“The boss has a crush!”

She immediately returns to her reading, dismissing him with a swift, “I wouldn't dare comment.”

He knows that in Lucienne’s talk, it means nothing but a resounding yes.

“Damn,” he mutters, thinking. “Daaaamn.” He pauses before asking, “Do you think they had a lover’s spat?”

She seems to mull over her response, her eyes stuck on the page, her lips thinning in consideration. Then, she slowly closes her book without making a noise and places it in her lap. She turns to him, and he starts feeling nervous. Solemnly, in a soft, confidential tone, she tells him:

“Our Lord has had some… unfortunate, if not downright tragic, forays into love before. It’s not the first time we’ve had such wretched weather. He will need our support in these times—not our gossip.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. No more questions. Damn. That dude must be something special to get the attention of Dream of the Endless, though, right? I kinda want to meet him. And pluck his eyeballs out if he’s responsible for this rain.”

She chuckles softly, readjusting her glasses with practiced ease.

“I would advise against it. You know the fate of the last denizen of the Dreaming who felt inclined to prey on dreamers’ eyes.”

“Ouch, yes, true. But if he hurt the boss? I’ll give it a shot.”

She smiles a patient, knowing smile at him, and he ruffles his feathers, all bravado and no thought. She shakes her head softly and resumes her reading. Matthew remains, climbing atop the back of the chair to sneak a read from behind her shoulder. As rays of the sun break through the clouds, they traverse the arched windows to fall on them. It is peaceful for a while.

And it remains so until the Dream Lord himself arrives in the library and announces:

“Lucienne, I will be leaving shortly.”

She raises her eyes in consideration, taking in his solemn demeanor, and suggests innocently:

“To the Waking, my Lord?”

He looks wistful, and both she and Matthew wait with bated breath for his answer.

“To Hell.”

“Again?!” Matthew caws indignantly.

And so the events continue to unfurl, as they did, until, finally, the time comes to visit the Waking. Their Lord has accomplished much in these last months. The Dreaming is now bursting at the seams with flowers, set in eternal spring.

“Lucienne,” he starts, and she nods, reading his intention in the slight awkwardness of his posture, the tentative happiness that struggles to rise from his stony expression.

“You’re going to the Waking,” she says, not asking.

A small smile graces his lips at last.

“Indeed. I count on you to watch over things in my absence. I should return in a day.”

“Of course, my Lord.” As he takes hold of his sand and prepares to leave, she adds, “Please do greet Hob Gadling from me.”

He stops, then slowly nods in her direction. They exchange a commiserative gaze, and then Dream disappears in a swirl of sand.

Lucienne goes back to her duties. She starts planning out the day. Some nightmares have been unruly, quite unsettled by the charming weather and the beautiful flowers, which they claim are detrimental to their “whole vibe.” The most recent nightmares had such interesting expressions, anchored in the Waking’s changing times. If only for this, it was good to see her Lord more connected to the Waking. In the past, she had feared for him whenever he left the realm—and if she still did, to some extent, worry—she considered it part of her job, for few beings knew him quite like she did. Now, she knew perhaps this wasn’t true anymore, and she felt warmth and relief at the knowledge. She had, of course, investigated the man, and, though some parts of his long life inspired disdain, he had most definitely changed over the years. His dedication to her Lord was evident through his actions and his dreams. She tried to avoid reading too much into them—it felt quite inappropriate.

Lucienne is about to leave the library and go about her duties for the day when, unexpectedly, sand rises back to where Dream had disappeared not long before. She frowns. It is abnormal for her Lord to return so soon after leaving. She braces herself for a storm. Something must have gone wrong.

She is proven correct when faced with a wide-eyed, terrible-looking Lord Morpheus: his appearance is disrupted, the pretense of humanity but an empty shell from which dark power oozes. His eyes have regained their natural state, galaxies swirling wildly in them.

“My Lord?”

“Lucienne. I need to look at Hob Gadling’s books.”

She’s usually quick on her feet, but the surprise halts her step, and Dream's voice thunders imperiously:

“Ñ̶̩̲͉̠͓̰̹̞̥̽͂͋́̄̅̍̊̈́̂͆̑̊̑ͅͅo̵͍̼̠̖̪��̤̟̪͇̠͂̃̽͜͜ͅͅẇ̷̺̫̻̥̦͛̑̀̑̅̂́̈̇́̍̕̚.̷̩̰̜͍̯̯͉̗̀͑̄́̕.”

[silverstormsxx]

a goner girl. - A Deltarune Fic

Whenever she was lost, she sang a little lullaby in order to guide her back home.

"Silent night, Holy night, All is calm, all is bright.."

Her sweet, quiet little voice would stumble out the lyrics, getting drowned out by the snowfall of everything else around her, but eventually...

"Round yon virgin mother and child, Holy infant, so tender and mild.."

Someone would hear her. The snow would quiet down, and the bells would ring out in merriment..

"Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace.."

For one very special little doe had been reunited with her family.

"Silent night, Holy night, shepherds quake at the sight.."

But, with where she was now, in this endless, infinite void, that seemed to grow darker, yet darker by the day...

"Glories stream from heaven afar, heavenly hosts sing Alleluia.."

She couldn't even remember who she was. She doubted that anyone else could.

"Christ the Saviour is born, Christ the Saviour is born.."

The only one who seemed to know anything was the man who was born in flesh but melded to the dark.

"Silent night, Holy night, Son of God, love's pure light.."

But even he kept quiet on the subject of what had happened to her.

"Radiant beams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace.."

It seemed all she could do, all she would ever be able to do, is vaguely recall the sound of a guitar being tuned, or the taste of a Christmas cookie fresh out of the oven, or the feel of a cozy, fuzzy sweater, and the sounds of voices belonging to people who cared for a little snow angel more than anything else in the world.

"Jesus, Lord, at thy birth, Jesus, Lord, at thy birth!"

...

[Your voice echoes aimlessly..]

----

Extra notes:

Goner!noelle yippee

Also i was listening to remember my name by mitski while writing this lol

[phdmama]

You're the Winner

Heard this song the other day and had this little scene spring full-fledged to my mind, so I just had to write it.

Drarry (mostly implied), ~800 words, Teen. Pain with a hopeful ending. Post-redemption Draco (undiscussed). Draco and his father. (Unbeta'd and mostly SOOC so please be kind!)

'Cause now there's no one Who ever has done better At making me feel worse Now you really are the winner

“You know,” his father says, pulling one glove off, his hands graceful in their economy of movement. “You’ve always been something of a disappointment, Draco.”

His tone is mild, almost disinterested, as if he’s simply stating a fact. The sky is blue. Water is wet. Draco Malfoy has always been something of a disappointment.

“But,” his father continues, “this really does take the biscuit.”

Draco swallows. Opens his mouth, shuts it again. There’s nothing more to be said.

His father shakes his head, pulls the other glove off, lays the pair neatly on the arm of the sofa. 

“This cannot continue.”

Draco presses his lips together to keep himself from babbling. You can’t tell me to stop, this is the only thing that has ever made me feel alive. I love him. I love you. Why can’t you love me back? He loves me back.

His father claps his hands together, once. Sharp. Decisive. “You can owl him in the morning. It would be rude to simply disappear. Now please, go upstairs and get dressed for dinner.” He eyes Draco’s muggle clothes, ripped jeans and trainers, a moue of distaste on his face. “Don’t let your mother see you dressed like that.” 

He turns away, utterly dismissive. Confident his directive will be obeyed.

Draco clenches his fists, squares his shoulders, and steps off the cliff.

“No.”

His father turns in surprise, lifts one eyebrow in a supercilious look of disdain identical to the one Draco knows he’s worn far too often.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said.” Draco takes a deep breath. “No. I will not get dressed for dinner. I will not stop seeing him. I will not stop loving him. You ask too much.”

“Draco.” His father’s voice is stern, reminiscent of a thousand similar scenes over the years. “I will not allow this.”

“I don’t think you can stop me,” Draco says. 

His voice is shaking. His knees are shaking. But he’s still standing. It’s time to go.

“I’m leaving. I’m sorry if you cannot accept this, but I love him.”

His father lets out a bark of laughter that almost sounds unrehearsed. 

“You love him,” he says, his voice dripping with scorn. “Well, by all means then. Destroy your life. Destroy this family’s reputation, the one I’ve worked so hard to redeem, the one that got you into that fancy university rather than Azkaban. Break your mother’s heart. Because you love him.”  He shakes his head, makes a pfft of disapproval. “Love.”

Draco turns his back, walks away. 17 steps to the entry hall, where he’s stashed the things he cannot bear to leave behind. Another 19 steps to the doorway out.

“Draco,” his father barks and Draco pauses, his hand on the knob and turns back. “If you do this, if you walk out that door, you will not be welcome back.”

Draco nods. “That’s more or less what I expected.”

“Then why are you doing this?” His father’s voice is quiet, and perhaps its the first authentic thing he’s said today.

“Because I have to,” Draco replies. “Because having him, having a life with him is worth more than losing you.”

Something flashes across his father’s face, too brief to be identifiable, and then his father’s lips tighten and he lifts his chin.

“So be it,” he says, and flicks his fingers towards Draco.

Draco flinches at the rush of magic through him and the emerald in the crest of the ring on his hand shatters, the sound of it ringing in Draco’s ears as he and Lucius stare at each other for one last time.

Then Draco walks out the door, leaving his name behind him.

Later, in the dark hours before dawn, Draco lies in bed, curled on his side with his face to the wall. He cries, silent, forcing his body still so his sobs don’t wake the man next to him who is, Draco prays, sound asleep.

Except he stirs, rolls over, the weight of his body a comfort as he drapes himself over Draco, slides his hand down Draco’s arm to thread their fingers together.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice sleep rough, “it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“But how,” Draco pauses, tries to catch his breath. “How do you know?”

He feels Potter’s shrug, focuses on the way Potter’s thumb gently rubs the back of his hand.

“I just do, I guess. I’m not sure I know how you feel, but I do know you’ve survived worse. I know your heart is broken, baby, but at least you’re free.”

Draco scrubs a hand over his damp face.

“I don’t know who I am,” he confesses softly. “Without my name. Without my family. I just don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Potter says sleepily, and snuggles in impossibly closer. “I do. I know who you are."

[chicleeblair]

Dawn of Redeeming Grace [4/23]

Title: Chapter Four: December 23, 2005 || FFN

Rating: NC-17/Explicit

Pairings: Meredith Grey/Derek Shepherd

Six weeks after Derek left to take the NIH job, Meredith is ready to use the holidays to prove she has this working mom thing on lock. Sure, he neglected to tell her he'd be bringing a guest, but whatever, 'Tis the season for truces. Even Ellis Grey took the day off. But with every moment of family togetherness, a return to the trenches seems more impossible. Can a few days of peace put their relationship back on track, or has she fallen for the illusion of a snow-globe, destined to either settle or shatter?

Dawn of Redeeming Grace|| FFN

New York Derek. Genetically-engineered for Manhattan, maybe, but it’s not all about genetics. The show never goes into it explicitly, but I think it’s very important that Derek went to Bowdoin for college. At eighteen, he wanted out. I think he came back because of Amelia, and between Mark and Addison, found his life shaped into this Upper East Side, house in the Hamptons lifestyle that he didn’t actually like. The guy with that life isn’t even the one Addison fell for, judging by things like the Chinese food on Thanksgiving. She might’ve felt as out-of-place in the world they would’ve been in if he’d had the self-awareness, or felt allowed to make the choices that would’ve taken them toward a life more like the one her and Meredith get—but it wouldn’t have been as extreme as the trailer.

I go back and forth as to Derek’s desire to have kids, and knowing what happened with Amelia makes a lot of sense in that regard. I know people who were really responsible for their siblings and feel like they had their kids. That said, his dad is his hero, and nothing in his life looks at all like his dad’s life. Kids would change that—but he’s best friends with a guy who had well-off parents who likely had their kid for the wrong reason. He wouldn’t want to do that.

At the beginning, I think a lot of the appeal of his relationship with Meredith is the fresh start. That’s a huge part of their s3/s4 issues. This guy, who clearly adores his family, wants to leave all the past in the past. He can’t do that. After he has to necessitate Meredith, he’s sitting there with Addison and Mark at his sides—exactly like he would’ve been when Amelia OD’d. It’s not a coincidence to me that his mom showing up is part of the arc before his s5 breakdown. But his assertions about his family, about “normal” families, are also pretty rose-colored. Amelia’s arrival on the show is after he’s been offered the D.C. job, but their interactions; that he reminds her of the person he used to want to be—I think that has a lot to do with why he can’t let it go. Also, we’re not two full years out from Mark dying. It’s still one of the longest periods he’s gone through without him.

If anything feels like foreshadowing or a dark joke in this chapter, it is. This whole fic is about how the past affects you, particularly on holidays where tradition rules, this is the chapter with the most allusions to A Christmas Carol. Derek throughout the end of his time in New York is a very Scroogian figure if you ask me—I really should’ve Amed one of my Shepherd kids Fred.

For reference, here is my Shepherd family headcanon.

Kathleen + Reid (2nd husband)

Allegra (’87 stepdaughter)

McKenzie (’89 stepdaughter)

Stephanie (’93)

Oliver (’99) or Lucas (’96)

Nancy + Peter

Carly (’90)

Elena (’92)

Shepherd (’94, nicknamed Squared)

Hunter (’95)

Tyson (or Lucas, ’96)

Liz + Ian

Briana (’93)

Frances, Maria, Patrick (or Lucas)* (’96)

Hannah (’00)

*I’d have to reconfigure for Lucas to be Liz’s, I think, because I don’t see him as a triplet. I think he’s Kathleen’s, since he’s Derek’s favorite and Meredith liked her kids, but if he’s not I like having the gap between her youngest wider because of how I’ve written Stevie.

[romantic-poem]

The Echo of Unseen Bonds

In the valley of yearning where shadows waltz, A heart beats soft, like whispers caught in a storm, Yet rage binds the soul, a tempest of silenced calls. Fingers drift like fog upon the skin of the dawn. Joy—like sunlight, spills over the horizon, But sorrow creeps, a thief in the night’s embrace, Echoes of laughter, now mere remnants of a prison, Each note a nail in the coffin of our grace. Time, the cruel artist, paints with a brush of regret, Colors bleed together, a canvas of muted sighs, Hope stands, a fragile statue, in the cold silhouette, While betrayal hugs the corners of our goodbyes. Yet in this chaos, intimacy flickers—a candle’s glow, Distance, a bittersweet symphony, plays its tune, The rhythm of our hearts, a duet of ebb and flow, Two souls entwined in the silence of the moon. So let us dance in the ruins of our dreams, A paradox of love and loneliness intertwined, For in the space between, the heart redeems, And finds beauty in what we dared to leave behind.

[accihoe]

I'm on a two week spring break (as the seasons in my country work differently to EU and USA), and I'm also working on a business report that has to be submitted by October 13th. What better time to write than now?

I am once again truthfully sorry for my continuous disappearances.

Here's a Bucky fic because I found my tiny magnetic frame with a photo of him in it <3 (pic of photograph at the bottom).

P.S. this will be my first publicly posted Bucky fic woo-hoo!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: it's the 1940s, and Bucky comes home from a hard day at work, but his wife is there to make every moment of his hard work worth it.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: mentions of war. Probably not all canon regarding time, etc. Slightly oc Buck.

A/n: Please do not plagiarize my work, and please give me credit if you post my work elsewhere. I might make this a series, dunno. Love y'all. Pls comment or inbox me if you'd like to be on a taglist.

××××××

The walk home seemed longer than usual as Bucky trodged down the familiar path, every item of clothing feeling heavier with each step. He juggled his keys, slightly frustrated when they didn't go into the lock in the first few attempts. Finally, he managed, stumbling forwards from having his weight on the door. Bucky kicked off his boots in an instant, hung up his coat and hat, and looked around for his sweet love, his sugarbunch.

A smile bloomed across his handsome face as he saw her sauntering towards him, pretty dress flowing in the cool spring breeze. "Well, hello there, handsome chap. To what do I owe you the honours?" She smiled playfully, arms stretching open. Bucky gracefully accepted her invitation, wrapping himself around her and laying his cheek on her shoulder. "There, there, my love. Come on in. Go have a warm bath whilst I finish setting up the dinner table." His wife soothed, kissing above his cheekbone.

Once he'd freshened up, Bucky came downstairs to their four-person dining table, grinning at the meal his wife had prepared. She slid down in the seat across from him and reached out her hand, taking his. "Would you be as kind as to say grace for us?" She smiled, stroking her thumb over his bruised knuckles. They bowed their heads and closed their eyes as Bucky prayed for the food, "Lord God, Heavenly Father, bless our food and our drink, since you redeemed us so dearly and delivered us from evil, as you gave us a share in food and so may you give us eternal life. Amen.". They said amen in unison, and James kissed her hand as he let go of it.

"Jamie, my dear, I do not mean to alarm you, but I read about the war in the papers earlier today. It only seems to be intensifying. And I'm afraid young American men are no longer permitted a say as to whether or not they're getting drafted." His wife announced as she was washing the dishes, and he was drying and packing them away. The mug that he was busy drying slipped from his hands, but thankfully, his wife caught it just before it tumbled down the floor. "James," she breathed, taking his hands and gently tugging him away from the sink.

"Be..g my pardon, m-my love. The reality of the situations and times that we are living in has only dawned upon me now." James breathed, exhaling once again in disbelief. "Why don't you go and get ready for bed whilst I finish up here, hm?" She hummed, trailing her hand up to his neck and laying it there against his warm skin. "Alright, my darling, I bid on seeing you soon." He smiled, squeezing her hand that he held. "In the blink of an eye, sugar. Now go." She grinned, patting his cheek.

She joined him shortly after bathing and getting ready for bed, her chest tightening as she saw his frame in the bed, curled up in fear and staring off at the wood of his closet doors. Despite being fully aware of her presence, Bucky jumped when he felt her hand snake over his side and onto his stomach and chest. "Pardon me, my love." She giggled, spooning up against his back. James held his hand over hers as he continued to stare at the door. She felt sudden guilt. Should I not have told him that? She wondered.

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you, my darling." She said, pressing a loving kiss to the back of his neck. "You did not alarm me, dollface. 'M just tired from work 's all." He said, turning to face her. "Jamie, what'd your mama teach you about lying?" She warned. "Alright, alright." He smiled, eyes trailing across her bonny face, ruminating his luck. "Whatsoever may happen with this war, James, know that I love you." Y/N smiled, holding his hand to her chest and kissing his palm. "And I you." He smiled.

She skipped her reading that night, and so did he, just basking in each other's presence. The pair had fallen in love just after high school. James had seen her at church after praying for a pretty woman to cross his path, and she had prayed for a stable rock in her life to start a family with later on. It was instant love. After a period of wooing the pretty girl, they started dating, which then flourished into marriage. Bucky, age 24, Y/N, age 22, decided that they were content with the life they had built. Small but decent apartment, church community, flourishing matrimony, James had a stable job, and Y/N was applying for several.

Not to mention, their parents were incredulously proud. They were the spoken couple of Brooklyn, and Y/N treated Steve with the respect he deserved from day one, which was probably one of the central reasons for Becky's undying love for her. The life they had built together was sublime. Until the war hit.

xxxxxxx

Fin. Hope you liked it. Lots of love x

[wolint]

SPIRITUAL AWAKENING!

SPIRITUAL AWAKENING

Psalm 57:8

 

Spiritual awakening generally refers to a newfound awareness of a spiritual reality. It can be gradual or rapid and can mean different things to different people. What the world calls “spiritual awakening” often involves new age concepts, which could potentially open doors to contact with demonic spirits.

True spiritual awakening often involves the realization of sinfulness, leading to repentance and a renewed commitment to follow God. Salvation serves as the primary spiritual awakening, changing us from spiritual death to spiritual life. This awakening leads to a stronger relationship with God, repentance, and a transformed life.

Biblically, spiritual awakening is not a waking from spiritual sleep but a resurrection from spiritual death. Everyone is born in sin and spiritually dead. Ephesians 2:1 state that, before we knew Christ, we were dead in transgressions and sins. Because of the sin of Adam, which we inherited, we are all separated from God, who is Life (Romans 5:12). We cannot experience, understand, or relate to a holy and perfect God in our unregenerate state, nor can we enter His kingdom.

Our need for spiritual awakening is profound: “The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:4). We must be “awakened” spiritually, or, as Jesus put it, we must be “born again” or “born of the Spirit” (John 3:3–8).

True spiritual awakening—the new birth that Jesus spoke of—occurs not by some physical, mental, or emotional process but by the power of the Holy Spirit. One who is awakened by the Holy Spirit is recreated into a completely new person (2 Corinthians 5:17; Titus 3:5; 1 Peter 1:3). This new creation is characterized by a new heart that wants to please and obey God and live for Him (2 Corinthians 5:9). He has been awakened to a new reality, one that centres on the Savior who redeemed him, the Spirit who awakened him, and the kingdom of God to which he now belongs. This is true spiritual awakening.

John 9 records the story of the man born blind, whose spiritual awakening led to an acknowledgment of who Jesus is. The man’s receipt of spiritual sight was accompanied by physical sight. He spoke of the dawning of new light in his life in simple terms: “One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!” (John 9:25). He knew the truth of Psalm 36:9, “With you is the fountain of life; in your light we see light.”

Apostle Paul’s spiritual awakening was sudden and dramatic when Jesus met him on the road to Damascus and changed his life forever (Acts 9). From then on, Paul’s desire was for all believers to increase in their spiritual awareness: “I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened” (Ephesians 1:18). The psalmist’s prayer in Psalm 119:18 is also for spiritually open eyes: “Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law.” Our spiritual awakening begins when Jesus sheds His light upon us: “The people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned” (Matthew 4:16).

The proper response to the Light of the World should be as natural as getting up in the morning: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD rises upon you” (Isaiah 60:1). When the Holy Spirit awakens us to the truth of Christ and indwells us by grace through faith, we can truly sing with John Newton:

“Amazing grace—how sweet the sound— 

That saved a wretch like me! 

I once was lost but now am found, 

Was blind but now I see.”

PRAYER: Father, awake my soul from slumber and keep me spiritually alert in this time, that I may know your heartbeat and continually follow your light. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Shalom

WOMEN OF LIGHT INT’L PRAYER MIN.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Morning and Evening by Charles Spurgeon

Morning, September 30th

"Sing forth the honor of his name, make his praise glorious." – Psalm 66:2

It is not left to our own option whether we shall praise God or not. Praise is God's most righteous due, and every Christian, as the recipient of his grace, is bound to praise God from day to day. It is true we have no authoritative rubric for daily praise; we have no commandment prescribing certain hours of song and thanksgiving: but the law written upon the heart teaches us that it is right to praise God; and the unwritten mandate comes to us with as much force as if it had been recorded on the tables of stone, or handed to us from the top of thundering Sinai. Yes, it is the Christian's duty to praise God. It is not only a pleasurable exercise, but it is the absolute obligation of his life. Think not ye who are always mourning, that ye are guiltless in this respect, or imagine that ye can discharge your duty to your God without songs of praise. You are bound by the bonds of his love to bless his name so long as you live, and his praise should continually be in your mouth, for you are blessed, in order that you may bless him; "this people have I formed for myself, they shall show forth my praise;" and if you do not praise God, you are not bringing forth the fruit which he, as the Divine Husbandman, has a right to expect at your hands. Let not your harp then hang upon the willows, but take it down, and strive, with a grateful heart, to bring forth its loudest music. Arise and chant his praise. With every morning's dawn, lift up your notes of thanksgiving, and let every setting sun be followed with your song. Girdle the earth with your praises; surround it with an atmosphere of melody, and God himself will hearken from heaven and accept your music.

"E'en so I love thee, and will love, And in thy praise will sing, Because thou art my loving God, And my redeeming King."