#Breathe (the Dawn Rises) verse
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Meeting In The Darkness
Summary: You forgive Dean for what he did when he had black eyes but he can’t forgive himself.
Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, blood, implied torture, Demon!Dean, MOC!Dean, unresolved angst.
W/C: 2,882.
Pairing: past Dean Winchester x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).
Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: “Well one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”
A/N: @justagirlinafandomworld and @pink-sparkly-witch helped with ideas and feedback, thank you, but it has changed a little since then.
Betas: @slytherkins // all mistakes are my own.
Graphics: made by me on canva, divider @talesmaniac89
Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main
It’s dark. Too dark. Your gun is out along with your flashlight, scanning the corners of the abandoned warehouse but the darkness seems to swallow anything beyond the end of the barrel.
Something is off and your gut tells you to get out, run fast and far. But you won’t, at least not until you find Dean. He called hours ago, said he was hurt and needed help. He sent the location pin and it brought you here. But it doesn’t feel right, it's too…quiet. Like the shadows are listening to your heartbeat.
You tried calling Dean when you arrived but it rang out until his voicemail picked up. Sam’s not answering his phone either, maybe he’s hurt too?
One foot over the other, that’s all you can focus on, not the worry making your heart beat faster. You desperately wish you’d called for back-up. Jody, Donna, hell even Garth. Except it was Dean. Your affinity for the surly hunter often clouded your judgment. He might not have time for you to wait for back-up. If Dean is hurt, he needs you now, not when the sun rises, though you doubt the dawn would penetrate the dark depths of the damp smelling warehouse.
“Dean,” you call out in a soft whisper. “Sam?”
Dean’s location blips on your screen, you're standing right on top of it, but he must be a floor above you because there’s no sign of him, and you’ve checked below. You're afraid of what you’ll find, and looking down at the illuminated screen blinds you further in the blackness that surrounds you.
“This isn’t right,” you say and have the eerie feeling someone hears you.
Your phone rings, startling you so much, it drops to the floor. Of course it lands face down so you can’t see it.
“Fuck!”
You scramble around, flashlight scanning for it, and as you step forward, you manage to kick it further away. You follow as it slides across the dusty floor, and the corner hits the wall just as it stops ringing.
You're quick to pick it up and the smell hits you as you straighten up. It isn’t dust…
Demons.
You sigh with relief when Sam’s name flashes on the caller I.D again. “Sam.”
He doesn’t offer a greeting, frantically asking, “Where are you?”
“I’m at the warehouse. Dean called, he said you-”
“Get out,” Sam panics, “get out now, run!”
You freeze, terrified to turn around as the sudden sense you aren’t alone makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.
“Sam what’s going on?” You ask, slowly backing up, trying to follow the same path to ensure you don’t trip over anything.
“Dean isn’t Dean,” Sam explains, “the Mark, it changed him. He’s a…” he struggles to finish the sentence taking a deep breath, and he utters the word as you back into a solid chest, “demon.”
“Shit.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s voice whispers against the shell of your ear, and it sounds as dark as the shadows.
He takes the phone from your hand and hangs up, throwing the device over his shoulder. He runs his fingers down your arms, shoulder to wrist. For the briefest of moments, you convince yourself it’s a gentle caress, a sweet ‘I missed you’ in Dean’s language, until he wraps his fingers around yours and the gun.
You forgot you had the weapon, despite Sam’s frantic warning, you’ve never feared Dean, and it’s not like you’d have shot him. But you know you’ll soon regret that thought.
“Give it up,” he instructs, with little room for argument, almost crushing your fingers beneath his.
You surrender it, cautiously taking a half step forward and turning at the same time when you feel Dean lean back to hand off the gun to someone you can’t see. He’s unnaturally fast, and before you can take a breath, he has you pinned against the wall, arms above your head. The flashlight falls, making the shadows dance, and as if on cue, the room's light illuminates, blinding you.
You squeeze your eyes shut against the assault and debate whether to keep them closed, afraid of what else is lurking in the room.
Dean demands, “Look at me,” and you know you’d be a fool to disobey.
Finally, when you find the courage to follow his command, you look up at him. Black drowns his pretty eyes, and his smile is fiendish.
“Please don’t say here’s Johnny,” you quip though you feel yourself start to tremble.
Dean laughs, but it doesn’t hold an ounce of amusement. “Johnny ain’t got nothing on me.”
You look over his shoulder, an army of demons line the walls looking at you with a fatal hunger.
“Is this…” You can’t say it, recognizing that this is the place Crowley kept the alphas. The room where you saved Meg from Alistair’s clutches. You don’t know what you're asking for exactly; to be let go, to make it quick or something else, but the word falls from you in a shaky breath. “Please.”
“Oh, don’t start begging yet,” Dean tuts, “you’ll spoil all the fun.”
“Fun?”
“See Sammy doesn’t believe that I’m no longer his big brother,” he explains, sounding irritated and bored.
“Dean, you don’t…”
His hand wraps around your throat, lithe fingers reaching from ear to ear, and he cuts off your air to stop you from talking. “I’m tired of telling him to leave me alone, so I thought it’s time to really show him what I am. Maybe when I’m done here, he’ll let me go.”
Dean POV
I watch you thrash and squirm in your sleep. I know better than to wake you. Luckily, my reflexes saved me from any real damage but I have the scar to remind me of the knife you keep tucked under your pillow.
“Dean, you don’t…” you whimper into the dream world.
Only, I know it's not a dream. It's a memory, playing out in full high definition. Unfortunately, I remember what happens next too.
I’ve tried running from the man - thing - I was, but I guess I’m too slow. It catches up to me in waves, winds me so much I clutch my chest, digging my fingers into my skin, hoping I’m somehow strong enough to break the flesh and rip my own heart out. Because that’s what it feels like while I watch you struggle. Every thrash or whimper is a blow to my chest, and I can’t catch my breath.
I’ve waited at the bottom of a hundred bottles, drowning while I waited for you to come back. Waging a war against myself, punishing myself the only way I know how, abusing my body and falling into bed with any woman willing to sleep with the down and out drunk.
I denied myself access to you. And you never called me. When finally I thought I had gotten away with it and felt a spark of relief that I wouldn’t ever have to face you again, like magic, you appeared.
That agony swallowed me whole, and I still feel like some big bad is chomping on my insides. It’s no less than I deserve, and heaven knows I’m never getting over you or what I did.
I remember the pact you made, a vow etched in your blood as I slowly and painfully drew it from your body. “When all this is over,” your lip trembled, but the conviction was in your eyes. So much so, even the demon in me was intrigued with the absolute belief written on your bloodied features. “When Sam has fixed you…” you swallowed thickly, found a last ounce of strength and told me - him - “I can wait for you at the bottom. I can stay away if you want me to, and I’ll wait for years if I have to, but I’ll see you again, and I’ll forgive you, Dean.”
I thought when your blood dried, you’d take it back, but apparently you haven’t. Because here you are, back at the bunker, sleeping in your old room. Is this what your forgiveness looks like? Pretending like nothing happened, even though you still have the scars, physical and mental, to show that it did.
Your jerking movements stop and I hope that the nightmare has passed when you roll to lay on your back. I wait a few minutes, watching your body relax, your eyes remain closed, and your frown smooth as your breathing evens out.
“Dean.”
It sounds intentional but you still look like you're asleep. You sigh heavily, hand coming up to rub your eyes open, and then you’re looking at me. A mixture of tiredness and weariness in your expression.
“Did I wake you?”
I can’t help but huff a laugh. You woke me. Seriously? I’m literally the thing in your nightmares, but you’re worried about waking me. It’s infuriating and typical.
“No, I haven’t been to bed yet.” I haven’t been sleeping much lately, but with you here, I knew it was useless to even try.
You roll on to your back, stare up at the ceiling and ask, “Where’re you gonna run to?”
You’re not completely wrong. I thought about jumping in Baby and hauling ass in any direction. I wish I had. I didn’t because I owe you at least an opportunity to tell me how much you hate me, remind me that I fucked us up, all because I couldn’t lose Sammy. Worst part is, I think you know I’d do it again.
Silence deafens me for a long time, and I can’t be sure if you’ve fallen asleep or not, until you deliver a blow I never expected.
“I still love you.”
I really did do some permanent damage because that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve never said it before today. It’s always been on the tip of your tongue. I could see it in the moments you wanted to say it, especially the moments it wouldn’t have changed anything because then you’d have been saying it for you, to make yourself feel better, knowing I was going to hell or purgatory or wherever I was headed knowing how you felt. But now you're saying it for me because it’s what I need to hear, despite that I doubt the truth of it.
You shuffle to sit up, stare at me through the darkness, repeating, “I still love you, Dean.”
“You shouldn’t.”
You lean over to switch on the lamp, a slight jesting smirk when you look back at me. “Well, one of us has to be wrong, and it’s not going to be me.”
You say it so unbelievably casual as if you're commenting on the weather, and I know you’re trying to lighten the mood, but I just don’t have it in me to make jokes.
“There’s a first time for everything,” I counter, “and this is that time. You don’t love me, you love the idea of me, and I wish I was the guy you think I am, but I’m not and I won’t ever be.”
You sigh, and though you're too far away from me, I swear I feel it. As if a ghost just showed up, the temperature drops a few degrees, and a cold shiver runs through me when you mutter, “I know,” looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap.
Son of a bitch. Why does that sting like a rock salt shot to my chest?
“But you're not the villain you think you are, either,” you say, softly, as if you're talking to yourself, and you may as well be because I’ll listen, but I won’t hear it.
“Villain, monster, all means the same.”
“You know what your problem is?” There’s no softness to your tone now. You're getting angry, and that makes more sense to me. You should be angry, furious, murderous even, but you won’t claim it like you should.
Regardless of your right to be furious with me, I bite back, “I have a few, but why don’t you tell me?”
“You don’t think you're worthy of love, that anyone who cares for you has been fooled into doing so, but what you don’t see is that you prove yourself worthy over and over again. The sacrifices you make, you put everyone - damn, the world - above yourself, and that makes you worthy.”
There’s that conviction again, the same undeniable faith you had when I had you tied down and bleeding out. You believe everything you just said, but it's the second time you’ve been wrong today.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “All the sacrifices I make are for selfish reasons, to save Sam, so I don’t have to live without my brother. That’s not commendable. And all the other times it was probably to fix a mistake I made trying to save Sam. I’m not worthy. I’m a screw up.”
You shrug, “Difference of opinion, I guess.”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shake my head, looking up at the ceiling as if I’ll be able to see the sanity you’ve so clearly let go of floating around up there. As my eyes drift back down, they land on your duffle sitting on the chair. It’s packed up tight still, the clothes you were wearing when you arrived neatly folded on top, boots on the floor beneath it.
You’re saying all this, claiming you love me but it looks as though you're ready to leave at the drop of a hat. “Not planning on staying?”
“Hadn’t decided yet, needed to know if I was too much of a reminder or if you could get past it all.”
“Get past it?” I shout. “It’s not some minor accident, YN. I didn’t accidentally step on your foot. I ran a blade through your skin, repeatedly. I took pleasure in hearing you scream. I was proud of how your blood dripped onto the floor!”
My rage makes you jump out of the bed. You, quite literally, won’t take this sitting down. You cross the room and get in my face. “I got past it, so why can’t you?”
I laugh, there’s no humor in it, but it's either that or smash my fist into the door. “You're past it, huh? So I wasn’t just stalking your sleep, walking around with black eyes and a knife soaked in your blood?”
You avert your gaze and take a half step back. I’ve won, I see the fight drain out of you in the way your shoulders slump. I don’t feel good about it.
“You came here to forgive me.” You meet my gaze and it’s right there, I can see it reflected back in your tearful expression. “But I don’t need it,” I say, as the first tear slips free, “and I really don’t want it.”
“We can’t go back.”
You’re not asking a question, you're speaking the realization aloud. But to be sure you understand, I add, “And there’s no going forward.”
Your gaze flicks to your unpacked bag. You inhale slowly and hold it for a long pause. “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted,” you exhale, “So when I leave, I’m not coming back.”
That’s not true. You are wanted, more than you’ll ever know and more than I could ever express, but it doesn’t matter. Wanting you is not enough to keep what I did in the shadows.
It’s a dick thing to do, but the hurt I’m causing you now, the pain that is free flowing from your eyes, is nothing compared to what will happen if you stick around. “Finally,” I sigh, “something we agree on.”
You hand flexes at your side, balls into a fist while you decide whether to strike me or not. I brace myself, expecting the blow. I deserve it. It’s what I need, a flare of anger, a singular moment to show me that I haven’t slaughtered the fight left in you.
Your hand relaxes, and the resolve, with such a finality I’ll never forget, settles in your eyes.
You’ve given up on me.
It’s for the best and there’s nothing left to say, so I turn and walk away.
It doesn’t take you long to get dressed, and I can’t bear to watch you leave, but I wait around the corner, out of sight, listening to your movements.
When you leave your room, I follow your departure through the halls, trying not to inhale your scent too deeply, knowing the memories it will ignite will burn my resolve.
Your truck door slams, but the engine doesn’t start, and I hold my breath. Are you fighting with yourself to leave or stay?
I don’t know which would make me feel worse.
The engine starts, and I drift closer to the garage door. I push it open a crack, enough to see you resting your head on your hands that grip the wheel so tight, I can feel the sting on my own palms. Your shoulders heave with your tears that the old cranky engine drowns out.
I do nothing but stare. The irony isn’t lost on me, I did the same thing that day in the warehouse; waiting, watching. The only difference is, as you drive away I’m the one left bleeding out and tortured.
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Tags: @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373
Master Lists: Dean Winchester // JAckles Verse Bingo // Main
#dean winchester#dean winchester fic#dean winchester angst#jacklesversebingo23#dean winchester x you#demon dean#angst#spn#supernatural#spn fic#spn fanfic#supernatural fic#supernatural fanfic#blood#unresolved angst
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cross my palm with your kiss (DinCobb)
Rated Explicit, lemon, DinCobb bj under the Krayt skeleton plus glove removal that I’m so very proud of, Pining. Canon verse, missing scene
There’s the scent of smoke in the air, the campfires long since banked for the evening by the time Cobb manages to coax Mando away from the huddle of tents and makeshift shelters. It’s easier than he would have thought given the sheer bulk of the other man, forged for his armour just as much as it is made for him, but he comes easily enough when Cobb reaches over and plucks at his wrist, presses his fingers beneath the smooth leather and touches bare skin. He’s warm, Cobb notes idly, a jumpy pulse in the network of thin veins beneath Cobb’s fingers, and he rises from his seat and follows him.
Cobb doesn’t look back, keeps his gaze fixed on the towering behemoth of their destination, trusting that Mando will keep up, knowing that he will. Three moons hang overhead, silent observers, Chenini clustered beneath the bulk of her companions and Cobb thinks about the sweep of Mando’s shoulders, the off-kilter set of his hips, and a quiet watchful gaze beneath his helmet. He knows Mando is pretty, knows it like he knows it’s a fucking miracle he’s lived long enough for his hair to finish turning silver from age rather than from being under some bastard’s boot, but some small selfish part of himself wants to confirm it through touch, through sight, through taste. It wouldn’t happen, couldn’t be anything more than this, and Cobb clears his throat, spits something onto the hungry sand.
Mando steps up beside him, his head already cocked, his free hand hooked over his blaster like a hitching post.
“Don’t believe I got to thank you properly earlier, Mando.” Cobb grins at Mando, chances a guess at where his eyes are likely to be in the murk of his visor and turns. His back hits the exposed rib bone first, the flesh long since stripped away from the Tuskens and, in the morning, it’ll be no different to any other sun-bleached skeleton in the desert and Cobb will be alone once more. “Think I’d like to rectify that now, if you’re amenable.”
It had been a while since Cobb had taken himself into a town larger than his claimed collection of ramshackle huts and tentatively sturdier structures, and longer than that since he’d passed the time with some sweet pretty thing in an alleyway with sand on his knees and his hand curled around his cock. Cobb spreads his stance wider, leaning back against the rib and curls his fingers around his belt. “So? We got an understanding, Mando?”
There’s a heavy silence draped across Mando, seeping from the thin dark lines between metal plates, deliberately pulled across his face like a veil that does nothing more than highlight the expression beneath. Through the sheen of his visor, Cobb fancies he can see Mando’s eyes drop down before returning to Cobb’s face, the impression of something that’ll have to carry him into the uneasy arms of a lonely dawn.
“I can’t remove my helmet.”
Cobb blinks slowly, hears the flick of his lashes in the hush that follows, the quickdraw intake of breath from Mando that’s as loud as a scream. Can’t, not won’t. A choice made and taken away from him or something he’s clinging to with bloodied fingers and fangs and every scarred imprint that would make a man like him? Cobb couldn’t say and wouldn’t begin to try and put words in a mouth he doesn’t even know the shape of.
“You don’t have to, not for me and not for this.” Cobb’s heart doesn’t break anymore, he’s too old, too tired, too bloody for anything to make much purchase on fallow fields but he knows grief like an old friend, the mourning of something that could have been cutting nearly as deep as what did happen. He won’t know Mando’s face, won’t know him anymore than this, but he’ll take whatever scraps he can get. Just needs to keep telling himself that and maybe it’ll stop ringing hollow. “I can close my eyes if you need me to, blindfold me if that’s any better, but I’d like to get my mouth on you at least.”
The night air is cool against Cobb’s skin, ruffling a few strands of his hair free and he starts to raise his hand to push them free of his eyes, a curse already brewing on his lips when Mando steps forward, heavy-footed and eager. When he reaches for Cobb, draws the soft seams of his gloves over Cobb’s forehead and down over his cheek, there’s a rumbling in his vocoder, a sound Cobb knows as a muted internal microphone still transmitting the presence of words, static for static’s sake.
“Going to need an answer, partner,” Cobb mumbles. He turns his face into Mando’s touch, inhales the familiar scent of leather and knows he is already halfway ruined whether he manages to sink to his knees or not. He licks a broad stripe over Mando’s palm, wondering at the contours beneath, kissing the seam just beneath his thumb.
“Yes,” Mando says, his head bowed, the word so fragile that it might fall and shatter if Cobb hadn’t moved first, leaning forwards to kiss the crown of Mando’s helmet. He leaves a mark, a smudge, and the urge burns in his chest to leave something more permanent, to beat his knuckles bloody against Mando’s armour that feels somehow more real than the set Cobb has spent the past decade in. Cobb ignores it, swallows it down as he sinks down, his knees cracking in mournful protest.
Mando starts, makes to hold Cobb’s shoulders — and that touch may just break him, to be held and cherished when it couldn’t last longer than tonight, when all Cobb will have to console him the memory — but Cobb laughs, settling himself on the sand. He doesn’t bother brushing the grains off of his thighs, instead, he rests his back against the curved rib and looks up at Mando through lowered lashes. Behind him, the moons have just crested the low hill, bathing him in a wash of silver light and Cobb isn’t a religious man but he could worship like this.
He grins up at Mando. “Going to let me see what I'm working with here, or do I need to guess first?”
Mando’s hands, normally so even and steady with his weaponry, fumble at his belt, slip over catches he has likely undone thousands of times. There’s a flash of bare skin at his wrist, the same patch that Cobb had touched, and Cobb presses himself backwards, nails digging into the soft fabric layered over his thighs, with the force of his wanting. He won’t be the same after this. He doesn’t want to be.
“Could you—?” Mando holds his hands out, palms up, fingers curled. Cobb blinks up at him in mute confusion, his brow furrowing. “Please. I can’t undo the fastening with my gloves on.”
Oh.
Oh.
Cobb rocks forward, barely restraining himself from falling on the morsel of contact like a starving animal, intent on devouring bone and muscle and flesh. He reaches for Mando’s hands and curls his fingers through his, squeezing them tight. Mando answers in kind, his thumbs sweeping over the harsh jut of Cobb’s knuckles, before Cobb continues to the base of his wrists. Mando’s gloves are heavy-leather, made for him in a way that rich people pay out of the nose for and people like Cobb can only dream of. Necessity means they take what they can get in whatever shape they can get it.
“Both off or just the one?” Cobb asks, chancing a glance up at Mando from beneath his lashes.
He’s beautiful like this, cast in shadow and burnished at the edges as if he’s been carved into a scrimshaw. Mando tips his head to one side and Cobb wants to know what he’s thinking, he wants to know everything. Cobb blunts the thought in an instant, catches his tongue between his teeth and bites down until aches in sharp relief to the slow creeping agony in his knees.
“Both,” Mando says and Cobb doesn’t think about the line of devotion and sacrilege Mando walks along. He doesn’t hope about which side he will fall on.
Cobb draws the right glove free, fingers ghosting over warm skin, the cluster of veins over the meat of his palm forming tributaries and he ducks his head to kiss the furl of Mando’s palm. Mando twitches, a gasp stuttering into static, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he curls his fingers into the scratch of Cobb’s beard, patchy just beneath his chin, the movement so slight that, for a moment, Cobb thinks it might just have been a consequence of being alive. But then Mando touches him again, flattens fingertips against the hollow of his throat, the edge of his jaw, and Cobb sighs. He pulls the second glove off, unseen.
Cobb could stay like this, kneeling, until the moons fell from the sky and the desert swallowed them both, but his bones would protest so he tears himself away, leaning forward to tuck Mando’s gloves through his belt. Mando’s hands remain still, a dull protrusion against the line of Cobb’s throat, and he swallows deliberately to feel the heft of them. It’s heady, like he’s still wet behind the ears and drunk off of the smell of shine brewed in a defunct speeder engine, something that Cobb could grow to get used to.
Mando reaches for his belt with his free hand, his hips offset to his own touch, and Cobb blinks, watching, waiting. The desert is still around them, sand rustling over the heaping dunes and settling in for the night. Clouds blur across the edge of the horizon, flirting with a rain that would never fall, and Cobb breathes in, holding the bite in the warm wet hollows of his cheeks. Amongst a fumble of metal and sweat-soaked fabric, Mando shoves his hand into his trousers and hisses something Cobb doesn’t understand. It’s guttural, tasting like a spray of copper across his tongue, and Cobb freezes like he’s caught in a predator’s gaze, his heartbeat too loud in his ears and offset to the thumping in his chest.
Again, gentler somehow, Mando speaks in the same language, drawing out the words like he’s twisting wire. It doesn’t feel like something Cobb needs to respond to, an observer poised in a slice of lightning-strike glass, but he’s never been the best about keeping his boots out of things that folks deem none of his business.
“You good, Mando?”
Mando nods, the lip of his helmet tapping against his breastplate, and his hand leaves Cobb’s throat. He presses it to the slight curve of his plackart, keeping the rough bunch of fabric beneath everything still, and Cobb leans forward, transfixed. The Krayt’s skeleton could crumble around them and he wouldn’t shift, couldn’t now with knees held together with stubbornness and some cream that Doc swears by and hands out from everything from a cold to a new baby. All Cobb knows is it smells the right kind of sharp, catches him in the soft palate, and it fucking works.
All he can see is Mando, the demarcation at his wrists, the narrow vee at his hips. There’s a flash of curls above Mando’s cock, dark and tangled close to his skin, and the inch or so of skin Cobb can make beneath the seams of his flight suit is paler than his hands and the knowing of it settles heavy in his chest. Mando’s hands twitch, his fingers curling like he’s thinking twice about reaching out, the set of his helmet lending itself closer to uncertainty than regret and Cobb could fall in love with him all over again.
“Can put your hand here.” Cobb taps his shoulder, then tucks his bandana beneath the neckline of his shirt, smoothing the fabric as flat as he can. “Or you can pull my hair. I ain’t a picky date, but don’t touch the back of my neck.”
Cobb delivers the statement the same he would to a spice trader, as serious as the huddled sanctity at the cantina counter and with just enough teeth to make denial an option. But Mando nods, picks his way half a step closer before he sets his stance wider. Sand crunches beneath his boots, a thin line setting up shop in the crease just beneath his buckle, and it’ll be a bitch to remove later, in the quiet after.
“You’re sure?”
Cobb, in lieu of an answer, leans forward.
It takes a moment, a stuttering instance of hesitation as old instincts, burrowed in the hinge of his jaw, press against his nerves. His teeth aren’t as sharp as they had once been, several habits left to grow fallow in the same sand that forged them, but he could still do a hefty amount of damage, so Cobb flattens his tongue against Mando’s cock, licks over the ridge just beneath the head and tastes salt, bright and clear.
Above him, Mando groans, tumbles off the edge of a curse and catches himself on Cobb’s shoulder, his other hand curling through the closely shorn hair just above Cobb’s ear. His touch is warm, nearly burning, and Cobb is willing to let it. There’s a bluntness to Mando’s fingertips as he tugs on Cobb’s hair, not trying to steer him but simply holding on and Cobb hums, settling into an easy enough rhythm. He’s aged from the young scrap of a thing that could dive in haphazard, full-cocked and raring to go and letting the credits fall where they may. He wants to savour this, to imprint the uneven clutch of Mando’s hand in his hair. The counterpart, still resolute on Cobb’s shoulder doesn't stray, doesn’t flirt with the stark line Cobb had drawn that begins at the sharp edge of his collarbone and wraps around to the nape of his skull, and Cobb can still feel the dull press of his fingers through the thin fabric of his shirt. There’s a thought, somewhere in the jumbled speeder crash of his mind, about tugging the neck of his shirt to one side and letting Mando burn his fingertips into the harsh jut of his collarbone and feel his touch against skin, but Cobb swallows and lets himself be held.
“Can I? Please, Cobb.” Mando pants, begs, already almost undone, and something sharp and burning coils in Cobb’s belly at the thought of it. If it had been a handful of years for him, time taken with responsibilities and injuries and just plain unable to be bothered when he could fuck his fist while he’s stretched out over his sofa and there’s nothing better to do, how long had it been for Mando, a man cast adrift in a galaxy that doesn’t look too fondly upon him for anything other than a tool to get a job done?
Cobb draws back, just enough. “Go ahead, sugar, since you asked me so nicely.”
Mando’s hand moves from the side of Cobb’s head, carefully, so carefully despite the need setting his hands trembling, the desperation that tears itself a fresh wound on every gasping breath that falls from him, to cup the back of his head. There isn’t just bone behind him anymore, there’s Mando too, rough skin forged into a weapon and made to hold Cobb just so.
Cobb catches himself on a whine, tears his bleeding heart open anew, and holds still for the steady roll of Mando’s hips. The edges of his flight suit brush against Cobb’s chin, rough in sharp contrast to the gentle cradle of his hands, the scent of him dull and tinged with the sharp acid scent of the Krayt’s stomach. He hadn’t washed, not baptised himself in the rainwater stored and held underground or pulled from the aching clutch of the desert through the hulking shells of the vapouraters, instead merely running a sonic over the worst of it, huddled in the privacy a borrowed tent would allow. Cobb had sat outside the tent flap for him, a nip of something already cradled in his hand, his thoughts tumbling alongside the hum of the sonic.
Salt on his lips, a hand cupping his skull, three moons overhead.
If he’d been patchworked into something more of a religious man, Cobb could consider this a wedding night.
Mando had killed a Krayt for him. Cobb had given him armour. He could do far worse and not likely to find any better.
“Fuck,” Mando pants, his breath caught in a rising hiss of static, short and sharp. His hips still, a trembling cascade of effort, the muscles in his thighs drawn tight, before he slides his hand down Cobb’s shoulder, curving forwards with the movement. “Can you stand? Please, I’d like to—“
There’s an urgency about him Cobb hadn’t seen before, not on Mando, not like this. The line of his helmet whispers at the wide-eyes craving beneath, and the desperate clutch of his fingers, bare fingers, warm despite the desert’s chill. He stands, bracing himself against Mando, his knees cracking like a blaster shot. He pauses, hooking his chin over Mando’s shoulder as the man crowds him close like he’s trying to climb inside the hollow of Cobb’s chest.
“Easy now, baby,” Cobb croons, huffing out a breath that fogs against Mando’s shoulder. He turns his gaze away from the distant glow of campfires and celebration back to Mando, pressing another kiss over the curve of his helmet and watches the imprint fade. Working a hand between them, Cobb fumbles with his buckles for a moment, drawing himself free and taking them both in hand.
“This what you were angling for?”
Mando nods and leans forward to press his forehead against Cobb’s. This close, Cobb can make out the gentle shape of his eyes, dark and made darker by the tint of the visor, carrying the weight of every misery in the world and utterly beautiful. Cobb barely registers the sigh, the warmth covering his hand or his own release that hits him like a blow, because there’s something he knows , something broken open and offered up to him.
In the morning, there would be farewells, there would be the bitter scent of goodbyes and Cobb would watch Mando’s form grow smaller and smaller until he was swallowed up the desert. But now, he can raise his hand to mouth and lick over the rough surface of his palm and taste salt.
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Let it go, Zuko edition
**Verse 1:**
**Zuko:**
The sky is ablaze with flames so bright,
A banished prince, lost in the night.
My honor, my destiny, they're gone,
Like ashes scattered in the dawn.
**Chorus:**
**Zuko:**
Let it go, let it go,
The pain and the shame I'll overthrow.
No more chains, no more fear,
I'll embrace my destiny here.
**Verse 2:**
**Zuko:**
I've faced my father, I've fought for what's right,
But still, the scars of the past keep me in sight.
I'll let go of the burden I've borne,
And find a new path, a future to dawn.
**Chorus:**
**Zuko:**
Let it go, let it go,
The pain and the shame I'll overthrow.
No more chains, no more fear,
I'll embrace my destiny here.
**Bridge:**
**Zuko:**
The cold of the North may try to seize,
But I'll find my strength in the fire that breathes.
I'll rise like a phoenix, from the ashes reborn,
And forge my own path, where I truly belong.
**Chorus:**
**Zuko:**
Let it go, let it go,
The pain and the shame I'll overthrow.
No more chains, no more fear,
I'll embrace my destiny here.
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The history of Ghost writing: From ancient times to modern preactices
Unveiling the Veiled Pen: A Journey through the History of Ghostwriting
Introduction:Ghostwriting, a practice as ancient as storytelling itself, remains an enigmatic craft that lurks in the shadows of literary history. From the secret tomes of ancient scribes to the digital age of modern wordsmiths, the art of ghostwriting has evolved, leaving an indelible mark on literature, politics, and culture. Join me as we embark on a journey through the annals of time, uncovering the hidden hands behind the pen.Ancient Origins:In the hallowed halls of antiquity, ghostwriting took form in the shadowy figures of scribes and court poets. In ancient Mesopotamia, skilled writers were employed to immortalize the deeds of kings and heroes, crafting epics that echoed through the ages. From the hieroglyphs of the Nile to the scrolls of Rome, ghostwriters served as the silent architects of history, shaping narratives that defined civilizations.Middle Ages and Renaissance:As the medieval tapestry unfolded, ghostwriting found refuge in the cloistered halls of monasteries and the chambers of royal courts. Monks penned illuminated manuscripts under the guise of anonymity, while court poets breathed life into the verses of kings and queens. With the dawn of the Renaissance, the ghostwriter emerged as a trusted confidant, whispering secrets into the ears of patrons and princes, weaving tales of love, betrayal, and redemption.The Enlightenment and Beyond:With the Enlightenment came a new era of intellectual ferment, where ideas flowed freely across salons and coffeehouses. Ghostwriters, now cloaked in the mantle of philosophers and pamphleteers, lent their pens to the cause of revolution and reform. From Voltaire's clandestine collaborations to the political manifestos of the Founding Fathers, ghostwriting became a powerful tool for shaping public discourse and challenging the status quo.The Rise of Modern Ghostwriting:As the printing press revolutionized the dissemination of information, the demand for ghostwriters surged. In the 20th century, the allure of celebrity and the explosion of mass media catapulted ghostwriting into the spotlight. From Hollywood screenplays to presidential memoirs, ghostwriters became the unsung heroes behind the glittering facade of fame. Yet, as the digital age dawned, the lines between authorship and anonymity blurred, raising ethical questions about transparency and integrity in the age of clickbait and content mills.
Conclusion:From the illuminated manuscripts of medieval monks to the digital domain of contemporary content creators, ghostwriting has transcended time and space, leaving an indelible imprint on the pages of history. Yet, behind every ghostwritten word lies a story untold, a voice silenced, and a legacy obscured. As we reflect on the hidden hands behind the pen, let us remember that the true measure of a writer's legacy lies not in recognition or renown, but in the power of words to inspire, provoke, and endure.
https://aff.stakecut.com/432955/24108823
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You're not the Boss of me... are you? 一 「Drabble」
PERSONAL/NON-RP BLOGS DON'T REBLOG
Length: 1563 words
Characters: Rika, Geeta
Verse: Naranjuva Academy
Summary: The day Rika and Geeta met.
The dawn touched the hills and greenery of South Province’s Area One as Geeta made her way to Naranjuva Academy. It was quite a long way over, knowing she had to traverse Poco Path, leading into Los Platos, and finally make her way over to Mesagoza following the marked dirt path, but she didn’t mind the length of the stroll at all. She took it every day, enjoying the smell of the fresh grass of the fields and the salty air that’d come from the nearby ocean, and wouldn’t change anything about it.
As she walked, she couldn’t help but sometimes take deep breaths, taking in the scent and sound of the nature all around her, as well as the warmth of the rising sun on her uniform and skin, with her Academy hat protecting her eyes from it.
But today… something would change.
On her way to Los Platos, there was always a small river she had to jump over, and although the size wasn’t significant, her fellow classmates often complained about it, as there had been more than one case of someone accidentally tripping into it or/and hurting themselves. As her class representative, she had already issued a complaint note to her teachers on behalf of the rest of students, and was told they’d be looking into it.
Upon making a descent further into the route, from a distance, she noticed that they’d already patched up the problem by making a small bridge for students to cross through. It didn’t seem very sturdy, but just enough to cross without any issues. And that’s what she was planning to do, but…
She heard a sound. The sound of someone throwing a Pokéball up into the air and catching it several times. Curiously, her hands released the brittle wooden rails and she took some steps back to look for the source of the sound. And that’s when she looked up and saw a figure seated atop a tree.
It looked like a student of the Academy, judging by their attire. They were looking away, their pose hunched over with an arm resting on their thigh, gloved hand holding a long and thick stick, while their free hand was indeed throwing the Pokéball up and catching it in their palm. They seemed to be waiting for someone… but the tree branches obscured their face.
‘’Hey. Shouldn’t you be heading to school?’’, inquired Geeta, which caused the person to turn their head and stop playing with the capsule.
‘’Huh? Who’s talkin’?’’ replied the voice back. It sounded feminine, but slightly deep.
Before the dark-haired young lady could answer, she watched as the other suddenly took a big leap out of the branch they’d been sitting on, effectively showing themselves to her.
And it appeared that they were a girl her age… and a rowdy looking one for sure. Her clothes and skin had quite a bit of dirt on them, sporting a couple of bandaids on her leg and arm. She took a questioning look at Geeta with a raised eyebrow. Geeta herself didn’t remember seeing this girl before.
‘’Did you get lost, by any chance?’’
The question made her laugh.
‘’Nah, I just don’t go to a school for losers’’, she said, the knuckles of the hand holding the stick resting on her hip while the other went back to fidgeting with her Pokéball. Such a comment took Geeta aback a little, who crossed her arms with a stern expression.
‘’I fail to see why it’s for ‘losers’, as you say. I’m a class representative there and I can tell you, you’re missing out on important lessons.’’
‘’Class representative?’’, the girl asked mockingly, before guffawing once more. ‘’Oh, excuuuse me, señorita! Are you gonna call the teachers if I don’t show up? Nahaha!’’
Unbeknownst to Geeta, this student had been skipping classes since day one, and gave the teachers hell whenever they attempted to drag her back, to the point that they’d already given up on her. Even still, Geeta knew this girl had… something. She wasn’t quite sure what, but she had the feeling she’d been at this for an extended period of time.
‘’¿Señorita?’’ Geeta plainly and calmly replied. ‘’I’m Geeta. What’s your name?’’
‘’Name’s Rika, if ya’ care so much, señorita’’, she insisted, before pointing at her with the stick she was carrying. ‘’And for the record… ya’ ain’t the boss of me.’’
The gesture caused Geeta to walk back a bit and for Rika to laugh again, seeing the annoyed surprise on her face.
‘’I might not be, but this isn’t how you should treat your classmates’’, she responded while physically moving the tip of the stick away from her face with her hand. Rika rested it atop her shoulder with a smug look on her face, as if she was holding a bat.
‘’Oh yeah? Say, how about you battle me then? If you win, I’ll consider goin’. But if you lose… I’ll keep that dumb hat of yours, missy.’’ Upon saying that, she tapped the underside of it with her stick, making Geeta hold it down by the brim so it wouldn’t fall off.
Anyone else would’ve either cried, gotten extremely mad, or run off at this constant teasing, but all it did, for Geeta, was to increase her curiosity towards her. And there was still a while until the school gate opened, so why not amuse herself a little?
Let’s go, Wooper!
Go, Glimmet!
…
‘’What even…?!’’
That was the sound of Rika’s voice as she ran over to her defeated Wooper, who was no longer able to fight. She could barely believe it… Granted, she hadn’t seen a Pokémon like Geeta’s before, but it looked so tiny and harmless that she was expecting it to be small fry. But man, did it pack a punch, especially after raising its stats with Ancient Power… Her Pokémon really didn’t stand a chance. Dumbfounded, she thanked her little buddy before letting him go back to his Pokéball.
When she lifted her gaze, her eyes met Geeta’s as she stood before her with her own capsule in her hand and a subtle, but satisfied smile on her face.
‘’Well then, Rika. I guess that settles it, no?’’
The green-haired girl blinked, not sure at all how to feel. She’s had many students of the Academy sent by the teachers to chase and challenge her, and had beaten every single one of them. Heck, she’s even had teachers go after her to try and drag her back to school, some with much higher leveled Pokémon than her, to no avail. And yet… this random girl she’s never seen before, who claimed to be a class representative, had just put an end to her winning streak, just like that.
‘’If you came to school, you’d learn there’s strength in numbers. Even if you had beaten my Glimmet here, you still would’ve had my other two Pokémon left to fight.’’
To be fair, Geeta was beyond surprised, and a little disappointed, that Rika was only carrying one Pokémon with her. She was expecting her to carry at least a couple more, but… it seemed she was mostly bark and hardly bite. Still, her attempt at trying to appear tougher than she actually was made the dark-haired girl chuckle, and Rika couldn’t help but furrow her brows, a pout visible in her mouth as she tapped her foot in annoyance.
‘’I’m sure that was just dumb luck…’’, she scoffed, but Geeta offered a smile so friendly that Rika oddly began to feel a bit… childish for behaving like this. Slowly, her expression softened, until suddenly it did a 180 and she laughed.
‘’Y’know what? Not half bad. Not half bad at all, missy’’, she said, tucking the Pokéball hand in her pocket, while she rested her stick on her shoulder once more. ‘’I’mma be fair, that’s the first time someone’s beaten me.’’
‘’Is that so? That’s… interesting.’’ Geeta wasn’t actually sure if she was lying or not, but after considering the fact that she looked like the kind to have been living like this for quite a while… she decided to believe her. ‘’But at least I get to keep my hat.’’
They both laughed, and the initial tension around them seemed to slowly melt away.
‘’Yeah, you can keep it. Never been a fan of the hat, I look like a dumbass if I wear it, but… it looks good on ya’, I’ll give you that’’, Rika said, pointing at her with the stick, this time in a much more approving and less invasive manner.
‘’Oh? Thank you’’, replied Geeta politely. ‘’Does this mean you’ll come to school then?’’
Rika’s trademark pouty lip made a comeback.
‘’I said I’d consider it…’’
‘’Hehe. I’m sure you won’t regret it, Rika. It is thanks to the lessons they teach that I’m as strong as I am, but even now, I got much to learn. Maybe you’ll be able to get on my level if you start attending.’’
‘’Heh. We’ll see about that. I definitely want a rematch, so I’ll think about it-’’
But before Rika could finish her sentence, Geeta suddenly turned around and ran off in a way that screamed ‘race you there!’, crossing the small bridge in direction to Los Platos.
‘’What the-!? Oi! Wait for me…!’’
And follow her she did.
#( drabble );#( v: naranjuva academy );#( la primera );#( good ol' rika );#( PERSONAL BLOGS DON'T REBLOG )#( long post );#( i'm not the best at writing geeta for sure but lol this was fun to write- )
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 184
2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?
1,324,851
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Tolkien. The Silmarillion. Buffy (mostly crossovers). Hunger Games. (Used to do HP, but these days the author does not spark joy.)
4. What are your top five fics by kudos?
The Sun Also Rises
Picking Up the Pieces
The Unspoken Rule
Bring Out Your Dead
By Dawn's Early Light
5. Do you respond to comments?
Yes! Sometimes very belatedly, but I try to get to all of them.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Not sure. Define angsty?
Maybe The Deep Breath Before The Plunge? (Dangled the possibility of a happy ending in front of Maeglin just before the Nirnaeth...)
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
??
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not really. (Don't take it as a challenge. There's a delete button on comments for a reason.) Though some people appear to have read completely different source material than I did...
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I'm more noted for fade to black than smut.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
I have been known to on occasion... 🤣
Probably my still unfinished Buffy/BSG cross. I really oughta get back to that sometime.
11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
A couple times, usually for SWG challenges.
13. What’s your all time favorite ship?
Celebrían/Elrond (The entire Daughters of Celebrían 'verse started because I thought they deserved better and so did Joyce Summers.)
14. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
Given enough time I will finish them all! ...except maybe Out of the Blue and The Long Road Home, which I lost the outlines/notes/WIP files for when my hard drive died back in the late aughts.
15. What are your writing strengths?
I'm always thinking on stories if I have nothing else to do.
16. What are your writing weaknesses?
Actually writing them down.
17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
If used sparingly it can be effective. (Keeping this one, @spiced-wine-fic as it's on the nose.)
18. First fandom you wrote for?
HP.
19. Favourite fic you’ve written?
I like them all.
Trying to tag folks I haven't seen already tagged... @joyfullynervouscreator @sallysavestheday @jaz-the-bard @edgeoflight @hhimring @elesianne @starspray and anyone else who would like to play.
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Lil Inspiration|| Her big three "Songs"
This is just a little take on the big three astrological signs (Sun, Moon, and Rising Signs) as if they were Songs. Below the Cut is why each song was picked. I am not an expert in astrology so please be gentle.
Sun Song: Skeleton Key - Dessa
"The sun is your identity. It is the essence that you shine out into the world. It represents the vital force that drives you to seek the highest expression of your true self. Your sun sign is how you answer the question “I am” and how you experience life and express your individuality(x) "
For Lil, She often positions her true self as someone who is more of a witness of others, then someone who is particularly the designer of her own story. She sees herself as a wanderer through other peoples stories (often tragedies) as a mostly benevolent feature. In the simplest form, Lil sees herself as the preverbal stranger, helpful and kind but always slightly out of the group. It's the role she's comfortable with.
Lyrics:
Don't waste your worry on me, I always find what I need
Come and go as I please, I've got my skeleton key
Along the way
The old men call me by mother's name
She looked just the same, they say
The children wave
Or hide behind their mother's skirts afraid
Strangers here still seem strange
They hear the accent, know I'm from nowhere near
But I speak the language and I know the customs here
I come from over the horizon, pass through every dozen years
Go home, tell of my arrival, the skeleton key's here
Moon Song: Reliable Narrator - Chase Petra
"The moon is the soul behind your identity. It is the subconscious side of yourself that you typically keep hidden and is the driving force behind your emotional reactions. Your moon sign helps you feel pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, and gives insight into how you nurture and restore yourself. (x)"
Lil is often experiencing a lot more emotional turmoil then she normally lets people see. Mostly, she's incredibly angry at the world and finds it unfair. In her deepest emotions, Lil's rage comes from a want to protect people - and knowing that the best she can often do is still going to upset them (i.e., getting rid of the ghost that's bothering people is still upsetting and traumatic no matter what). She's angry, in a sense, because she doesn't get to see the happy moments even if she does the work so people can move on and heal.
Lyrics:
he said if I was a reliable narrator
my voice wouldn’t shake and I’d never stutter
so I am addressing the crowd again
and it feels like the truth but I sound uncertain
cause second guessing my own minds a skill I’m well-versed in
now we’re circling around the ring
its one v. one and heres the thing
you may be better in a fight
but I’ve got more to lose tonight
Rising Song: Alkaline - Sleep Token
"Rising sign (also known as your Ascendant) is your social personality. It is how you dawn on people as it relates to the zodiac sign that was on the Eastern horizon when you were born. Your rising sign represents your physical body and outward style (x)"
Lil, in many ways is mismatch and I think that comes through her social personality pretty heavily. She has a job that's pretty solemn and she takes seriously, but she's cracking jokes throughout it. She's serious and unserious in the same breath. She doesn't interfere in situations until she decides she should. She can be both pictured as softly caring and gentle, and completely disinterested to the same group of people. She doesn't quite fit anything or any group and often elects to be a stranger.
Lyrics:
She's not acid nor alkaline
Caught between black and white
Not quite either day or night
She's perfectly misaligned
I'm caught up in her design
And how it connects to mine
I see in a different light
The objects of my desire
#it's not my best work#but it's what it is#sleeping on the blacktop; musings#Take yourself Home; Music
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🛀🧸👿 ( for both canon and modern verses )
sleepy headcanon questions || @sonxflight || accepting
🛀 What does their bedtime routine look like?
Canon: Hanzo rather keeps it simple with the mix of relaxation/mindfulness, hygiene, and muscle relaxation routines. He likes to focus on winding down the mind and body before sleep, and does activities such as taking a warm bath, practicing relaxation techniques like deep breathing or meditation, or reading a book. Obvious hygiene routine such as brushing teeth, washing face, and changing into a simple robe will most definitely follow. When Hanzo was happily married with Harumi and had Satoshi, Hanzo would almost always read his son bedtime stories, talk about the day, and sing lullabies. With Harumi, the couple would often use calming scents like lavender to massage and gently stretch each other and cuddle. He also used to drink chamomile tea to further promote relaxation and better sleep.
Modern: Not that he is unconcerned with his bedtime routines and his general hygiene, but as his schedule is unpredictable and very inconsistent at times, he often will forgo all the mix of routines aforementioned and simply prefer to get as much shuteye as possible. When he has ample time, he will most likely engage in simple stretches, perhaps even go out for a light jog or lift before unwinding for rest. Other than that, when his profession demands him of such, he will frequently carry his work even to bed, engaged in reading, creating reports, and even being on call in the middle of his rest. But more often when exhaustion hits, Hanzo will simply pass out on the couch or even the floor with either his work attire or in his boxer briefs.
🧸 Do they sleep holding anything? E.g. a pillow, a stuffed toy, etc.
Canon: Since Hanzo isn't really attached to having material things, and he gets just enough sleep to function enough (as Shirai Ryu Grandmaster, he is often the last to slumber and the first to rise at the crack of dawn), he will sleep even without the comfort of having a pillow or a blanket at times. Although he used to place such vehement sentimental value over Satoshi's stuffed teddy bear (a HC I have drawn from Scorpion's MK11 'Friendship' fatality), he no longer holds it or cradles it as if the teddy bear was the manifestation of Satoshi Hasashi as he has let this go. Takeda Takahashi used to have it until he saw no need for it, so it is being passed through generations, passed onto the newborns of the Shirai Ryu as Hanzo has the most experience raising a kid (or two).
Modern: Unless he has his significant other, nothing in particular other than his sanity.
👿 Has your muse ever suffered from sleep paralysis?
Both: Since Hanzo suffers severely from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) which is one of the prominent causes of sleep paralysis, he has frequently experienced sleep paralysis as well. He is more susceptible to experiencing sleep disturbances because of his trauma-related stress and anxiety, which can disrupt his normal sleep patterns and increase the likelihood of experiencing sleep disturbances. While Hanzo has no problem lulling himself to sleep, whenever he has sleep paralysis, he cannot seem to wake up from his nightmarish visions that engulf him whole. He often feels paralyzed and cannot seem to let himself awake, or feel palpitations and feel the sensation of pressure on his chest or having difficulty breathing.
#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ seeking reconciliation with his own humanity (iii)#✗ ugly syllables of conjured vindictive crimson (modern au)#sonxflight
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Prompt: Felix and Bruno during Felix's first dinner at Casita (+ Felix and Pepa Obviously)
My boys 💕
Takes place in the “With The Dawn You Rise (With The Day You Blaze)” ‘verse
It was rude to stare, so Félix wasn’t staring. He was just glancing and doing his best to be subtle about it.
Bruno was plainly ill. Julieta had taken one look at him and her smile dropped, Agustín just winced in sympathy and tried to keep his voice down.
Bruno was way too pale. There were dark circles under his eyes, he kept wincing at every sound, rubbing at his forehead or eyes.
“You should be in bed,” Pepa had said before dinner even started.
Bruno had whispered his answer, but Félix still heard him: “Mamá won’t let me.”
Whatever was wrong, Julieta couldn’t fix it, otherwise Bruno would have been fine after one bite of dinner. But he wasn’t fine. He should have been back in bed.
Alma kept up polite conversation and Félix did his best to answer her questions, to mind his manners and overall impress her…Yet part of him didn’t want to impress her either.
She hadn’t even looked at Bruno. It was like she didn’t see how unwell he was at all!
She was Pepa’s mother, the leader of the Encanto, the holder of the Miracle. Félix should want her approval and respect. And he did. He was just a little annoyed too.
Who cared if one Madrigal missed dinner? Félix could always have met Bruno later. You know, when the guy could actually hold a conversation or didn’t look like death.
Maybe halfway through dinner, Bruno mumbled something and fled the table. Pepa half-rose from her seat, her cloud making an appearance.
“Pepa,” Alma said. “You have a cloud.”
Pepa gulped. With a heavy sigh, the cloud vanished. She still didn’t sit down.
That did it.
Félix stood and did his best to smile at Alma. “I’ll go check on him,” he said.
“Oh, you’re a guest,” Alma said. She began to stand. “You don’t need to-”
But Félix was already out the door. Forget manners.
He found Bruno sitting on the stairs, hunched over. His breathing was ragged and his hands were tangled in his hair. Casita’s floor rattled and Félix, new to this as he was, swore he could feel the house’s concern.
“Hey.” He made sure to whisper as he sat next to Bruno. “Is there anything I can get you to help?”
Bruno didn’t open his eyes. He just waved a hand in dismissal and mumbled, “I’m fine.”
Félix would take that as a no.
“You should go back to dinner,” Bruno continued. “I’m fine, sorry for causing a scene.”
God, was that what he thought?
Félix stayed put. He’d taken one look at the guy earlier and thought, Oh well, guess I’m looking after you now. No time like the present, right?
“I’m good here,” he said, lounging on the stairs and making sure to sound cheerful and careless. “We can head back in when you’re ready.”
#answers#asks#prompts#felix madrigal#get you a man like felix#bruno madrigal#pepa madrigal#abuela alma madrigal#abuela madrigal#alma madrigal#julieta madrigal#agustin madrigal#pepa/felix#with the dawn you rise (with the day you blaze)#the madrigal family#encanto#encanto fanfic#snippets#encanto snippets
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Headcanon: Music Taste
((Usually, when I do Headcanons like this, I think songs that remind me of the muse rather than what they would actually listen to, but Mateo actually has the same taste in music (Alternative) as me this time, so this is the kind of music he listens to (Without the influence of his friends getting him into other genres. Poe likes songs about Revolution though so he probably influenced some of them.)
Mateo, like me, likes songs that can make him feel like he can do anything.
In My Bones- City Wolf
Feel the fire and see the smoke
Like a hurricane when the thunder rolls
I thought by now that you ought to know
I've got a renegade soul
That you can't control
And I'm on a roll
So don't try to hold me no
Don't you know
There's a lot of fight in my bones
((As soon as I heard this song, I knew it was practically Mateo's theme song. City Wolf in general fits a lot of Mateo's rebellious themes. Even if he doesn't fit the "Ex-SOLDIERs" part of this blog, he's still Defiant.))
--
Uproar- City Wolf
Feel the wave come over us
Like rising from the dust
Phoenix out of the ash
Here we come at last
We're an ember from a fire
Like the echo of a choir
Cause flames they never die no
Like a lightning crash
We're the rage of the storm
We're the ebb and the flow
We're wind when it blows
Can you hear the uproar?
So let's settle the score
You can't stop the takeover
We're ready for war
This is an uproar
((Speaking of City Wolf being perfect for him, I just love this song for him. It's pretty much what spawned the Civil War AU in my head (which I have yet to really talk about on here) where Mateo and a lot of the other Infantrymen try to overthrow ShinRa. I have a few Hero Forge Refs for that verse if anyone ever wants to see them (I had one with just Mateo that I added Oliver to as well.) ))
--
All Eyes On You- Smash Into Pieces
The whole world's watching every move
Take your shot, don't act a fool
All you've got and all you'll ever need
Is one bullet in the chamber
Breathe easy, take your aim, boy
Ain't nobody gonna save you
So what you gonna do?
All eyes on you
Now the whole world's watching every move
Still your heart so much to prove
Fight for all the things that you believe in
Now the whole world's watching every move
Take your shot, don't act a fool
All you've got and all you'll ever need
Is one bullet in the chamber
((This is the first song I ever related to Mateo! I think it says a lot about him and his job as an Infantryman.))
--
Marching On- City Wolf
Left right left and step by step
We're moving 'till the dawn, yeah
We'll keep marching on
We're gonna keep on
We're gonna keep on
We'll keep marching on
Take steps and keep moving forward
Gotta push and blow the doors open
The future's ours we see it we know it
You can't stop the revolution is growing yeah
Ahead never back
The movement's here
We're staking our claim
The picture's clear
This is our anthem
This is our song
March on
((Another general Infantry song, but with a hint of revolution, which still fits Mateo. Also, City Wolf.))
--
Way Down We Go- KALEO
You let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all, oh, go down
Yeah but for the fall, ooh, my
Do you dare to look him right in the eyes? Yeah
Oh, 'cause they will run you down, down 'til the dark
Yes and they will run you down, down 'til you fall
And they will run you down, down 'til you go
Yeah, so you can't crawl no more
((This one is just a classic when it comes to songs about Revolution. Simple as that.))
--
Run Like A Rebel- The Score
There's a million faces
Told to get in line
Spend their lives in cages
Until the day they die
But I'm not a number
I can't be defined
Yeah, I feel the hunger
I think that it's time
That I run like a rebel
Run like a rebel, run like a rebel, run like the rebel
Shake off the devil, shake off the devil
Run like a rebel, run like a rebel
(("I'm not a number, I can't be defined" Really screams Mateo to me, as well as that first verse up there.))
--
Good To Be Alive- The Score
It's a long, dark road, tryna make it on your own
And there's snakes everywhere you go
No more living in the past 'cause that was last season
my vision's looking crystal clear
(Oh) no fear, no fear
(Oh) bless my soul, I'm standing here
Made it out from the bottom and I came out the other side
Damn, it feels good to be alive
whoa
(Whoa) it feels good to be alive
(Whoa) whoa
(Whoa) it feels good to be alive
((Just, a good song for post Meteorfall Mateo, I think.))
--
We Shall Overcome- All Good Things
We shall overcome
We shall not be silent
We will rise as one
You can not deny us
Won't be broken by the fever
We'll get stronger, not get weaker
Now not dead, not done
We shall, we shall overcome
Don't lay back down
The fight is on
We must be strong
And fly our flags
Of victory into the sky
Above the smoke and the fires
We will rise, oh
((Just another really good group Infantryman song about how tightly knit Mateo and his Infantry friends are because nobody else is going to really care about them, so they'll care about each other.))
--
Revolution- Royal Deluxe
Get loud, let's start a revolution
Stand up all together now
Get loud, one voice, one truth, one sound
Nobody gonna turn us down
Can't stay quiet no more
Let's break down the walls with a roar
Get loud, let's start a revolution
Stand up all together now
Get loud
Let's make a scene, make history, here we go
Up on your feet, rise up and scream, let 'em all know
We're gonna let 'em all know
We ain't gonna run, we ain't gonna hide
Try to take us down, still we're gonna rise, every time, oh
We got the, we got the power
We got the, we got the power
((Another Civil War AU song. I tend to associate a lot of songs with themes of Revolution with Mateo XD ))
--
Revolution- The Score
Wide awake, the fever burns
Sweat it out, wait my turn
Can you hear the drumming?
There's a revolution coming
All this doubt is creepin' in
Inside out, I shed my skin
Can you hear the drumming?
There's a revolution coming
I been waitin' all my life
To live, when I've only been dreaming
Get love when I've only been stealing
Can't let time keep passing me by
Run down what I've always been chasing
Black out every fear I've been facing
((Another revolution song, how predictable XD This one was actually what got me started on the whole band long long before Mateo even existed. It really fits him.))
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Radiant Devotions for the Morninglord
Introduction: Welcome, faithful followers of the Morninglord, to this sacred book of prayers and devotions. As you bask in the warm embrace of the sun's light, let these verses guide your heart and soul, connecting you with the eternal optimism and hope embodied by the Radiant One.
Salutation to the Dawn
Hail, glorious Morninglord, with rays of golden hue,
As dawn breaks, we greet you, with hearts ever true.
From darkness to light, you lead us on our way,
With hope and warmth, we start this blessed day.
Song of Dawn
In the morn's embrace, we stand with awe,
As the sun rises, dispelling night's dark claw.
O Morninglord, your light, a guiding flame,
We sing your praises, in your radiant name.
Praise of the Radiant One
In darkness, your light, like a beacon, doth shine,
In shadows, you lead us, your presence divine.
With hearts full of gratitude, our souls take flight,
O Morninglord, we bask in your eternal light.
Sunset Prayer
As twilight descends, and the sun takes its leave,
Grant us solace and peace, in this eve's reprieve.
Guide us through the night, with your watchful gaze,
O Morninglord, keep us safe in your loving ways.
Vanish the Dark
In the depths of night's embrace, we fear,
Banish the shadows, let your light appear.
With your radiant grace, all darkness fled,
O Morninglord, illuminate the path we tread.
Birth Prayer
For the gift of life, we humbly give thanks,
As a new soul joins us, upon life's banks.
Bless this child, O Morninglord so kind,
With your warmth and love, forever bind.
Prayer of Healing
In pain and suffering, we seek your hand,
O Morninglord, heal us, that we may stand.
Renew our strength, with your tender grace,
Bring health and hope, to this earthly space.
Death Prayer
As life's journey ends, and we bid adieu,
Embrace our souls, with your light so true.
Lead us beyond, to realms of eternal day,
O Morninglord, guide us on our final way.
In the Name of the Morninglord
With each breath we take, and with every stride,
In your name, O Morninglord, we confide.
With hearts devoted, and spirits bright,
We live in your grace, from morn till night.
Prayer against Undeath
In the face of darkness, we stand as one,
Against the undead, your light shall stun.
In the Morninglord's name, we banish the blight,
With hope and courage, we reclaim the night.
Conclusion: May these sacred prayers fill your days with hope and your nights with peace. In the name of the Morninglord, shine your light upon the world, for through your actions, the darkness shall retreat, and the radiance of eternal optimism shall prevail.
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Can't even describe how much Death Grips - Beware is an Avatar of Akatosh song
Thee entire song is littered with lines that feel exactly like when your physical self burns away and you become a being made of and unbound by time, on top of some visuals that sound EXACTLY like what happened in the end sequence of Oblivion lmao
I light my torch and burn it / I am the beast I worship
Tfw you light the dragonfires and become a vessel for the very god you're devoted to teehee
The first verse also has some stuff that sounds a bit like Martin at the end (And I know soon come my time [...] but I fear not the time I've taken past the point of no return, etc) but
Have felt what few will ever know / Have seen the truth beneath the glow / Where the roots of all mysteries grow
I bet having your body be consumed by the flames of a time-god feels normal. "Have seen the truth" also reminds me that he got the idea to manifest Akatosh probably via divine madness
Cold blood night of serpent's breath / Exhaled like spells from the endlessness
That's a general dragon line, really
Eye on palm, time is gone / Moonlight drawn, fly 'till dawn / Sacrifice to rise beyond / Deep inside the violent calm of the coming storm / In blood sworn to glorify and for life adorn / With all that dies to become unborn / (God is watching, God is watching)
Something about sworn blood, a watching god (I watch you watching me watching back etc) and TIME IS GONE. Also Sacrifice like how Martin uh
Vomiting forth flames lit by / An older than ancient force / That slays this life with no remorse / The spiral storm of flames inside / The torch I raise, the force I ride
Dragon line again, older than ancient force and all, more importantly though,
Feel my vessel go up in flames / Flesh torch lit by the unnamed / Direct connection to the source / Vestment of unnatural force / Forever burning black torch
Line that sounds like how it feels when your god eats your soul via thousand year old divine fire to manifest and slay a daedric Prince or whatever the fuck happened in the temple there
Worship the flames with which I rise into apocalyptic skies / Beware, God is watching / Harsh winds flay mine flesh to bone
The religious significance of the dragonfires, both regarding Akatosh and Talos, anyone? Also apocalyptic skies lmao. Yknow because
It also helps that the entire song reads like one of those in-game lore books written on benzos
#the elder scrolls#oblivion#tes iv: oblivion#akatosh#avatar of akatosh#martin septim#an incomprehensible stream of pothead ramblings#ramblings
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(Verse 1) En el abismo oscuro de la adicción Un alma perdida busca redención Las cadenas aprietan, el vicio consume Una lucha interna, el corazón se presume
(Chorus) Adicciones que arrastran, que nos hacen caer Pero aún hay esperanza para renacer Levanta tu voz, busca la libertad Rompe los lazos y el dolor se irá
(Verse 2) La droga engañosa, la mente corrompe Promesas falsas, el futuro destruye La adicción al juego, al alcohol o al amor Todos buscamos algo que nos haga volar
(Chorus) Adicciones que arrastran, que nos hacen caer Pero aún hay esperanza para renacer Levanta tu voz, busca la libertad Rompe los lazos y el dolor se irá
(Bridge) Un paso adelante, el valor en tu ser El apoyo sincero, la fuerza para vencer No estás solo, hay manos que te sostendrán Encuentra tu camino, la luz brillará
(Chorus) Adicciones que arrastran, que nos hacen caer Pero aún hay esperanza para renacer Levanta tu voz, busca la libertad Rompe los lazos y el dolor se irá
(Outro) La vida es un regalo, mereces ser libre Deja atrás las cadenas, aprende a vivir Esta canción es un recordatorio de esperanza Que la adicción no defina tu danza.
compon una cancion original sobre adicciones con el estilo de lana del reyChatGPT
(Verse 1) In the haze of smoke and faded dreams, Lost in a world of addictive schemes. Whiskey kisses and pills for the pain, Searching for solace, but finding only chains.
(Pre-Chorus) I'm dancing with demons, under neon lights, Losing myself in these endless nights. A prisoner of desire, craving sweet release, But the highs only bring me to my knees.
(Chorus) Addicted to the thrill, lost in the abyss, Chasing illusions that I can't resist. Lured by temptation, my heart's torn apart, In this tragic game, I'm a broken work of art.
(Verse 2) Like a moth to the flame, I'm drawn to the fire, The burning desire that never tires. Love is a drug, a toxic embrace, Leaving scars on my soul, leaving no trace.
(Pre-Chorus) I'm dancing with demons, under neon lights, Losing myself in these endless nights. A prisoner of desire, craving sweet release, But the highs only bring me to my knees.
(Chorus) Addicted to the thrill, lost in the abyss, Chasing illusions that I can't resist. Lured by temptation, my heart's torn apart, In this tragic game, I'm a broken work of art.
(Bridge) Through the haze, I glimpse a distant shore, Where freedom awaits, where I can restore. I'll break these chains, find a new dawn, Embrace the truth and finally move on.
(Chorus) Addicted to the thrill, lost in the abyss, Chasing illusions that I can't resist. Lured by temptation, my heart's torn apart, In this tragic game, I'm a broken work of art.
(Outro) With every breath, I'll break the mold, No longer a slave to the stories I've told. I'll find my strength, my own melody, And rise above this addiction, finally set free.
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“Your Majesty,” Lisette said, curtsying, her head bowed, “I have found Sir Merek as you requested.” “Aye, thank you, Lisette. I must say, however, I was unsure you understood my instructions due to the lack of promptness with which you completed your task, but ‘tis no matter now.” Turning her attention from Lisette, who stood and moved to take her place flanking Andraste with the rest of her retinue, to Merek, who knelt before her, she grinned as she studied him, appraising him like the fine work of art she found him to be. “You may rise, Sir Merek. There is no need to be so formal. ‘Tis a party after all, and I do so hope you will not let the impropriety of some ruin your enjoyment of the festivities or your view of the royal court. I speak of many of the guests here when I say not all are so flagrant with their emotions and proclivities.” Confusion passed over his features for a moment and then she watched as it dawned on him that she had been following his movements around the ballroom, that she had seen what had transpired between he, Agnus and Lisette.
Standing to his full height before her, dark locks of hair spilling over his shoulder, he smirked and cocked his head to the side, a glint in his eye. “Your Majesty, it shall take more than that woman’s suggestiveness to skew my opinion of another guest here, but we speak of guests and not the more pressing nature of what our host finds most enjoyable. I wonder if The Queen’s proclivities might include dancing. Although I am not well-versed in how one dances in Weissowen, in Meurenburg we are freer with the interpretation, not quite so… structured.” “Oh? And which is bolder, you or the dance?” Andraste said, moving away from her ladies-in-waiting and rounding on Merek, her eyes flitting from his handsome features down the length of his body, the way the silk he wore clung to his lithe form distracting her. Grinning wryly, leaning forward and dropping his mouth to growl low in her ear, he held out his hand toward her, the anticipation of her touch causing an ache in his chest. “Is that what you desire, Andraste? Boldness in an otherwise timid world? What wouldst thou do with such courage?” “Reward it,” she uttered softly without hesitation, her eyes watching him as if transfixed, the sound of her name on his lips sending a shiver of delight up her spine.
Drunk on his scent, the way he held her gaze as if they were the only two people in the room almost too much to bear, she swallowed visibly and without another moment’s hesitation lightly drew her fingertips against his palm before placing her hand in his. Bringing her hand up to his lips, he skimmed her knuckles with his mouth, his breath warm against her cool skin. “If there is a chance the reward comes with your affection, allow me to prove myself bolder than any in this room. There is one catch, however,” Merek said, leading her onto the dance floor, his hand snaking to rest at her hip before sliding into position against the small of her back, fingers tracing symbols into the plush fabric of her dress, “and that is that Her Majesty allow herself to be led and be the one to follow my commands if even just for a short while. Can you do that, Andraste? Can you obey me? Surrender your control? I can be quite demanding when the situation calls for it.” Starting to feel heady, the advantage of having the upper hand slipping through her fingers, she parted her lips and whispered gently, ghosting the shell of his ear. “Aye, I can play the obedient pupil. I do have one last command, though, as queen for the time being and that is that you impress me, Merek,” she paused at his name, the formalities of his title purposefully withheld, the hitch in his body language pleasing her immensely, “even more than you have already. Show me what my affections mean to you.”
BEGINNING ✦ PREVIOUS
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Quotes underlined in ‘Under Milk Wood’
starless and bible-black,
sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack,
you can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.
and you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before-dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dabfilled sea
watercolours done by hand,
time passes. listen. time passes.
the glasses of teeth, Thou Shalt Not on the wall,
her lover, tall as the town clock tower, Samson-syrup-gold-maned, whacking thighed and piping hot, thunderbolt-bass’d and barnacle-breasted, flailing up the cockles with his eyes like blow-lamps and scooping low over her lonely loving hotwaterbottled body.
throw away your little bedsocks and your Welsh wool knitted jacket, i will warm the sheets like an electric toaster, i will lie by your side like the Sunday roast.
i will knit you a wallet of forget-me-not blue, for the money to be comfy. i will warm your heart by the fire so you can slip it in under your vest when the shop is closed.
laughs high in his sleep and curls up his close as he sees,
climbs back to bed to eat them cold and sweet under the warm, white clothes while his mother dances in the snow kitchen crying out for her lost currants.
and before you let the sun in, mind it wipes its shoes.
all the spouses are honking like geese and the babies singing opera.
side by wrinkled side, toothless, salt and brown, like two old kippers in a box.
but every night of her married life she has been late for school.
who kissed her once by the pig-sty when she wasn’t looking and never kissed her again although she was looking all the time.
remembers his own verses and tells them softly to empty Coronation Street that is rising and raising its blinds.
Llaregyb Hill a molehill seems,
a pygmy to a giant.
small is our River Dewi, Lord,
a baby on a rushy bed.
But let me choose and oh! i should
love all my life and longer.
woken at last by the out-of-bed-sleepy-head-Polly-put-the-kettle-on townhall bell.
where you get that nose from, Lily?
got it from my father, silly.
you’ve got it on upside down!
oh there’s a conk!
here’s your arsenic, dear.
and your weedkiller biscuit.
i’ve throttled your parakeet.
i’ve spat in the vases.
i’ve put cheese in the mouseholes.
here’s your…
…nice tea, dear.
give me my glasses.
no, not my reading glasses, i want to look out. i want to see.
nothing grows in our garden, only washing. and babies. and where’s their fathers live, my love?
oh, isn’t life a terrible thing, thank god?
finds a rhyme and dips his pen in his cocoa.
all over the town, babies and old men are cleaned and put into their broken prams and wheeled on to the sunlit cockled cobbles or out into the backyards under the dancing underclothes, and left.
noses are wiped, heads picked, hair combed. paws scrubbed, ears boxed, and the children are shrilled off to school.
never trust a boy who barks.
oh, i’m a martyr to music.
Evans the Death presses hard with black gloves on the coffin of his breath incase his hearts jumps out.
I can’t read what it says, there’s great clouds blowing. Now they have blown away. God is Love, the text says.
And the girls giggle and master around him and squeal as they clutch and thrash, and he blubbers away downhill with his patched pants falling, and his tear-splashed blush burns all the way as the triumphant bird-like sisters scream with buttons in their claws and the bully brothers hoot after him with his little nickname and his mother’s shame and his father’s wickedness with the loose wild barefoot women of the hovels of the hills. it all means nothing at all,
the sun hums down through the cotton flowers of her dress into the bell of her heart and buzzes in the honey there and couches and kisses, lazyloving and boozed, in her red-berried breast.
listens to the voices of his sixty-six clocks, one for each year of his loony age, and watches, with love, their black and white moony loudlipped faces tocking the earth away:
clocks with no hands for ever drumming out time without ever knowing what time it is.
before the sun comes down i’ll lie there in their arm
for they’re good bad boys from the lonely farms,
the sunny slow lulling afternoon yawns and moons through the dozy town. the sea lolls, laps and idles in, with fishes sleeping in its lap.
he puts on a soft-soaping smile: it is sad and grey under his nicotine-eggyellow weeping walrus Victorian moustache
remember her.
she is forgetting.
the earth which filled her mouth
is vanishing from her.
remember me.
i have forgotten you.
i am going into the darkness of the darkness for ever.
i have forgotten that i was ever born.
to die of drink and agriculture.
i’m fast. i’m a bad lot. god will strike me dead. i’m seventeen. i’ll go to hell.
you just wait! i’ll sin till i blow up!
he grinds his night-teeth, closes his eyes, climbs into his religious trousers, their flies sewn up with cobbler’s thread, and pads out, torched and bibled, grimly, joyfully, into the already sinning dusk.
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MAY 10, 2024
Strength and Guidance
Kathleen Brewer (New Brunswick, Canada)
"If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast." - Psalm 139:9-10 (NIV)
"I will always remember summer 2021 as the time my asthma became severe. My condition had been stable for years, but suddenly I started having a lot of trouble breathing. At times it felt like I was breathing through a straw. Sometimes I was up all night coughing, only getting a little sleep while sitting in a recliner. My lung specialist did tests and tried various treatments, but days turned into weeks, which turned into months. I became greatly discouraged.
I didn’t know how to pray about this — what to say or how to feel. Then on a day when I was especially fearful, I felt God leading me to Psalm 139. As I read verses 7-10, these words stood out to me: “Your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”
Even if we run out of strength, the Holy Spirit has enough strength and guidance for us all. Whatever we are going through, let’s remember to pause, ask God for whatever we need, and believe that God will help us." There is no situation too horrible or difficult for God to assist with. He will guide you through everything. Just place faith and trust in Him.
TODAY'S PRAYER
"Holy Father, thank you for guiding and strengthening us for the journey." Amen.
Psalm 139:1-12
"'1 LORD, you have examined me. You know me. 2 You know when I sit down and when I stand up. Even from far away, you comprehend my plans. 3 You study my traveling and resting. You are thoroughly familiar with all my ways. 4 There isn’t a word on my tongue, LORD, that you don’t already know completely. 5 You surround me—front and back. You put your hand on me. 6 That kind of knowledge is too much for me; it’s so high above me that I can’t fathom it. 7 Where could I go to get away from your spirit? Where could I go to escape your presence? 8 If I went up to heaven, you would be there. If I went down to the grave, you would be there too! 9 If I could fly on the wings of dawn, stopping to rest only on the far side of the ocean 10 even there your hand would guide me; even there your strong hand would hold me tight! 11 If I said, “The darkness will definitely hide me; the light will become night around me,” 12 even then the darkness isn’t too dark for you! Nighttime would shine bright as day, because darkness is the same as light to you!"' Absolutely nothing that is too hard or too intensive for the Lord. He always has your back and provides every bit of support needed for any task. You are in good hands with Jesus! Bless everyone! Joe
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