He fades away in her arms as Chronogirl
touches him, crumbling into insubstantial mist moment by moment as she clutches
at the threads of his existence, every moment they’d shared together, every
glowing laugh he’d belted out, every warm touch and searing kiss he’d given her
flaring into sudden light. She clutches
at the ashes of memory as they’re caught up in a sudden gale.
The dreams change. Now it’s her sprinting after Chat as he walks
blithely towards the Tyrannosaurus, reaching desperately for his tail, being
just that fraction of a second too late, watching as the massive jaws close
around him with the crunching of bone and the rending of flesh—
And now he’s the one being knocked from
Rogercop’s car, falling terminally to the earth below—
And now she’s a fraction of a second too
late with the truck, and Chat jerks once as the Inspector’s bullet hits him
then lays still—
And now he’s walking away from her, black
suit resplendent against a starless, moonless, black night sky, boots hissing
through black sand as he walks towards black mountains in the distance, a tall,
black-robed figure beside him—
She wakes, choking on a scream. She feels arms, tight around her waist, and
flails instinctively, nearly knocking her laptop to the floor; a familiar clawed
hand shoots out and grabs it. She grabs
the hand, gripping it in desperate, seeking fingers, clutching at its shape in
the predawn gloom.
“Hey, hey, Princess,” someone murmurs in
her ear as the hand sets the computer more securely aside. “It’s all right. Breathe, Princess.”
It’s Chat, sitting behind her, cradling her gently, rubbing his thumb in
soothing circles over the back of her hand.
Chat, breathing, the rise and fall of his chest a tangible presence on
her back, the warmth of his body a furnace against her clammy skin.
She whirls and pins him to her bed, kissing
him desperately, clutching him to her, touching him, feeling the muscles shift
beneath his suit, feeling the fever heat of him, feeling the life in him. After a minute, her heart slows from its
panicked tempo, and she lays her head down beside his, fighting to slow her
“Princess?” he murmurs with bruised lips, luminescent
eyes searching her face. “Are you all
daredevil #18 || My name is Matt Murdock. I’m a fighter, I’m a lawyer and I am a friend of inconsistent quality. And, boy, am I loved. Go figure.
Whether I mean to or not, I tend to keep to the shadows. I always have. I also make a lot of bad decisions. Perhaps those two things aren’t wholly unrelated. I can see that now. That the light is nothing to be afraid of. Not really. I mean, I may not have eyes, but for the love of God… …I’m not blind.
Hi Guys! So here is a fic I’ve had for a WHILE..but tbh I don’t think its that great. I’m kinda just tired of seeing it in my drafts, so I’m posting it because I do like parts of it but as I said in a previous post I don’t like it enough to tag you guys. You probably have no idea what I’m on about…and sorry I just…I dunno its hard to explain how I’m feeling and why I feel its not enough to tag you wonderful people… but yeah…so only tagging mmfdfanfic
Do you ever just read something like, “Christians Upset Over New Starbucks Cup” and think, no, this really can’t be real, but then you’re on Facebook and an acquaintance who works at Caribou Coffee shares an update about a person who came into her shop simply to examine the cups and say, “Now THAT’S a holiday cup!” and leave without buying anything?
I was raised Methodist. It’s a form of Christianity. I am not a moron. I am not privileged because of my religion. My religious upbringing made me humble, faithful, hopeful, a positive person who tried to do good. I didn’t tell people about my religion. I just wanted to be a better person whose religion helped remind me of that every week when I attended youth group events. Yeah maybe sometimes there were messages about going out into the world and spreading the good word of Jesus, but I wasn’t like that. If people wanted to come to Jesus, they would. If they wanted to ask questions, they could. I kept to myself. My religion was for me. I used it to better myself. I used it to anchor myself. I didn’t mind that everyone around me was different, and I never will. I don’t mind that Starbucks cups are red this season, and I won’t care what they do for years to come. It feels weird to have to state that fact. It’s just a cup. It’s red. It’s cute. Yay holidays. Christmas has a much broader reach that Christianity, which I think is great because I’ve always valued holidays as a family time full of love and thankfulness, regardless of origin. My religious agenda includes no one but myself. I’m not ever going to put someone in a religiously compromising position or anything close to a vague resemblance because it’s none of my business. Religion is not out there for personal gain. Religion is not for attention. Religion is not for political agendas. Religion is not for terrorism. Religion is not something to hid behind. Religion is similar to a crutch. You use it when you’re hurt, when you’re down and out. You might not always need it, but when you do, it’s there. The crutch is self operational. You prop yourself up with it until you can walk on your own. Then you put the crutch away. It’s there though, whenever you need it. (And that’s not to say that religion is also there in good times as well.) But the point of religion as a crutch is that it is for one person. Maybe someone else is walking with the same crutch and you can talk about it together. Maybe multiple people. But if someone doesn’t have that crutch, who are you to tell them they need it? Who are you to tell them they’re hurt when they’re not, that the crutch of YOUR religion is what they need? You use your crutch to better yourself and support yourself. To give you something to lean on and something to remind yourself to do better, be a great person. You don’t use a crutch to trip up other people. So don’t use religion like that.