#chapter 1 came out swinging and then CHAPTER SEVEN???? JESUS.

[multifandomwriter56]

Freaks of Nature Come Together: Chapter 1

Summary: Y/n was born on Earth; but it was never really home. Day in and day out people treat her like a freak. She’s a weapon to them, a blood sample once a week, nothing more. One day, she runs into trouble and somehow she teleports herself to another world. There she meets a Witcher, a freak like her. He promises to get her back to the world that hates her; but she’s not sure she wants him to keep that promise.

Characters: Teen!Reader, Geralt of Rivia, and other characters in later chapters

Warnings: language, small amount of violence, there is a scene at the beginning where a man is trying to force himself on the reader (I don’t go into detail but please skip if it’s a trigger, I don’t want to hurt anyone), there’s talk of abuse, talks about experimenting on kids

A/N: I plan on posting a chapter once a week on Saturday’s. Let me know if you want to be tagged in this series.

Word Count: 2,581

"Don't let her escape! We need her DNA!"

Y/n's running as fast as she can as she swings her arm behind her back, commanding the human-sized containers to fall on their sides; forcing the guards to come to a halt. She does the same action again, only this time her arm is in front of her. The door breaks free from its hinges and goes flying behind her. 

She smirks when she hears a thud and a cry of pain. Two more doors and she’s home free. 

“Ahh!” She cries out when something hard smacks the side of her head. The pain brings her to her knees. 

She looks around for her attacker, ignoring her blurry vision. She comes face to face with a man she would rather never see again.

“Boss says we need your DNA; said nothing about you being alive to get it.”

Y/n can feel her whole body shaking, all she can think about is that she needs to get out of here now. 

As the man rests the barrel of his gun on her temple, Y/n closes her eyes. 

When a full minute passes, she opens her eyes; wondering if she is dead. She frowns at the scene before her. There are six men with swords and one with a crossbow standing a few feet in front of her.

“How the hell did I get here?”

“Don’t move, witch; or I’ll shoot you where you stand." The man with the crossbow shouts.

“Witch?” Y/n murmurs to herself.

“Don’t even think about trying to put a curse on my men.” Another man growls as he places his sword to her neck. 

“A curse? I’m not a fucking witch, you dumbass.”

“Oh, the little witch has a mouth on her. So disrespectful. Let’s see how disrespectful that mouth is after it tastes my cock.”

Y/n eyes widen as the man starts to pull the string that is keeping his trousers up. “No. Don’t touch me!” She clamps down on her screams as the man grabs her neck. 

“Let her go.”

The men laugh at whoever spoke while Y/n tries to see where the angry growl came from. 

“And what are you going to do, Witcher? There’s no monster here for you to kill.”

“The way I see it, there are in fact, seven monsters I need to kill.”

The leader of the group releases Y/n and she immediately crawls away. 

She watches in slight fear, slight fascination as the Witcher, whatever the hell that is, fights and wins against the bandits.

When the man turns his attention towards her, she stands to her feet; ready to defend herself if need be. 

“It’s alright, I'm not going to harm you. My name’s Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

“What’s a Witcher?” Y/n blurts out before she can stop herself.. 

Geralt’s surprised by the question. There’s not many people who don’t know what he is. She is young, so maybe her folks haven’t told her any stories about them. "I kill monsters for a living. Usually doesn't include humans, but there's an exception to everything."

"I'm not a witch." Y/n felt the need to point that out. 

"I know."

"Where am I?"

"Geralt frowns at the question but answers anyway. "You're a few miles outside of Crow's Perch. I can take you home, make sure you get there safely."

"Crow's Perch? I don't know where that is. What state are we in?"

"State?"

"Y/n bites her tongue to keep herself from yelling at the man. He did, afterall, just saved her life not ten minutes ago. "Okay, what country are we in?"

Geralt shakes his head. The girl is talking nonsense. "You're in the Continent." He tells her, hoping that would ease her anger.

Y/n snorts, her patience gone. "For a guy who can handle himself in a fight, you're fucking stupid."

"Watch it." Geralt growls, his own patience thinning. 

"Where the fuck are we, man? I just want to go-" She sniffs away the tears. Does she really want to go home? "I am not going to cry." She mutters to herself.

"You're not from this world, are you?"

"Jesus!" Y/n shouts. She didn't even realize the man moved closer and is now only about a foot away from her.

"Who's Jesus?"

Y/n ignores his question, pretending it's not a red flag that she is, indeed, in another world. "Why would you say I'm from another world?"

"You don't smell like anything from this world."

Y/n blinks rapidly, processing his words. "Ookay; that didn't sound creepy at all." She may not be scared of this man, but that doesn't mean she trusts him. 

"Why don't you tell me where you live and maybe I'll be able to point you in the right direction?" Geralt suggests, forcing his annoyance down.

Y/n opens her mouth to do just that, but closes it when she remembers the only home she knew betrayed her. Her life was hard, lonely, and uncaring. Why would she want to go back? 

She shakes her head. "You know what, nevermind. I don't want to go back to that hellhole. Which direction is this Crow's Perch?"

Geralt's not sure what made the young girl change her mind. He's hoping she came to terms with being in a foreign land. "Roach and I are headed in that direction. You could travel with us "

"Roach!? Where?" Y/n immediately starts to search the ground for the dreaded insect. 

Geralt's lips tug upwards as the girl starts to panic when she can't find the insect. He lifts his fingers to his lips, letting out a loud whistle. He watches as she steadies herself; ready to fight. 

Y/n relaxes her arm muscles, letting her hands fall to her sides as a horse comes to a halt beside the man. 

Geralt murmurs praises to the horse before focusing his attention on the stunned girl. "This is Roach."

Y/n narrows her eyes at the Witcher. "I'm so glad you were able to amuse yourself at my expense."

Any signs of amusement leaves the Witcher's face when he glances up at the sky. "We better make our way to town if we want to get there before dark."

Y/n shakes her head. “I’m exhausted. I’ll head towards town in the morning. Just point in the direction I need to walk. Five miles, right?”

Geralt frowns. “I’m not leaving you out here by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can hardly stand, let alone walk for five miles. Once I get some sleep, I’ll be good to go.” Y/n argues.

“Good thing I have a horse.”

Y/n shakes her head, taking a couple of steps back. “You can’t make me go with you.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I can; and I will if you force my hand.”

The Witcher watches as the crossbow rises from the ground before the arrow is released, heading straight for his heart. He easily dodges the arrow; but not the sack of furs. It smacks him right in the face, knocking him on his back.

“What the fuck?” He sits up, searching for the girl. “Dammit!” He shouts when he notices the girl riding Roach, his horse, into the woods. “Can barely stand, my ass.”

***

Once Y/n believes she put a safe distance between her and the Witcher, she pulls on the reins until Roach comes to a stop. She dismounts, running her hand along the horse’s mane and neck. 

“I guess I should let you get back to your owner. Who knows what they do to horse thieves in this world.” She holds her palm up, a light purple floating in her hand. “Find your owner.” She orders.

The horse immediately obeys, setting off towards the direction they came from.

“I hope you make it back to him safely.” She waits for the horse to disappear from her sight before focusing on how she’s going to survive the night.

Geralt curses for the umpteenth time as he slows down to a jog. The brat can ride.

He comes to stop when he hears a familiar sound. As the horse gets closer, Geralt hides; hoping it’s the girl with his horse.

When the horse with no rider comes to view, he steps out of his hiding spot, calling to Roach. He murmurs comforting words as he strokes her mane. “Easy girl, easy.” He sighs, his frustration clear. “Where did that girl go?”

He mounts the mare, hoping nothing’s happened to the child. The child that he doesn’t even know the name of.

It takes him about a half hour to find the girl. He can’t help the small smirk tugging at his lips at the sight before him.

Y/n had found some small rock and sticks so she could make spears. Once she had about a dozen spears, she spread them out except for one. That one stays in her fist, or at least on the ground right next to her. She then used the rest of the sticks to make a fire.

Geralt got as close as he dared before calling to the kid. He quickly moves his body behind a tree as a spear comes flying at his chest. “Come on, kid. I’m not going to harm you. I just want to help.”

Y/n’s not sure if she believes the man; but not only did he save her, but now he’s wasting his time tracking her down and making sure she’s okay… or he’s just that pissed about her taking his horse.

She slowly sets the floating spear down. “Are you going to hang me for stealing your horse?” She kept seeing images from westerns of men being hanged for stealing a horse.

“What? No, I’m not mad that you took Roach. Annoyed, yes.”

Y/n scoffs, not believing him. “Yeah, okay.”

Geralt slowly moves away from the tree so the girl can see him properly. “You were scared and you had no idea if you could trust me. You didn’t hurt Roach and you sent her back.” He guessed that last part. He has a feeling the chestnut mare didn’t just happen to find him on accident.

“I can influence animals.” She decided there was no harm in telling the Witcher her other gift. He already knew about her telekinetic abilities. “I told her to find you.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I figured you would give up on finding me if you had your horse back. Guess I was wrong.”

"Are you going to try and kill me if I come closer?”

Y/n fists clench at her sides, internally fighting with herself. She exhales, her body relaxing as she does. “No, but I will warn you; I have fast reflexes.”

Geralt swallows his chuckle. The kid’s got guts. It only takes him a few strides to make his way to the girl’s little camp. “What’s your name?” He asks, his curiosity done waiting.

“Y/n Y/l/n.” She offers her right hand.

Geralt takes the hand in his. “I have questions.”

Y/n releases his hand. “As do I.”

Geralt nods his head for her start. 

“Y/n sits on a log she found and the Witcher follows her lead. “So this world, you call it the Continent?”

“Mhm.” Geralt nods. “Where are you from?”

“We call it Earth. Why do your eyes look like a cat’s?” Like the Witcher, Y/n couldn’t hold in her curiosity any longer.

Knowing this question would surface at some point, Geralt hides his annoyance. He knows the girl is not from this world, so there’s no point getting upset with her. “I was taken as a boy and put through the Witcher Trials. If you survive the trials, your body changes. Cat eyes are one of them. It helps me to kill monsters.”

“And by monsters, you mean?”

“Drowners, Hags, Wraiths, Ghouls, Werewolves-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. There are a lot of monsters in this world.” Y/n says through fits of laughter; trying to hide how scared she is at the thought of what this world is filled with. 

“Are there any in your world?”

Y/n sobers at that question. “Only monsters in my world are humans.”

Geralt’s surprised when he feels anger rising in his chest at just thinking about anyone hurting this girl. He buries the feeling as he clears his throat. “Unfortunately, as you have seen, there are those types of monsters here as well.” The Witcher tilts his head as he asks his next question. “How old are you, Y/n?”

“Technically I’m fifty-four, but my body hasn’t aged since I was fifteen.” 

“Is this normal in your world?”

Y/n scoffs. “No, I’m one of the few that have this ability. Like you, I was put through trials, but for different reasons. The children they would experimented on before me would die, so they worked out a way to change our bodies to be able to heal itself. Having this ability is what makes it hard for us to age.” Y/n frowns when the Witcher makes a noise of disbelief. “You don’t believe me?"

“I do. I thought it was going to be difficult to answer when you’d ask me how old I am.”

Y/n’s eyes narrow, wondering if he’s making fun of her. “And how old are you, Geralt?”

“A century.” He tells her bluntly.

Her jaw drops. “Are you shittin me?” When he shakes his head, Y/n laughs bitterly. “Guess fate fucked us both over.”

Geralt relaxes, glad the young girl is getting more comfortable in his presence. “Do you know how you teleported here? Did you use a portal?”

“I’m not sure. I do know it was something I did. I just don’t remember how I did it exactly. I tried to teleport myself earlier, but I passed out; too weak from the trip here I guess.”

“Maybe Yen could help this girl.” Geralt wonders. “I should take her to Kaer Morhen; keep her safe.”

“Hello? Geralt? Earth to Geralt.”

Geralt snaps out of his thoughts, frowning. “I would rather not go to your world. I’m already a freak in this one.”

Y/n giggles. “It’s just a saying. A phrase you say when someone zones out into their own head."

“Y/n, I think it would be wise if you traveled with me. I know a sorceress and I can take you to her. She might be able to help you harness the gift and you get you back home.”

Y/n tries not flinch at the word 'home'. “A sorceress?”

“Yes.” Geralt pauses, not sure how to tell the teenager this next part.

“I can take it.” Y/n’s seen that look more times than she can count. 

“You’ll have to wait about three months. I was on my way to a place called Kaer Morhen when I found you the first time. It’s where us Witchers stay in the Winter. Not many monsters like the cold. No monsters means no coin which means no food or places to stay.”

Y/n takes a moment to think it over. She’s not even sure she wants to go home. Three months will give her time to make her decision. Also if the Witcher has a hard time surviving in his own world; she’ll probably die in a week. 

“Okay. I can do that.” 

[prolestariwrites]

Time To Go [8]: Shut Up And Start Talking

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: M Characters: Nero, Dante, Vergil, Kyrie, Nico, Trish, Morrison Tags: Mystery, Humor, Missing Person, First Time, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Post-Canon Chapter: 8/9 Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary: When Kyrie goes missing, Nero goes on a desperate search to find her. Unfortunately, Dante and Vergil go too. Sparda boys shenanigans, fighting demons, a smattering of family drama, and male bonding (otherwise known as Nero’s worst nightmare). Please check it out below, or you can read on FFNet or AO3. Beta read by @copper-wasp.

Now posted! Chapter 8: Shut Up And Start Talking, in which the guys find a whole lot more than just Kyrie.

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Nero takes a steadying breath as he stares at the building across the street. The address Morrison had provided had led them to what looks like a closed shop, an apartment on top, in the middle of a perfectly normal street in Fortuna. He had let them borrow a car, and Nico drove as she rattled off what little she remembered about the demon named Mammon. The city is just starting to wake up, the bagel shop on the corner opening its doors and a smattering of people leaving for work or school, but mostly the street is quiet.

He checks his holster out of habit, then reaches back to press his fingers on Red Queen's handle. It's a ritual he usually does before walking into a job, reassuring himself that he has both at hand. His arm is laden with extra weight, however, and he glances at his wrist as it moves to his side, flexing his hand under the weapon Artemis that is now attached to him. He tugs the sleeve of his jacket down, wanting to remain as inconspicuous as possible for as long as they can. Sneaking into the building is definitely their best play.

Artemis had seemed the easiest one to choose, not wanting to be left out when Dante and Vergil had squabbled over their choices as they strapped weapons to their bodies. They look more than strange now with so much gear, and Nero's brow twitches when he examines them both next. Vergil is already holding Yamato in his right hand, Cerberus in his other as Nico straps Beowulf to his limbs. The ensemble makes his appearance stick out in the pale light of the morning, and Nero grimaces.

Dante is no better, wearing the cowboy hat gifted to him by Nico, Nevan strapped to his front and his Devil Sword strapped to his back. He was going to bring Agni and Rudra too, but after the two swords argued over who would wear the hat Dante had left them behind. Nero had wondered how he would use his guns or his swords with the scimitars as well, but decided that whatever answer he received wouldn't be worth the ask in the end.

He remembers what the motel clerk had said about them looking like the circus, and Nero has to agree at this point.

"Ready to roll?" Dante asks.

"Shouldn't we have a plan first?" The brothers look at him in slight confusion, and he sighs. "Kyrie is in there. We can't just bust in with guns blazing. We need to be careful."

"Let me go in," Vergil says. "I'll kill them all before they even realize I'm there."

"We're not killing anyone either, not unless we have to," growls Nero. "They might be humans. And if we kill them, then we won't find out why they did this, and if they're working for someone."

Vergil grumbles a half-hearted agreement as Dante tilts his head up. "You got an idea, kid?"

"...No," he admits, looking back at the brick building.

"Y'all are a bunch of dumbasses," Nico says as she straightens. She pulls out her cell phone and swipes the screen, giving it a tap as she scrolls. "Can't believe I gotta rely on damn Wikipedia for this shit. I got plenty of research on Mammon in my van." She gives Nero a scowl on the last word before turning back to her phone.

Nero swallows in embarrassment as she reads. "Okay, Mammon is one of the seven princes of hell. Can't believe you guys haven't faced him before."

Dante shrugs. "They all kind of blur together. But the name doesn't ring a bell."

"His thing is greed. Money, wealth, profit, that kind of thing."

"That's why they want this fortune," Vergil says. "If Mammon really is behind this, it makes sense."

"But how do we kill him?" Nero asks.

"Doesn't exactly say," she replies.

Dante flicks the brim of his hat. "Same way we do every time."

Nico folds her arms with one of those know-it-all looks he hates. "Just go in there and get her. With all this stuff you shouldn't have any trouble. You'll probably scare the shit out of them before you even get a chance to fight. Something tries to kill you, kill it first. Leave one alive. Jesus, a baby could do this."

"I'll go in," Nero growls, knowing this for sure won't be that easy. "The two of you cover me. Stay hidden unless you have to fight."

"Nah, not my style," Dante replies. He pulls Ebony and Ivory out and jerks his head. "Three of us are goin' in together. Let's go."

He nudges Vergil and the two cross the street. Nero watches for a moment, but before he can take a step Nico grabs his sleeve. "Don't fuck this up."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he grumbles.

Nero checks to make sure the street is clear before crossing. The air takes on an unusual quality, the only sound a muted thunk of his boots as he walks across the street. He stops in front of the door and gives the street one more backward glance before leaning in to listen. Vergil and Dante move on either side of him, watching his back.

There is no sound inside. He pulls Blue Rose and with one quick movement, he activates his demon power long enough to bang his shoulder against the door and pop it open. In a flash he is inside, arm extended as he sweeps the room.

The other two sweep in, one of them kicking the door shut. They fan out together, Nero going straight as Dante and Vergil move towards either side. The room is empty, completely empty, no furniture even. The only light streams in through the dirty windows and Nero squints as dust dances in the air. On one side is a wide staircase that leads to the upper loft, which is also empty, although the space behind the guardrail is covered in shadow. Nero steadies his breath as he scans it with narrowed eyes, the revolver ready in his hand.

His heart pounds loudly in his ears as he slowly turns. The others also move slowly, Dante gripping his pistols while Vergil holds Yamato, both ready to fight. But there is nothing, not a footstep or a voice. "Anything?" Nero calls.

"Nothing," Vergil replies.

"I'll check upstairs," says Dante.

His footsteps echo as he takes them two at a time. Nero glances to the side as Vergil walks over. "Looks like an office or something back there," he murmurs, jerking his chin towards the back.

They approach together, and Nero points the revolver at the door, nodding at Vergil as he opens it. He enters first, Vergil at his back, turning until he finally lands on a lone figure in the center, giving a gasp when he recognizes Kyrie.

"Kyrie! Kyrie!" He holsters the gun as he rushes forward. She is tied to a desk chair and blindfolded, her head turning sharply at his voice. Quickly he pulls a gag from her mouth and the blindfold from her eyes, his hands shaking as he cradles her face.

"Nero," she says, her voice raw. "You found me."

"Of course, fuck, fuck." He presses his lips to hers for a quick moment before crouching down, starting to work on the cords around her arms and legs. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

"Just sore." He frees one of her arms, then the other, and his lungs struggle for breath as he watches her rub them together with a wince. "You came for me."

"Of course I came, shit, I gotta get you out of here." Nero bends down again to pull at the cords, cursing under his breath.

Behind him, Vergil says, "I'll go find Dante. Stay here."

He walks out of the office as Nero goes back to working on the knots. "Where are the guys that took you?"

"I don't know, they left before daybreak."

Nero grits his teeth. "Did they say why?"

Kyrie doesn't answer, so he glances up. Fear crosses her expression as she stares over his shoulder, but before he can turn and look he feels the barrel of a gun press to the back of his head. "Don't move."

Nero locks eyes with Kyrie. "Let her go," he growls.

"Not until our business is done," the voice behind him answers. "Don't look like you got our money."

The barrel pushes hard against his skull, forcing Nero to drop his chin a bit. "I'm working on it."

"Get up."

Nero raises his hands, trying to give Kyrie a reassuring look. Her eyes are wide in alarm, and he swallows thickly, his arms and back tensing in preparation to fight. Slowly Nero stands, his jaw clenching as he makes a quick calculation. Then he spins, his arm activating and grabbing for the gun, and just as the movement registers the guy shouts and pulls the trigger.

The shot goes wide, flying through the ceiling and bringing a piece down as the drywall crumbles. Nero yanks on the barrel of the gun, the metal twisting in his grip as his other hand swings. His fist connects to his jaw and sends the man through the wall of the office, more dust and drywall flying in the air as he crashes through and skids across the floor.

"Nero!"

Immediately he swings back to Kyrie, using his demon strength to snap the rest of the cords. "Stay here," he says, grabbing her and pushing her under the desk.

Kyrie scrambles underneath and he jumps through the hole in the wall. There are shouts from upstairs, but he can't worry about that right now. Nero moves in a flash over the guy, grabbing him from the floor and hitting him again. His devil arm holds him tightly by the collar of the shirt as he pulls Blue Rose, pointing it at his forehead.

The guy moans and shakes his head. He blinks his eyes clear, and then they widen on the gun. "Hey!" he shouts.

The flesh glows blue as his fingers sharpen into claws, and with the extra strength he easily holds him steady. "Stop struggling or I'll shoot," Nero growls.

"What the fuck is this!" he screams, his eyes wide in horror as he looks at the blue skin. "Danny!"

More commotion comes from behind them, and then a familiar shout of "Jackpot!" makes Nero grin devilishly. "Looks like your friends are toast," he says. "Now tell me who the fuck you are."

"Fuck you!"

A body goes flying, slamming into the wall and crumpling to the ground. Both of them turn to see, and Nero peers through the dark room. It's not either Dante or Vergil, so he stands, dragging the guy by the collar behind him. "Dante!" he shouts.

The railing that lines the edge of the loft is now completely smashed, and Dante appears, giving him a wave. "Hey! You alive, kid?"

"Yeah," he calls back. "You good?"

"Just knocked some bozo out."

He jumps from above, sliding Ebony and Ivory into the holsters on his back. Vergil follows, but he strides over to them furiously, elbowing past Dante until he pulls up in front of Nero. "Which one of you shot me?" he demands.

Before he can answer, Yamato flashes in the air, the blade slicing between them. Nero pulls back to avoid its edge, and both he and the man he has pinned gape up at Vergil, who is scowling at them both. "It was him," they both answer in unison.

Vergil lowers the sword when Dante steps up and pats his arm. "It didn't even hurt," Dante laughs.

"Holy shit," the guy says. Nero glances down to see he has scrambled to his knees, looking between the two brothers with wide eyes. "Holy shit, you're real. You're really demon hunters."

Dante and Vergil exchange a glance as Nero gives the guy a shake. "Shut up," he orders. "Now start talking."

He gulps, his eyes darting from Nero's hand still electric blue and Vergil's sword. "You're Dante and Vergil, right? I'm Mickey. I'm your cousin."

"His what?" Nero shouts.

"C-cousin," he stammers. "You're related to Eva, right?"

Blood rushes through Nero's veins, pulsing inside his head. From the corner of his eye he sees Dante and Vergil both tense, until a moment later Yamato is tilted and pressed to the base of his throat. "How do you know Eva?"

"Don't kill me! She's related. We're related!" he cries, his voice going wild.

"You're lying," says Vergil in a growl.

"I'm not! I swear!" He winces as the sword lifts to his neck. "My father was Eva's nephew on her father's side. My great-grandfather is your great-grandfather. He threw out his son and she inherited all the money." He glares up at Nero. "All I heard all my life is how we were robbed of our inheritance because Eva turned her parents against her brother. I just wanted my cut."

Nero eases back, dropping him in a heap. Yamato keeps the guy still on the ground as he turns to look at the others. "Is that true?" he asks Vergil.

"Of course it's not true," he growls. "Eva wouldn't do that."

"But you don't know that, do you?" Nero counters.

Vergil's eyes snap to him sharply. "Don't you think I would know what my own mother would do?" Nero huffs, wondering how to even begin answering that, when Vergil continues, "Besides, she never mentioned a brother, or a nephew."

"How did you know about us?" Dante asks. "Who told you who we are?"

"And it doesn't explain why you took Kyrie," Nero says threateningly. He points his gun at the man's head. "What does she have to do with it?"

"We just wanted the money! We weren't gonna hurt her!" he cries. He sits back on his legs and holds up his hands. "It's really you, isn't it? The demon hunters. He said you guys were Eva's kids and—fuck, I didn't think you'd kill Danny!"

"I don't kill humans, numbnuts," Dante says, then nods towards Nero. "But you better start talking before he shoots you. He's been really wanting to shoot someone today."

"Already shot me," Vergil adds.

Nero raises his brows, and the kidnapper nods. "Okay. We knew Eva had two sons, and we tracked down Dante. We didn't know where the other one was." He swallows thickly and looks at Vergil. "You're Vergil, right? We couldn't find you."

"You keep saying 'we'," Vergil says.

"Yeah. Me and Danny. We're brothers too. Our pops knew there was money from the family and we figured we'd come and get our piece, you know? We tracked down Dante, but he lives in a shit hole, so it didn't make no sense."

"Hey!" Dante protests.

Vergil snorts. "He has a point."

"We saw this one there," he continues, nodding towards Nero, his eyes trained on the gun. "You're his kid, right? That's what we figured, you were always hanging around."

"Wrong again, asshat," Nero growls, pressing the barrel to his forehead.

"Okay! Sorry! We just thought—I mean you both got white hair and you both hunt demons, like damn! We thought you were his kid. So we watched you too and you and that girl live in that nice house with kids and all and figured you had the cash. And you'd make a trade." He takes several quick, deep breaths. "We were just gonna trade. I swear we weren't gonna hurt her."

Dante puts his hands on his hips. "How did you find me?"

Mickey swallows thickly. "Mammon. He found us, told us he knew where Eva's kids were. He said he knew my pop. He knew a lot of shit, so I believed him."

"Wait," Nero frowns. "Mammon's a human?"

"A human?" he answers. "What are you talking about? What else would he be?"

He can feel the demon presence a split second later, like a pinprick on his neck. Nero turns at the same time as Dante and Vergil, and it's like a spark, a charge inside his chest. There is nothing but shadow, but it is there, and he can almost hear Yamato buzzing in his head and the Devil Arms reacting, one by one, as he reaches up to pull Red Queen from his back. To his left, Dante grabs his own sword and laughs. "Looks like we get to kill something after all."

"He's mine," Nero mutters.

But Yamato stops him as Vergil lifts the sword to block his way. "Take Kyrie and get out of here."

"Screw that!" he bites out.

Nero turns to argue more, but before he can a figure finally materializes. It is just a man, tall and broad and thin, and for a second Nero blinks, thinking it is V. But that is impossible, and as it approaches, he sees the skin is without tattoos, the features more round than sharp, the black hair cropped neatly instead of laying in waves across its face. "Mammon!" Mickey shouts behind them. "Help me!"

"Isn't this interesting," Mammon says. The voice is certainly not human, a deep rumble that makes Nero's stomach turn as he tightens his grip on Red Queen. "I came for riches, and instead, I got the sons of Sparda."

"Jokes on you," Dante answers. "You ain't getting us, and we don't have any money either. So you're wrong twice."

Mammon laughs. The demon takes another step forward, the shadows swirling around its arms and legs, almost sucking the oxygen from the room. "I don't care what Sparda did, you know," it says. "I was sick of Hell long before he came here. But I want that money."

"Did you not hear him, dipshit?" Nero snaps. "There's no money."

The demon laughs. "Then you're in real trouble."

It begins to grow, its body twisting out and up, stretching as the shadows pull it like taffy. "What the hell?" Mickey moans behind them. "What the fuck is this? Mammon!"

"It's a demon," Vergil says through gritted teeth. "Nero, take the humans and go."

"Like hell—"

Mammon gives a roar, reaching its arms out and grabbing the roof. It pulls, and Nero dodges to the right as a piece of drywall falls, choking on the dust that rises. He gasps as he sees the demon thrash around, taking out the rest of the wall to the office, and he is on his feet with a cry. "Nero! Get Kyrie and go!" Vergil shouts, but he doesn't need to be told twice.

He sheaths Red Queen and bolts to the office, jumping over a pile of rubble when something grabs his ankle. Nero lands with a crack of his chin on the ground, and he kicks hard, pulling himself free. The shadows themselves are attacking, reaching for him with solid arms and hands as Nero lifts his arm and shoots Artemis.

Arrows through the air and slice through the shadow, which disintegrates on contact. Mammon takes a step towards him, but then bullets sail from the other direction as Dante begins shooting. He covers Vergil who dashes forward so quickly Nero sees only a streak, and when Mammon roars as the first swipe of Yamato slices through him, he is up on his feet and running for the office again.

"Kyrie!" he shouts once through the hole in the wall. He drops to his knees and reaches for her, and from under the desk she grabs his hands, sliding when he pulls her out. "Time to go," he pants, hauling her against him, and Kyrie wraps her arms tightly around his neck as his right arm holds her to his hip.

Together they climb back through, and he hears Kyrie whimper over the sound of the others fighting Mammon. Dante and Vergil take turns distracting the demon as the other hacks at the shadows that protect it. Nero is itching to get a few blows of his own in, but Kyrie goes limp against him, and he realizes she is going to faint if he doesn't do something fast. "Come on," he says, scooping her up in his arms, and he runs in an arc in the room as she presses her face to his neck.

Mickey watches the melee with wide eyes, but he shakes himself as Nero approaches. "Save me! Save me!" he screams, grabbing at Nero's pant leg.

Nero aims a kick at him. "Get up."

He obeys immediately, limping as he stands. Nero leads them towards the door, and he pauses and sets Kyrie down. "Go get your brother," he says.

"I can't!" His eyes are wide as he stares back at the demon. "Fuck, what is that thing?"

"It's a demon, idiot!" Nero shouts. "You stupid asshole, your greed woke the fucking Prince of Money." He glances at Kyrie, taking a deep breath. "Can you stand?"

"Yes," she says breathlessly.

"Good. Go. Nico is outside. I gotta go save this asshole."

She presses a kiss to his cheek before darting for the door, and Nero winces as the sunlight streams in once it opens. Mickey also starts for the exit, but Nero grabs him by the shirt. "No fucking way," he growls. "You're coming with me."

"Don't kill me!" he whines.

"Let's get your brother, then I'll decide." Nero practically drags him along, heading to the other side of the room where Danny still lays unconscious on the ground. He uses Artemis and sends a few warning shots when the shadows slither too closely, and when they reach the body he lets go of Mickey and grabs the brother by the arm. Hauling him over his shoulder Mickey does the same, he practically drags him out of the door, the sun too bright when he hits the sidewalk, dropping the body on the ground.

"Nero!" Kyrie is there, and Nico, who eyes the two kidnappers as Mickey collapses next to his brother. "Cops are coming. This them?"

He can hear the sirens way off in the distance, and nods. "Yeah, they're humans. But Mammon is inside. I need to get back in there."

Kyrie grabs his arm. "Wait, Nero, please—"

A blast from inside has them on the ground, Nero twisting to cover Kyrie as he kneels over her. His ears are ringing as he looks back, gasping when he sees most of the building is gone—or rather, reduced to a heap, the only things standing a few structural walls.

"No!" Nero screams. "Dad! Dante!"

He runs and vaults himself over the bit of wall still standing, landing hard on the ground on the other side. Nero scrambles forward but skids to a stop when he sees both Dante and Vergil in the center, very much alive in front of the smoking carcass of the demon. Vergil is kneeling, leaning on Yamato for support, while Dante stands with his hands on his hips, stretching his back. Nero stumbles forward with a cry, and both turn to look at him, Vergil frowning and Dante grinning when he reaches them.

"You okay there, kid?" Dante pants with a laugh.

"Yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear it. "I thought you were both goners."

"Nah," scoffs Dante. "Bastard got mad he lost and thought he'd pull down the building. No biggie."

"Where is Kyrie?" asks Vergil as he stands. "Is she safe?"

Nero nods. "Yeah. She's out there, with Nico. I got the others out, too."

Dante grins and pats him on the shoulder. "Nice work. Knew you had it in you."

He laughs and shakes his head, and then the three pick their way back over the rubble, heading towards the street. Once they are clear of the building, Kyrie runs to him, and Nero pulls her into a fierce embrace, pressing his lips to her temple. For a long moment he holds her closely, his arms trembling a bit as his fingers slide into her hair. His heart beats wildly to have her safe, and here, her warmth pressed to his as he makes a silent vow to never, ever lose her again.

A gunshot rings out, followed by a cry, and he jerks up and pulls out Blue Rose, yanking Kyrie behind him. Mickey is howling and grabbing his thigh as Vergil looks smugly over him. "You shot me!" he yells. "What the fuck, you shot me!"

"What are you doing?" Nero cries.

Vergil shrugs as he hands Ivory back to Dante. "He shot me first."

"Christ in hell." Nero rubs his neck, his shoulders drooping. "Now what?"

The sirens grow louder, so Dante says, "Give them to the police. They'll handle it."

He nods with a deep sigh. "Yeah. You two should go. I'm the only one here who is supposed to have a weapon in Fortuna."

"Right." Dante hits Vergil on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Nero pulls Artemis from his arm and hands it to Dante. "Thanks for this. And for uh…" Suddenly embarrassed, he turns to the side, his arm snaking around Kyrie's waist and pulling her against his hip. "For what I said earlier, I mean…"

"No problem, kid." Dante grins and salutes him as he walks towards the car. "Come on, Vergil! You're buying breakfast."

Nero glances at Vergil, who regards him with an unreadable expression. "I guess we're done here," Vergil says.

"I uh…" He squeezes Kyrie's hip as he clears his throat. "Thanks. For your help and everything."

Vergil hesitates, looking as though he wants to say something. Nero swallows thickly, wanting to say something: maybe thank you or sorry about tonight or hey I'm glad you didn't die back there, but none of it seems right, or not enough. They stare at each other for a long moment, but finally Vergil only nods before walking past them, following Dante. But he gives Nero a pat on the shoulder, and Nero's mouth quirks up a bit at the gesture.

"I'll drive them back," Nico says. She gives him a scowl before poking him in the chest. "Then you're taking me to my van."

"Fine," Nero sighs, waving her off.

Nero pulls Kyrie into another embrace, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He strokes her hair gently, kissing the top of her head, his heart feeling grateful and his body tired when a groan catches his attention.

He glances over to see Mickey sitting on the ground, holding his bleeding leg and looking at him pathetically. "You're not really gonna tell the police, are you?" he moans. "Come on, dude, we're family!"

"Family, huh?" Nero laughs. "I got plenty already, thanks."

━━━━━━━✧━━━━━━━

A/N: Only one more chapter to go! Thank you so much for reading so far. See you next Friday for the conclusion!

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

Stereogum:

ACTOR TURNS 10

Ryan Leas May 3, 2019 1:59 pm

When revisiting the major albums of 2009, the year begins to look like an inflection point. A simultaneous culmination of a burgeoning scene while still only a prologue of the unforeseen dominance some of these artists would later achieve. Whether in revisiting the ’09 albums that hold up, crucial moments like the compilation Dark Was The Night, or albums that seemed to be instant classics in their time, you get a portrait of artists rising and establishing their scene, but in hindsight also glimpses of artists who had only just begun. Artists who would transcend those circumstances, go beyond being an indie luminary and become of the definitive names of their time. There are only a couple in that latter category. St. Vincent is one of them.

Ten years ago this Sunday, Annie Clark released her second album under the moniker. Actor was, in many ways, very much of its time and place, the late ‘00s stretch of baroque-pop Brooklyn indie. Clark excelled within that milieu, and the album solidified her as one of the emergent names at the tail end of last decade. And within its DNA, you can already see the blueprints for where St. Vincent would go. It’s a moment that both represents Clark’s talent crystallizing and still feels rooted in another era, prefiguring how far behind she would leave those origins.

Just under two years beforehand, St. Vincent had debuted with Marry Me. When Clark first started making a name for herself, people would mention how she cut her teeth touring with the Polyphonic Spree. They’d talk about her playing in Sufjan Stevens’ band. It is disorienting, foreign, to look back on those times and recall this is how people used to introduce St. Vincent’s backstory.

And in turn, the Annie Clark that appeared in those interviews, discussing the making of Actor, comes across as a totally different version of herself. The press, already growing fervent about this artist, dug into the album’s conception with her, and she often answered straightforwardly enough. Ten years later, she’s on the far side of an arc that begins here, removed and steely and inscrutable, trolling the press, almost directly throwing back all the things that were written about her in those Actor days, when people would go on and on about this “demure brunette guitar genius.”

Of course, even with the initial embrace of St. Vincent’s work, few could have predicted how her star would ascend and morph — likely herself included. As would be the case with many of these late ‘00s indie artists on the cusp of some kind of mainstream penetration, Actor first came from humbler circumstances. Before teaming with producer John Congleton, Clark worked on it in her New York apartment, recording into a computer, the gentle vocals partially a byproduct of noise complaints from neighbors.

The whole nature of the album was also rooted in being at home, trying to reset after a lengthy spate of touring. Clark began revisiting old movies, favorites from earlier in her life, and writing music along to them as they unfolded on mute. The ones most often-cited in Actor’s rollout were of a particular nature — childhood fairytales with just a bit of eeriness or something sinister lurking underneath. Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs informed the orchestration and tonal shifts of opener “The Strangers,” while “Marrow” resulted from The Wizard Of Oz.

“I felt like I wanted to create something that was Technicolor, was visual as much as musical,” Clark told NPR at the time, speaking specifically about “Marrow.” “And also lyrically — this person wishing they had a spine made of iron — it’s sort of along the thematic lines of The Wizard Of Oz.”

From the unnerving placidity of Actor’s cover to its lush and bright instrumentation, you can still hear what Clark was setting out to achieve. Written to those old movies, Actor is burst after burst of primary colors. But that’s not to say it sounds, or ever sounded, like a happy or precious affair the way some of her peers’ work might have when tackling the same concept. That brightness suggested something sickly, something haunting festering just below the surface.

That, too, was by design. “I wanted to make something that had the whimsy and the sweet of something very pure, like the Disney films, but also something that was kind of bloody and gory and disgusting,” Clark told The New York Times. “I tried to combine those two things, both things that I love in equal parts, and see what happened.”

This is what made Actor seem special in its moment. By 2009, it wasn’t uncommon for the young generation of indie artists to be experimenting with chamber-pop affectations or with layers of strings and woodwinds. And while a lot of that material seems fussy all these years removed, Clark had somewhat insulated herself from the same criticisms. Actor shares a prettiness, an immaculate and composed veneer, with what was happening at the time. But it had a darkness growing, threatening to overtake it.

It was a juxtaposition Clark had toyed with previously, on Marry Me, where poppy indie confections like “Now Now” and “Jesus Saves, I Spend” were countered with freakouts like “Your Lips Are Red” and “Paris Is Burning.” And there were still songs on Actor — perhaps the ones that don’t loom as large, that feel more 2009 when you hear them today — that don’t represent the tension Clark was baking into the album overall. As memorable as “The Party” is, it feels like refuse from a less-complicated St. Vincent, one that would soon disappear entirely. (Ironically, as a counter-argument, you could see the feint of “New York” being MASSEDUCTION’s lead single working partially because it almost hearkened back to early St. Vincent, a misleading intro to an album that represented her biggest departure yet.)

Perhaps one reason Actor garnered Clark so much positive buzz was in how it improved upon Marry Me in every way — the songwriting sharpened and focused throughout, and that conflict of dark and light woven tighter together, so that you never knew when individual songs might rupture. “Black Rainbow” begins pillowy, then pulls you inexorably into the shadows its name suggests; “The Bed” swings jarringly from lullabies to strings that sound like dying birds falling from the sky. The whole thing begins with “The Strangers,” featuring a lilting melody in which Clark keeps promising to “Paint the black hole blacker” until distorted guitars raze the seeming calm that preceded.

The album’s success was in its cohesion, the way it kept these themes going to provide some kind of skewed, poisonous interpretation, an early example of Clark taking what surrounded her and bending and twisting it into her own funhouse vision of the world. This tendency set up a fruitful career, and here it also resulted in some songs that still rank amongst her best. “Actor Out Of Work,” the pseudo-title-track, is throbbing, caustic, and infectious — a gliding melody atop frothing distortion. Perhaps the album’s most gorgeous song is called, of all things, “Laughing With A Mouth Full Of Blood.” One of her more underrated compositions, “Just The Same But Brand New” is a striking dreamscape of semi-renewal at the album’s conclusion. “Marrow,” as clear-cut a St. Vincent classic as anything here, made the polarities the most severe, fluttering woodwinds and airy-but-foreboding verses and an off-kilter chorus of fear and guitars warped almost beyond recognition.

There was a specificity to what Clark was doing on Actor, but it also set up what would prove to be a career in contrasts. Back then, it was the tranquility vs. violence, the quiet and peaceful vs. eruptions of rage. This is what defined St. Vincent’s earlier work: She would build pristine architecture, then set fire to it. Later on, it would take different forms: earnestness and blood vs. artifice and manipulated images. In its way, Actor is the conclusion to the first era of St. Vincent, that indie singer-songwriter who used to play with Sufjan, at the same time as it’s the prologue for the journey that would unfold over the next 10 years and three albums. Anything that could loosely be described as twee or whimsical from those early records, anything that could signify Clark’s roots in a particular era of New York indie music, would soon be burned away entirely.

In that same 2009 New York Times interview, Clark explains the meaning behind the title Actor. “It’s about just the general sense of feeling like a fraud, because I think anyone who is creative or self-aware in any way, there’s like a humility to it, or I should say a humiliation to it,” she explained. “But there’s also a self-delusion … The self-delusion is the thing that makes you go, ‘Oh you know what, all the music I’ve ever loved in the world, I want to be a part of that — hey, listen to what I have to say, it’s really important, it’s going to matter.’”

On some level, Clark was talking about the very endeavor and anxiety of creation; that fraudulence, the fake it until you make it, proving to people you deserve to be there. But on some other level, you know her ideas were good. That they were better than a lot of other people’s. In that sense, her follow-up quote is more prescient: “You can’t apologize your way into people’s hearts. You have to go full force.” Soon after Actor, that fear of self-delusion, that trepidation, seemed to evaporate from the work of St. Vincent. The name and concept behind her sophomore album became less an existential musing and more of a key into her following chapters.

This idea of St. Vincent we saw on Marry Me and Actor is almost quaint, primitive despite its intricacy, in comparison to what came next: the pharmaceutical fog and synthetics of 2011’s Strange Mercy, leaning directly into a retro-futuristic space age queen aesthetic in the coronation of 2014’s self-titled, the dense entanglement of heartache and lust and vivid Pop Art on 2017’s MASSEDUCTION. As the years went on, Clark continued to modulate her identity and push her instrument into its outer limits. She had gone as far as she could within the original context of her career and sound, and instead took a thesis, not sonic cues, from Actor forward. There, it was the gore and whimsy against one another. Afterward, it was constant transformation, the entire project of St. Vincent becoming an exercise in different tensions musically and thematically, the entire persona of St. Vincent becoming a war in which what was performance and what was reality could often be questioned.

Consider the Annie Clark we now know. The one who had a high-profile relationship with Cara Delevingne. The one who worked with David Byrne, and the one who worked with Jack Antonoff. The one who has perfected a distance from the usual machinery of indie star interviews, trying to provoke reactions out of those who speak with her or producing videos mocking the whole enterprise. The one who performs with Dua Lipa at the Grammys. When was the last time you thought about the Polyphonic Spree at all, let alone could imagine it being listed as some kind of pivotal resume builder in Annie Clark’s career? That was still the case when Actor came out 10 years ago. Now, she’s eclipsed almost everything about where she came from. She has become an art-rock star capable of sliding between worlds, dancing towards pop to then turn and produce a Sleater-Kinney album.

Without the rest of the story, Actor might feel like more of a relic of last decade; you could imagine an alternate history in which Annie Clark continued on in a similar vein and was a respected if not visionary force. But after crafting the perfect realization of one version of herself on her sophomore album, she imploded it on her third. The forces fighting within Actor, those hints of stranger shapes and pathways, would drive her career forward. After the first implosion, there was another, and then another — each time, destruction of the old St. Vincent yielding some vibrant new creation. Actor lives on as an innovative indie album from an era littered with them, a lingering document of who St. Vincent was and a harbinger of who she would be. She had already changed here, and would do it again and again. This was just the beginning of Annie Clark proving herself the David Bowie for a new era of rock music, able to shed skin after skin, sliding into new ones repeatedly and with ease. It was the beginning of her remaking herself constantly — just like an actor.

[written-rebellion]

Perfect Distractions

A/N: Weelcommee back to your 2 post a week schedule! In case you missed my little note last week, since we’re back into what’s expected to be an excruciatingly long Droughtlander, I’ve got you covered with twice the amount of disgustingly adorable fluff with your two favourite PD!nerds LOL

And what better way to ring in the new/old posting schedule with some celebratory smut? (i.e.: verra nsfw down below). Enjoy!!

Jamie gets inspired by a song, Claire’s stuck between a rock and a Jamie-place, and as always, the facts of this fanfic are contrived specifically to make fluffy university/modern-day au scenarios. Please let me know what you think!

Part One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] | Part Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Three: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Four: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Five: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Six: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eight: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Nine: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Ten: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eleven: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twelve: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [ Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Thirteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Fourteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] Part Fifteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Sixteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Seventeen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Eighteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Nineteen: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] | Part Twenty: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-One: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] | Part Twenty-Two: [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Part Twenty-Two: Here, There and Everywhere | Chapter 4

“Our dear Mrs. Bug sends her regards once again,” Jamie said with a laugh as he came in with this week’s spoils.

“Bless that woman,” Claire said, coming from the kitchen to greet Jamie in the front hall. She bit her lip, eyeing the hefty bag of treats swinging from his wrist.

“And how was the…” she trailed off, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“She wrote ye a wee list of tips for the next attempt, and a new recipe to try. It’s in the bag too,” he said, crossing the hall towards her and depositing said bag by the key table on the way.

“God bless Mrs. Bu—mmph!”

In the seconds it took for him to make it to her, Jamie had his arms wound around her waist, bending his head and kissing her deeply. Stunned for only a moment, she pressed herself into him with a soft hum as her hand slid up his chest.

She could almost taste his urgency, in no way an unfamiliar nor unwelcome feeling, but just slightly curious in its catalyst. Her chuckle broke them apart, but Jamie’s arms didn’t let her go very far.

“What on earth have you been up to, then?” she said, idly running her fingers through the shorter hair at his nape.

“Mrs. Bug—” She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, kissing her nose. “—was playing Beatles songs in her parlour. I heard one and thought of ye.”

“If you—mmm—say Eleanor Rigby, I will step right out of your arms this instant.”

They were so close, she could feel the laugh trembling in his stomach. His eyes though, were that dark, deep blue that rippled gooseflesh down her arm, every part of her body seeming to rise to meet his.

She took barely a breath before he buried his nose into the crook of her neck, gently scraping his stubble against her smooth skin.

“It reminded me,” he went on, unbothered, “that we’ve somewhat set aside our to-do list in the midst of this domestic bubble we’ve made, aye?”

His nipping at her neck was more than a little distracting so it took her a moment to register what he’d said, and another yet to catch her breath.

“What—hmm—what to-do list is that, love?”

He dragged his lips back up her skin, wasting no time in delving his tongue in to look for hers.

“The one we started right here on the floor.”

Quite involuntarily, her cheeks flushed red at the recollection that seemed to start from below her navel and set her blood to a boil.

“Oh aye?” she said, teasing.

“Aye.”

“What song could dear Mrs. Bug have been playing to get you—mmh!”

He canted his hips against hers and she could feel the length of him pressed into her thigh.

Jamie Fraser, she had found, could not – even by the farthest stretch of imagination – carry anything remotely close to a tune. On the rarest of occasions, songs came out as deep, tone-deaf chanting that, while still endearing, had no business being called music.

That being said, there was something in the current rumble of his voice, the edge of his accent, and the way he punctuated each word with torturous kisses down her neck and into her chest as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt.

“I want her everywhere, and if she’s beside me I know I’d need never care.”

Claire was wriggling madly in his arms as he trailed pure heat across the expanse of her skin. What had she been doing before this? Setting out tonight’s take-out, surely.

“But to love her is to need her everywhere.”

Her thoughts grasped for hazy straws, then fizzled out completely as he pushed her bra aside and caught her nipple between his teeth.

“Wait, wait—” she gasped.

She yanked at the short curls behind his head, dragging him back to face her.

She answered before he could ask.

“We’ve already done it here.”

He smirked.

“Aye, we have… We could always—”

“Nope,” she said quickly at the sight if his insinuating eyebrow. “I already told you, we are not having sex in Uncle Lamb’s study.”

He sighed, but otherwise looked unperturbed.

“I’ll have ye bent over a desk sometime, lass,” he murmured and she rolled her eyes at him.

They must of looked positively insane: her locked in his arms, in varying states of undress and general dishevelment as they very civilly discussed where they might decide to ravish each other in their own goddamn home.

“Have we done all the bedrooms?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Twice.”

“Hmph, perhaps we’ve finished the list after all.” He shrugged, all the more unbothered like a dog who knew quite well that a meal was inevitable. “Shall we go for round 3 then, Sassenach?”

She ran through her mental layout of the estate, conjuring up the strangest mix of childhood memories and those of slightly more adult fare.

Then it came to her and in seconds, she made a half-hearted attempt at buttoning her shirt (rendered useless by Jamie’s kisses getting in the way) and headed to the far east corner of the second floor.

“There’s this—ahh!—S-side staircase to the attic,” she said by means of explanation, even as Jamie took every opportunity to press her into walls and assault her neck with small bites and kisses. “I was terrified of it as a child so I d-didn’t think to—mmm—mention—Jamie!”

He’d made a quick undoing of her shirt once again, pushing her against the door leading to said side staircase and blindly fumbling for the handle.

“Aye, ye can give me the backstory during dinner, mo graidgh,” he rasped out over Claire’s shuddering laugh at him.

He regarded her, his intent clear and present as the door clicked open and he pressed her up against the adjacent wall, hiking her skirt up as he wrapped her leg around his hip.

Claire groaned, feeling how hard he was through his jeans. Their eyes met for an instant just long enough for that familiar electric spark to arc between them and then, no words were necessary.

It was a tight fit, the swell of Jamie’s chest leaving just barely enough space for Claire to grind against him. Even so, he wedged his hand between them to run a finger over her panties, humming in approval before he unzipped his fly and slide home.

“Jesus God,” Jamie moaned, “I’ve been thinking about ye all day, mo chridhe. About this.” He pushed especially deep into her and Claire’s head flew back, thudding dully against the stone wall.

Claire squirmed, well and truly caught between the cool stone and the scalding fire pulsing between them. The scrape of the wall reminded her of the alleyway in the town by Lallybroch. Almost a whole year ago, yet the sheer power and need in Jamie – in both of them – hadn’t changed.

Her gasps and sighs were quickly veering into whimpers and sobs with each thrust, until Jamie bent to lift her other knee up and press her completely into both him and the wall. Her long moan bounced against the walls and they both stilled for a moment, listening to it echo up the staircase and into the attic.

“That’s new,” she muttered, knowing – or rather, feeling – that Jamie agreed, if the hardening cock between her legs was any indication.

And if it wasn’t, Jamie’s eager redoubled attempts to fill the corridor with their shared moans and screams certainly were.

She clenched her thighs around his hips, pushing her back against the wall to meet him thrust for thrust as he buried his face into her neck.

“Come, mo nighean donn,” he murmured into her skin, sinking his teeth into her collarbone as his hips sped up on the precipice of his own release. “Let me hear ye.”

And she did, loud and unhinged as it made its bouncing ascent up the staircase, much like how Claire’s soul felt as Jamie groaned and spilled into her.

Light as air and thoroughly rapturous.

“This…” Jamie began breathlessly after some time, his heaving chest trapping hers against the wall and making it all the more difficult to catch her breath. “This may be my new favourite place.”

Claire stifled her giggles into his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as she counted the seconds before his strength gave out.

It was 5.

In an attempt to keep her from hitting the ground, Jamie twisted and fell through the open door onto his back. They met nose-to-nose, and Claire smiled hesitantly at him, wholly disregarding the fact that she was straddling him and that he was very much still inside her.

He looked up at her, deep blue no longer dark with intent, but swirling and fathomless, and utterly star-struck.

With eyes as honest as those, Claire knew she didn’t need words. After all, for all where love is, the speaking is unnecessary.

His hand rose to tuck her hair behind her ear, cupping the swell of her cheek before pulling her down to his lips.

Meanwhile, the take-out in the kitchen got very cold.

[End of Part 22]

Read Part 23

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Safe with me (Epilogue)

Summary: When an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. As Bucky Barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realise falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected.

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Brief description of smut. Mentions of depression.

A/N: The end has arrived! This Epilogue is a complete homage to CHAPTER 1, so I suggest giving that a quick re-read before diving in. 

I am genuinely blown away at the reception this story has received - I never expected it and I’m SO grateful to each and every one of you. I’ve spent six months writing these characters and thinking daily about this story, and I’ll admit I’m feeling a little emotional about the end. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing.  

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

*****

NEW YORK TIMES SUNDAY EDITION Features Section

The measure of a man By Anonymous

James Buchanan Barnes sits primly before me, mismatched hands folded on the table. Pushing a cup of coffee toward him, he unlinks his fingers, clasping them gratefully around the steaming mug.

"I don't really do interviews," he confesses. "Not sure what to say."

"That's okay," I tell him. "This isn't about being perfect or saying the exact right thing. It's just about being yourself."

He makes a face at that. "I don't think myself is something people want to hear about."

Looking into his nervous blue eyes, I give him a reassuring smile. "They absolutely will. People want to know the man behind the mask."

He doesn't like talking about himself, has never been overly comfortable in the limelight. Rolling his shoulders back, he takes a deep breath and gives me a tentative nod.

Like any good story, context is important, so we begin down the familiar route.

"Let's start at the beginning."

******

Crisp morning air wafts through the small kiosk, fluttering the bright covers of the magazines and newspapers lining the shelves. Taking a long drink of coffee, Riz smacks his lips and leans over his front counter, watching Manhattan's morning routine play out around him.

From out of nowhere, a giant stack of newspapers is hurled onto the counter and Riz tumbles back in surprise.

"What the - "

Bucky Barnes stands before him, wearing an old leather jacket and a delighted grin.

"Morning Riz, I need them all today. Oh, and by the way," he digs into his back pocket and pulls out a crumpled sheet of paper, tossing it carelessly on the stack. "Got something to show you."

The black ink is smudged in places, but there it is, the numbered boxes filled with careful block letters.

Last Sunday's New York Times crossword.

Completed.

Riz stares at the paper in astonishment. Looking up, he begins to laugh at the smug triumph on Bucky's face.

"I fucking told you I'd finish one," Bucky says, slapping his hand on the puzzle once more to reinforce his success.

Still chuckling, Riz reaches below the counter and produces a dusty rectangle wrapped in tissue paper. Bucky peels away the layers, grinning happily when it reveals a black picture frame. Riz gives him a friendly slap on the arm.

"My friend, I never doubted you."

*****

He needs no real introduction.

Familiar to anyone who cracked a grade school history book in the last seventy years, James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes is a quiet enigma. The American public first met him in 1943 as Sergeant Barnes, Howling Commando and right-hand man to Captain America. His lopsided smile became so well-loved, a comforting staple in the news cycle, the women on the home front declared it a national treasure. America swooned for him, cheered for him, prayed for him, and ultimately mourned him when the reports came home of his KIA status in 1945.

When he was resurrected in Washington DC, amid a whirlwind of gunfire and explosions, he was another figure entirely. Life ripped to pieces and commandeered for decades by Hydra's brutality, he bore only a faint resemblance to the grainy black and white pictures of America's charming hero.

The history books lean into war, into combat, into the tragedy of his service; it's where the facts are most prevalent, irrefutable and absolute. Barnes' first war was for his country and his second was against it, but both lead to an unfortunate truth – most of his life, has been death.

But, beneath that iron exterior lies something else. Focused on consolidating facts and figures, history so often forgets that war is comprised of a much more important number – the beating hearts and terrified souls of those on the battlefield. Soldiers are the flesh and bone reflection of a generation's ideals and Barnes is no different than the millions who came before and after him. Stretched across the burned-out fields and shattered cities of Europe, his first war was one who's consequences still reverberate decades later.

That was his first taste of battle. It was harsh and unforgiving, but in the grand scheme of things – it was blessedly brief.

His next experience would last a lifetime. As his world careened out of control, his moral compass was broken and recalibrated, setting a man full of soft smiles and boisterous laughter, down a path of unimaginable pain and torment.

Through the course of both his lives, he's been known by a million different names. James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky Barnes. Sergeant Barnes. The Asset. The Winter Soldier. Before we go any further, I want to make something crystal clear.

The man you will meet, is more than a number stamped on a paper-thin set of dog tags, clinking loose around his neck. He is more than the shadowy name in a ledger of Hydra weaponry, carefully and perfectly aimed. He is more than a salacious headline, blazoned across gossip sites for the world to read.

He is more. He is much, much more.

I want everyone to know him, because Bucky Barnes is worth knowing.

*****

Walking through the Tower, Bucky's giant stack of papers grows smaller. Opening every page to the Features section, he leaves copies scattered in every room he visits.

The coffee table in the common room. One in Steve's bedroom. One in Wilson's bathroom. One in Natasha's mailbox, because no fucking way would he try to sneak in her room. A copy in the library. One on each treadmill in the gym. One on Bruce's desk. Pausing outside Tony's lab, he sends the online link to Pepper and asks if she can post it to the official Avengers social handles. She responds with a winky face telling him it's already been done.

"FRIDAY, did you see it?" he asks excitedly, waving his last copy as he plops down on the sofa.

"Yes, Sergeant Barnes," comes the Irish lilt and Bucky wonders for the millionth time, how an AI can sound amused. "I found it to be an inspiring piece. She's a lovely writer."

"Yeah," he agrees fervently. "She's fucking awesome." Rustling the pages, he finds the article and folds it open, swallowing the lump in his throat when he reads the headline. Even though he has your story memorized at this point, he sinks into the words one more time.

*****

"Talk to me about growing up with Steve," I say, turning my phone to record and setting it between us.

Barnes looks to the ceiling and gives a low whistle. "Jesus Mary and Joseph," he says, "that kid needed a leash. Stubborn ass little ball of piss and vinegar, always getting me in trouble."

The pair met in a baseball field behind their apartment complex, when Barnes was seven-years-old, kick starting the most famous friendship in modern history.

"First time I met him, he was getting his ass handed to him. When I tried to pull him away, he was so wound up he took a swing at me. Got an arm around him and the little punk bit me. Still got the scar." Barnes extends his right forearm with a grin, showing me a faint pair of half-moons on his skin. "I knocked him upside the head, and then he wipes his bloody nose on his shirt and apologizes. Been best friends ever since."

Rogers is well-known for diving head-first into any fray, a behaviour an exasperated Barnes maintains he hasn't changed since that sweaty summer day in 1925.

"Look, he's a reckless idiot," Barnes states. "My best damn friend in the world and I'd do anything for him, but he's still an idiot."

Barnes is a colorful storyteller, spinning tales about their adventures through the streets and alleys of pre-war Brooklyn. While he talks, I find myself picking up on a theme, the word future cropping up several times. He doesn't notice until I ask.

"When you were growing up, what did you see in your future? How did you picture your life?"

Barnes raises his eyebrows at the question, falling silent as he thinks. He scratches his fingernail on the edge of the table for a few minutes, trying to articulate his thoughts. When it comes, I'm surprised.

"Not as a soldier. I never wanted to be a soldier." He bites his lip and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "Guess I wanted what everyone wanted then. Get a decent job, put food on the table, buy a house someday. Find a nice girl to settle down with, maybe raise a couple kids. Grow old together." He gives me a wistful smile. "Always liked learning, would've loved to go to college."

The simplicity of his response is all the more heart-breaking, considering the trajectory he would later be set upon.

"All I ever really wanted, was a quiet, ordinary life."

******

The bruises littering your skin have mostly faded, the rope markings around your neck nothing more than a faint rash. Unconsciously rubbing the scabs on your wrists, you find the pain is gone, leaving behind a dull ache.

It's been over a week since that night and the entire experience still seems like a bizarre dream. There will be plenty of time spent parsing apart the details with a professional, and in fact Steve already booked you several months of weekly appointments with an experienced trauma therapist he knows through the VA. It's a relief to have that on the horizon, someone to help you work through everything.

Behind the walls of your heart though, a strange feeling emerges, one that is deeply frustrating. After everything he did, it kills you to think the traitorous thought, but your brain refuses to cooperate and there it is – there's a tiny part of you mourning the loss of a man you thought you knew. Not the man he really was – Jack deserved his violently bloody ending and you would never take that from Bucky. But Jack was someone you trusted, a mentor and friend, and you're bitterly disappointed in your inability to see the real man until it was nearly too late.

Nearly too late.

"But it wasn't," you say out loud, irrationally proud of the steadiness in your voice.

At Bucky's insistence, you've been comfortably ensconced in the Brooklyn apartment since you came back. Away from the bustle of the city, it's been heaven to hide away, resting and recovering.

Well, and of course – spending every possible minute with the moody, uncontrollable, uncooperative bucket of sarcasm that is none other than James Buchanan Barnes.

Waiting for him to come home, you wander through the comfortable apartment. Picking up his well-worn copy of The Book Thief, you tuck it carefully into the empty slot on the bookcase, tracing your fingers over the lettering down the spine, smiling to yourself.

Stepping back, you scan the familiar artwork on the walls, marvelling again at the cracked and peeling photos, at the beauty of Steve's sketches. Right then, your eye pauses when you notice two new additions.

In a shiny green frame, is an adorably childish marker drawing of a smiling Bucky holding the hand of a little girl with dark pigtails. Everyone is dressed head to toe in pink and the bottom is signed 'Gracie' in bright purple letters. The sweetness of the statement, of Bucky going to the trouble of framing and hanging artwork an adoring kid drew for him, makes your heart flip.

Above the drawing, in a simple black frame, is the other new addition. Peering closer, you find the selfie you took the night of Stark's party. Swallowing hard, you reach to touch the frame, losing yourself in memories of that night. The smooth motion of Bucky swaying, the feel of sinking into his arms, his quiet hums of pleasure sending ripples down your back.

"I had Stark get it off your phone for me," the husky voice is unexpected and you let out a bloodcurdling shriek when strong arms wind around you. Bucky chuckles, holding you tight, mouthing at the soft skin behind your ear. "Sorry, thought you heard me. Least you didn't attack me with M&Ms this time."

"That's only because we're out of them," you grumble, turning in his arms. Bucky grins, rubbing his nose to yours, before catching your lips with a sweet kiss. When he presses you against the wall, you feel every delicious inch of his heavy body and you shiver at the promise behind his hard grip. Smiling into the kiss, you slide your tongue against his, feeling the heat pool in your belly, before reluctantly pulling away. He gives a soft whine at the loss of contact, full lips dropping into a pout.

"Pathetic, Barnes," you sigh and he pouts harder. "Fine, you giant fucking baby. Ravish me then."

"Hell yes," he breathes, lifting you easily and tugging your legs tight around his waist. "Hell fucking yes."

*****

Ordinary was a sweet word, but it wasn't meant to be. Unknown to him, the darkest day of his life was drawing closer, one that would spin him in an entirely new direction.

Searching for more context around that horrifying day, I went straight to the man who saw it first-hand. He sheds the mantle when he talks about this memory, no longer Captain America – here, he is only Steve Rogers, a helpless young man watching his best friend fall to his death.

"I couldn't do anything. Nothing. I just watched him slip away," Rogers says. His guilt is palpable, the musings of a man shouldering far too much. "It pisses him off when I say it, but it's the truth. Won't ever forgive myself."

Barnes shakes his head when I mention this, adamant in his refusal to assign a hint of blame.

"There was nothing he could have done," he states emphatically. "Absolutely nothing."

While Rogers can recount every horrifying detail of that day, in this small fact, Barnes is lucky. I ask him what he remembers.

"It's funny. I remember wondering how the hell my hands could be so sweaty when it was so damn cold outside." He flexes the fingers of his right hand, considering them. "I lost my grip on the bar and I heard Steve screaming. I don't remember the fall itself though, must've passed out on the way down. Next thing I know, I open my eyes and I'm half-buried in snow. There was – the snow was red. All around me, bright red. My arm wouldn't move and I couldn't feel anything from the waist down."

Most of Hydra's files from the start of the Winter Soldier project have been lost, either as they changed hands over the years or through the natural decay of time, but those recovered allude to Barnes suffering catastrophic injuries in the fall that should have left him dead. His left arm was found hanging by no more than a few strips of muscle, his spine was shattered, his lungs nearly collapsed. There was no possible reason he should have survived.

But – running through his veins was something unexpected.

"Knock-off Nazi trash serum," Barnes drily refers to it. During his weeks spent as a POW in Azzano (the Hydra work camp he was liberated from in 1943), Barnes was an unwilling participant in a number of experiments conducted by that same Arnim Zola he was chasing that day on the train.

Laying in the snow, Barnes admits he thought he'd reached the end of the line. Every soldier entertains the possibility they may never return home, and Barnes made peace with that fact.

"Here's the thing. I had a family waiting for me in Brooklyn. A baby sister I promised to give away at her wedding. A best friend I left hanging on a busted train miles above me. I was 27-years-old, lost in another country, and I sure as hell didn't want to die. I kept thinking I had so much damn living left in me, so much I wanted to do."

His words are tragic in their familiarity, a prayer to be repeated by thousands of voices in the decades that followed, from Korea to Vietnam, from Iraq to Afghanistan. Generations of young men and women just like Sergeant Barnes, left broken and bleeding on foreign soil.

He cracks the knuckles on his right hand while he thinks.

"It seemed inevitable though, so I tried to get myself ready. Remember it being dead silent in that canyon, so I had plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to cry. There were definitely tears. But the longer I laid there, I started to feel warm and things didn't hurt so much. So, I thought hell, if I gotta go, maybe this is better than taking a bullet and bleeding out in the middle of a firefight." Barnes gives a hollow smile. "But right as it got dark, I heard dogs barking. Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by men shouting in Russian. Couldn't move a damn finger, couldn't do anything but lay there and panic. Took a boot to the head and passed out."

Here, he gets a distant look in his eyes. "The next time I woke up, it was – I don't understand it, I don't know how, but I guess it was months later. I was strapped to a table and the whole left side of my body felt like I'd been hit by a train." His lip curls. "And there was Zola, looking down at me again. Thought I was having a flashback."

It wasn't a flashback. On that surgery table, was the start of a waking nightmare that would continue unabated for the next seventy years.

******

The first night you spent together was marked with heat and urgency, a clear desperation to feel each other before the moment was lost. When Bucky pushed you away the morning after, it broke your heart, but the night itself, before all hell broke loose – it was beautiful and perfect and right. You wouldn't trade it for anything.

Now, though.

Now.

Fuck.

All his tight control and fervent attention to detail is one thing when he shifts into work mode – but in bed, when he turns that intense focus directly on you, he is devastating. Every stroke of his fingers comes slow and purposeful, building the heat in your stomach. Every kiss drips with love against your sweaty skin, full of unspoken promise. Every move of his body in yours is deliberate, wringing every last drop of pleasure he can coax from your body.

He was the kind of lover you dreamed about, committed to pleasing you above all else, making you feel everything again and again and then once more for good measure.

Never breaking his steady rhythm, Bucky now pulls you to your knees, your back flush against his chest. Wrapping his arm tight across your breasts, his tongue drags a leisurely line up your neck, his other hand slipping between your legs.

Breathless little grunts fall from his lips, warm panting against your skin with each sharp snap of his hips. Closing your eyes, you mirror his movements, clinging to the cool metal at your chest, desire crawling up your spine when you reach down and feel his fingers rubbing quickly.

Murmuring filthy little comments in your ear as he pushes into you, his words spark some unknown part of you that apparently lives for the sound of Bucky Barnes telling you how good you make him feel, how much he loves fucking you. Breath suddenly wrenched from your lungs, you tumble headfirst over the edge with a low, satisfied moan.

"There you go, that's it," he whispers encouragingly, sucking the smooth skin on your shoulder as you tremble in his arms, spiraling further and further.

You hope you never stop falling.

*****

Memories are a strange thing.

Through his time with Hydra, Barnes had his brain repeatedly wiped, cleared and cleaned out again and again. Since his return to the land of the living, thanks to intensive therapy and a determined Captain Rogers, he has broad strokes and frames of reference back in his life, remembrances before the fall settled firmly in his brain. But vestiges of his past still linger, and his time with Hydra has resulted in a sort of shared mental capacity.

"There's another guy in your life," I begin hesitantly and I see Barnes' lips twitch.

"That's one way to put it," he says.

When Barnes speaks of the Winter Soldier, his expression grows grim. The lines of his life are irrevocably tied to this legendary presence, a ghost sitting on the fringes of his mind, something more myth than reality. It is a heavy burden to bear.

"For the longest time, I tried to keep us separate. The Soldier was one thing. I was another. It was easier to blame all the terrible things that happened on him, rather than admit I played any part in it." I remind him he didn't – that's the fundamental issue with brainwashing, and he gives me a patient smile. "In theory, I know. All those years, it wasn't me. I know. But I still did it."

On a personal level, I own a single memory of the Winter Soldier, one that is overwhelming in its complexity. He was everything you've imagined. Hard. Violent. Angry. But behind that mask, I found a man I never expected. Gentle. Confused. Protective. Kind. The Soldier was a kaleidoscope of emotions, neatly packaged in the mind of a man who spent his entire life at the mercy of others.

I will not condone his past and neither will Barnes, but I highlight this simply to signal the opportunity for redemption. Earning that redemption has been a long process, one Barnes started by first bringing back his memories of their shared past. He recalls the experience of remembering cautiously, the process itself a memory that makes him flinch.

"There were days when nothing would happen. Mind would just stay white, it wouldn't show me anything. That was frustrating, but also kind of a relief. If I couldn't remember, then I didn't have to face up to the things I'd done. But other days. God." He blows out a huge breath and leans back in his chair, raking his hands through his dark hair. "They came back with a vengeance."

Sometimes the memories were hazy, surreal fever dreams that felt confusing in their reality. Other times, they were shockingly vivid, nightmares from which he visibly shudders as he recalls.

Not everything was returned, which is both a blessing and a curse. Some things his brain refuses to allow in, a coping mechanism he doesn't try too hard to unravel. He knows there are some things better left forgotten.

But where he can, as much as he can, he is adamant about making amends. He understands it won't change the past. That's not the point.

When he breaks it down for me, I ask a loaded question. Is there a measure of peace that comes with remembering? His nose wrinkles as he thinks, playing with the coffee mug still in his hands. One thing about Bucky Barnes, is that he never delivers a half-baked response. When he finally answers, his words have a philosophical bend.

"Yes. I've come to grips with the fact that all those years weren't something I could control. I don't like to remember, but I think I owe it to people." He nods slowly while he speaks, as if convincing his own heart to get in line. "If remembering is my penance, if my suffering gives others peace, then I guess yeah – I'm happy to pay it."

*****

Sucking tiny hickeys down his neck, you laugh at the sound of his pleased little purrs. Leaving one last purpley-red bruise above his heart, you settle comfortably between his legs and fold your hands across his bare chest. Propping your chin on your knuckles, you study him.

"Do you know my first impression of you, the day we met?"

Bucky raises a lazy eyebrow and grins. "Shock at how devastatingly handsome I was?"

"Don't get cocky Barnes, you're not that good in bed."

"Yes, I am," he promptly replies.

Wiggling against him, you rub your cheek against the bristly hair on his chest. "Hmmm. True. Anyway, I remember that day, you were acting all pissy and annoyed, big shocker I know, and I was looking at your scruffy face – "

"I didn't have time to shave that morning," he interrupts.

"And all your fluffy hair – "

"I was having a great hair day," he confirms.

"And that old leather jacket – "

"It's my favorite jacket, makes me look sexy and intimidating," he says.

"Buck, I'm trying to tell a story here."

"Right. Sorry babe."

"Anyway. You were standing there with your scruffy face and fluffy hair and that leather jacket, and I kept thinking you were the kind of guy who'd screw a girl in a bar bathroom, slap her ass, and never call."

"That sounds very unsanitary," he whispers, tapping your nose lightly. "But if you really want to try, I'll give it a go."

"What a saint."

"I really am."

*****

Just thinking about everything Barnes has experienced is enough to make my brain ache. Imagining what it must have been like for him, is baffling.

"All those years, through everything – how did you cope with it all?"

"I fought it for a long time, until they figured out how to wipe it all out – my memories, who I was. The longer I was out of cryofreeze, the more random thoughts would come back, but it was so confusing. I'd end up trying to compartmentalise it all. Separate it out, put parts of my life and my memories into little boxes in my head. It was the only way I could deal with it.

His ability to compartmentalise and separate himself from the situation at hand, would prove to be useful, a common coping method for trauma survivors. "I'd kind of retreat into myself. I got very good at finding safe spaces in my head." He gives a nonchalant shrug. "Knew if I didn't, there'd be hell to pay."

He must have learned new things then, other ways of coping. What gets him through the days now?

"I guess – it's like, you just put one foot in front of the other. Every day, you get up and do it and at some point, it becomes second nature."

"What was it like in the beginning?"

Rubbing his jaw, he shakes his head. "It was terrible. There were weeks I didn't want to get out of bed. Was terrified of what I might do, who I might see. And everything just felt – heavy, I guess? Not sure that's the right word. It was like my brain wanted to give up, but my body wasn't done yet. I hid from real life for a long time."

Known during WW2 as Combat Stress Reaction, Barnes was familiar with his symptoms. It took no time at all to diagnose him with one of the most disturbingly common conditions affecting those in service: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

"It wasn't something we talked about back then," he says. "But we all knew what it was. People just tried to deal with it though, they didn't look for help."

The world has changed for the better and now discussions around this topic are no longer taboo. Even then, Barnes says he initially found it difficult, because the idea of it – of help – was such a foreign concept. Now though, he's an enthusiastic supporter.

"We don't talk about it enough," he says firmly. "It's better now, but we need to be more open and honest with each other, so we can figure out how to live." Tipping his mug back, he drains the last dregs of coffee. "Humans are weird, you know? We make things hard sometimes and we shouldn't. You can't be afraid to ask for help. You're not alone."

*****

Bucky picks up his phone and gives a cursory glance at the list of notifications. The screen lights up with message after message, line after line, and he scrolls through nervously, before he realizes what he's seeing.

"Jesus H Christ."

Feeling your heart lurch, you look at him in alarm. "What? What happened?"

Slowly, he turns his phone screen to face you, eyes comically wide, face bone white.

"I'm trending on Twitter."

*****

Part of me expected Barnes to have a limited knowledge of culture and history. He likes to feign confusion at times ("honestly, screwing with Sam Wilson is a highlight in my life"), but in reality, he's one of the sharpest people I've met. Spending so much of his life as an undercover operative, he was required to keep up to speed on the world, always assimilating into new environments.

Finding a work-life balance is key though, so what are the things he does for fun, just for himself?

"Netflix," he declares. "is the greatest thing ever invented. You know Stranger Things, right? I love Eleven, that kid's my hero."

Agreeing wholeheartedly, I push him to expand. What else?

"Um, I like to eat? Tacos, pizza. Snickers. Breakfast cereal. Damn, yeah. Breakfast cereal. I could eat Captain Crunch every single day of my life. Captain Crunch kicks Captain America's ass."

On that note, he has a famous relationship with Steve Rogers, but what about the rest of the Avengers?

"Took me awhile to fall in with the team," he says matter of fact. "Didn't trust them and they sure as hell didn't trust me. But now? I'd take a bullet for any of them. They're – we're family."

Time for our interview is winding down, and Barnes is finally relaxed. With my final set of questions, I struggle to keep the smile off my face, but I can't help myself.

"You know you've got quite the status as a moody broody heartthrob, right?"

His eyes go wide at the question, a red flush instantly staining his cheeks. "What? No. No, that's – no. No. I'm definitely not – no. God no."

The look of horror on his face is entertaining and I wait for him to finish spluttering before I continue. "So, are you saying you're single? A free agent?"

He looks taken aback for a moment, but when realization arrives, along with a sparkle in his eye, he relaxes. He knows what I'm doing.

"I didn't say that."

"So – there's a special someone then?"

Barnes gives me that trademark smile and ducks his head. "Well, there's this girl."

"Tell me about her."

"She's a real pistol," he enthuses. "Smart. Funny. A real ball-breaker. Swears more than anyone I've ever met."

"She sounds like fun."

"She is," he agrees. Tilting his head, he fixes me with an intense stare and his voice grows serious. "She's got my whole damn heart, right in the palm of her hand. It's all hers. I'll spend every day if I need to, making sure she knows that."

At his words, my heart leaps. When I try to respond, I hear my voice crack.

"She's a lucky girl."

"Nah," he replies, bashful at the compliment. Reaching across the table, he picks up my hands and holds them tight. "I'm the lucky one. She makes me feel safe."

*****

"We haven't left this bed for a couple days. Should we go do something?" Drawing random little patterns across his skin, you pause at his nipple and give it a pinch.

"Nope, we're staying put," he says, shoving your fingers away and giving you a stern look. "That tickles."

"Does it?" Tweaking his nipple again, he yelps.

"Woman, don't you listen?"

"Sorry, couldn't hear you over the sounds of someone being a whiny bitch."

With an outraged growl, he rolls you over, using his knee to shove your legs open and pinning your arms above your head.

"Wanna try again?"

Batting your eyelashes at him, you mirror his earlier pout. "I was just saying how devilishly handsome you were and how much I love you."

Bucky grunts his approval. "That's what I thought."

Stretching up, you leave a sloppy kiss on his chin. "So, are we leaving or what?"

"Hard no," he shakes his head. "Made myself a promise, I'm not breaking it."

"Did you now? And what was that?"

"That if I got you back, if I didn't fuck it up again, I was keeping you in my bed for at least a week. Minimum."

"Hmmm," you say, trying to keep your face serious. "Sounds like a solid plan, except what if I want to shower?"

"Excellent," Bucky breathes, eyes lighting up at the question. "Then I'll join you. Never know what kind of trouble you'll find in the shower, when you're all wet and slick and soapy – yep, that's it. You're a dirty, dirty girl. Shower time you hussy, move your ass."

Scrambling off the bed, he tosses you over his shoulder and palms your bare ass, squeezing a handful. Giving you a playful smack, he stalks toward the bathroom, the sound of his happy laughter echoing through the apartment.

******

Recently, there was news coverage around the Avengers taking down a Hydra sleeper cell in upstate New York. The mission was led by Sergeant Barnes and was deemed a success, with the threat being fully eradicated.

That mission, was put in motion to save someone.

That someone, was me.

Here's the thing. In journalism, you need to remain unbiased and when I'm reporting on news, I'll always strive to report the unbiased facts. But if you haven't guessed yet, I have a more personal stake in this story.

Combine everything you know about James Buchanan Barnes, from annals of history to the words I've shared today, and you have a fact-based portrait of this remarkable man.

But facts are not what make up the measure of any human being.

Here's what else I know.

When he gets nervous, his palm sweats. He's terrible at sharing food and shamelessly blames his super soldier metabolism for that fact. When he concentrates, his nose scrunches up and when he laughs you can find little wrinkles circling his eyes. Sometimes when he can't sleep, he wanders down to the local rest home to visit with Alzheimer's patients, because he knows what it's like to not remember. He always keeps a crossword in his pocket because it keeps his brain sharp. He loves Rocky Road ice cream and fuzzy blankets and his favourite colour is actually pink. Bitter black coffee is his drug of choice and he could watch 'I Love Lucy' all day long.

Even now, as I hand you these snippets of his life and let you paint your own picture of the man so many still scathingly refer to as the Soldier, it's only a rough sketch. Like every person on this planet, Bucky Barnes is comprised of more complex layers and subtle nuances than it is possible to describe, a man full of contrasts. Made of unbreakable metal and soft touches, at times frighteningly rough and astonishingly gentle, swathed in despair and brimming with light. He's seen the blackest horrors lurking in the chaos of war and experienced first-hand the depravity of humanity, yet he remains one of the most compassionate people I've ever known.

The first day we met, I contemptuously declared "I don't do soft human-interest stories."

How times have changed.

Here I am, pen in hand and heart on my sleeve, so soft for this man I feel it in my bones. We live in a world where good does not always triumph over evil and where far too often, love is not enough. I am lucky beyond measure to have found Bucky Barnes. So here, at the end of my story, I leave these words, for him and him alone.

If Death sees fit to grant me his heart, I'll offer my own in return. Unreservedly, now and always.

*****

Bucky watches the shadows lengthen through the apartment as the sun sets. Eventually he'll get up and turn on a lamp to chase the dark away, but for now he's content to lay here with you humming sleepily, twirling a finger around his damp hair.

Sprawled together on his bed, tangled up in each other, the word flits through his mind. Bucky understands what he has now, what you gave to him. What it means to be –

Safe.

*****

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth

Chapter 1

A delicate shiver ran down her spine and she took a deep, shuddering breath, surrendering herself to the simple beauty of the moment. It’d been years since she’d seen anything so moving and she lost herself, swaying gently with the soft voices, as the sights, sounds and smells swirled around her.

Outwardly ignorant to all but their task, the Druid dancers twirled and dipped around each another, and the ancient stones of Craig na Dun. Their movements so elegant that they appeared almost weightless as they weaved their magic, hypnotising the small crowd that had gathered to watch.

Synchronised to the last, the dancers fanned out gracefully, forming two flawless semicircles around the centre stone and stopped. Their delicate silk gowns, fluttering softly in the early morning breeze, were suddenly the only thing that moved. Silence descended, and there was a moment of breathless anticipation before the caller stepped toward the cleft stone and, as one, the dancers raised their arms, offering their torches in thanks to the heavens. It was a breathtaking sight, but it was the caller herself that had Claires skin erupting in millions of tiny goosebumps.

Palms stretched, she placed them flat on the ground and rose slowly, gracefully, like a Phoenix rising from the flames, seeming to draw the sunrise up with her from the very centre of the earth. It burst in bright rays of red, pink and orange through the cleft in the centre stone, blinding Claire and dropping everything it touched into momentary shadow.

How the hell did they time that so perfectly?

A warm ripple of applause rose from the small crowd but she was still spell bound. Lost in a trance, the ambiance having drawn her in, luring her towards a distant time. A simpler time, when the pagan myths that surrounded the fairy hill, were held more in truth than legend.

She could picture the camp fires and the highlanders surrounding them, decked proudly in their clan colours, singing uproariously in Gaelic. She could smell the heavy peat smoke and almost taste the warm, smooth whiskey as it trickled down the back of her throat.

She sighed in longing. The ritual and her rudimentary imagination made her nostalgic for her own simpler time. Those unorthodox years of her upbringing, immersed within one tribe or another, in the far flung corners of the globe. She’d spent her childhood living off the land and absorbed in rich local cultures. She’d been fascinated by the telling of legends, sat surrounded by new friends, their own fire pits glowing as she listened to one story after another. She missed the simplicity of that life, and silently cursed her uncle Lamb, one again, for forcing her out into modern civilisation.

Who needs a university education when you’ve had the whole world as your own personal school room?

“Well there’s two hours sleep I’ll never get back.” She blinked, coming out of her daze, and turned to face Frank, a deep scowl etched on her beautiful face.

Here we go again.

He’d moved from his own blanket to Claires, displacing Joe who had been sat beside her when they’d first settled down to watch. She shuffled further away from him.

“Nobody forced you to come,” she huffed, turning back to watch the dancers as they collected their belonging and merged seamlessly into the slowly retreating audience. “If you were that bored you could have gone back to the tents.”

She wanted to slip back into the moment. She’d been looking forward to this since she heard about the ritual months ago. In fact, her whole trip had been planned around it to ensure she was sat on this very hill at the dawn of the summer solstice. She would not let Frank Randell spoil it for her.

“I never said I was bored, I just don’t understand your fascination with this kind of…stuff.”

“How can you specialise in Scottish history and not appreciate folklore? The highlands were a breeding ground for superstition and legends, the two practically go hand in hand.” Joe argued as he pulled Gail between his legs and wrapped his arms around her.

Claire sighed and closed her eyes. This argument had come up more than once during their three week trip through the highlands and, like Frank himself, it was grating on her last nerve. How she was going to survive another two weeks without drowning him in a loch she’ll never know.

“I disagree,” Frank retorted hotly, “The history of the clans, the Jacobite armies, the annihilation of the Scottish way of life. They happened, they were real. Water horses and selkies and Godforsaken fairy hills were not.”

She growled low in her throat and scrambled to her feet. The bloody ignorant bastard was determined to ruin it for her, and though usually even tempered, she’d had enough. Giving her tartan blanket a swift tug, she pulled it from beneath Frank and snapped it through the air before bending to roll it up. The gradual slope of the hill had aided her attempt to displace him, and he toppled sideways onto the grass.

Serves him right.

Dickhead.

“To the people that lived in the highlands, those stories were as real as the barley growing in their fields. Most of them never travelled further than a days walk from their homes. They knew nothing of the world, folklore practically shaped their way of life, Frank. Jesus, I’ve never known a historian to be so bloody narrow minded!” She snapped finally loosing her patience.

“And I’ve never known a medical student to be so whimsical!” He snapped back as he stood and dusted the grass of his jeans.

“Whimsical?” She hissed, furiously. “Taking an interest and understanding local custom and cultures is not whimsical, it’s respectful. Disregarding them, on the other hand, is the height of ignorance and disrespect. If I expect to practice medicine in third work countries, where superstitious still runs rife, I think it’s more wise than whimsical to have a basic understanding of their beliefs.”

“Well said, LJ,” Joe nodded rolling his eyes as Frank threw his arms in the air and stormed off toward their camping ground.

“I don’t know why he even bothered coming on this trip at all. It’s not like he hasn’t toured Scotland before, and he knew full well we’d be visiting cultural sites as well as heritage.” She complained as she sank down against one of the outer stones, all the fight leaving her.

She was close to tears. Was it too much to ask for one day without being subjected to his…his…

“We all know why he came, LJ and it has nothing to do with his history major.” Gail whispered sympathetically.

“Ugh!” Claire buried her hand in her hands, and Joe laughed as he nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “As much as he likes to argue the contrary, he’s not in love with me. There’s nothing about me that he wouldn’t change given half the chance. That’s not love.”

“No, it’s not,” Joe sighed, tightening his grip on Gail. He knew first hand what love was, and Claire was right. Frank was obsessed with her, not in love.“Frank’s a good guy, and when he’s not being an ass, he’s a good friend. But he’s not the guy for you LJ. He’d suffocate you.”

“I know,” She agreed, raising her head to look at him, “and he’s starting to give me the creeps. I swear he was watching me when I was washing yesterday.” Joes eyebrows shot up and he cast a murderous glance at Franks retreating form.

“Do you want me to talk to him for you?” He growled, his teeth set on edge.

“No. I’m going to use the stream on the other side of the hill, if you wouldn’t mind keeping him occupied. I only managed to wash my extremities yesterday.” Joe looked from her stuffed rucksack to the last remaining spectators and it was Claires turn to roll her eyes. “I’ll wait until everyone’s gone.”

“Okay. Gail wanted to hike into Inverness for some essentials, I’ll drag him with us if you’ll be alright up here on your own?”

“I’ll be fine, thanks Joe, I really appreciate it.” She reached over and squeezed his arm in reassurance.

The truth was, she’d be more than fine. Living a mostly solitary existence, she was used to being on her own. After living in such close quarters with three other people for the last few weeks she was almost itching for some peace and quiet.

“Are you coming back down to the camp first?” Gail asked, though she already knew the answer. Claire was in her element out here in the wilderness, like a caged bird who’d spread their wings for the first time. She’d never known her to be so content, and she hadn’t noticed until this trip just how out of place Claire was in a bustling city.

She was a feminine version of Bear Grylls, completely at one with nature.

“No, I want to explore the stones, I’ll go back to camp after I’ve cleaned up.”

Gail smiled and, wiggling out of Joes grasp, she pushed to her feet and offered him a hand to help him raise.

“Come on, lets leave Claire in peace and go deal with our misguided Casanova.”

Claire laughed and accepted Joes brief kiss on her cheek before watching her two closest friends wander away. Hands linked and swinging softly between then, they whispered and laughed as they walked idly down the side of the hill. She let out a sigh before quickly pulling out her phone and snapping a candid picture of the pair.

Joe and Gail were soul mates. They’d grown up in the same small town in Boston, but hadn’t met until they moved to Oxfordshire and walked into the same pre med classroom at oxford university. It was almost love at first sight and they’d been together ever since.

While not altogether envious, Claire couldn’t help a small wistful prang. She’d dated a few guys since her return to civilisation seven years ago, but not one had lasted past a couple of stilted dates and awkward goodnight kisses. She never experienced the excitement or the nervous butterflies she’d read about, or seen first hand with Gail, and she was starting to wonder whether she was destined to spend her whole life alone.

Shaking off her moroseness she put her phone away, spread out her blanket again and lay back. It was still early, really early, and she had hours to kill before anyone would expect her back at camp.

Taking a deep breath, she let herself relax. She hadn’t really stopped for months. With her placement at the hospital, end of year exams, planning the trip, and spending the past three weeks touring one historical site after another, she was exhausted. Yes, they took breaks during the day, but there was conversation and games, plans to make and supply trips to complete. Not to mention Franks unerring advances to thwart. This was the first chance she’d had to really be alone and she basked in it.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, her eyes drifted closed. She wasn’t sleeping, not really. She just drifted from one light doze to the next allowing the stillness of the day to completely wash over her. When she felt the gnawing pangs of hunger, she pulled a granola bar out of her bag and sat up to take in the view. It was so beautiful out here, the only signs of human life, being the electric pylons that scarred the mountainsides.

Part of her dreaded going back to Oxfordshire, and if it wasn’t for her desperate need to be of aid to some of the communities she’s spent her childhood amongst, she’d be tempted to disappear back into the wilderness.

Sighing, she shoved her empty wrapper back in to her bag, rolled up her blanket, attached it to the bottom of her rucksack and pushed to her feet. She wanted to take in as much of the stone circle as she could before it became too hot and it was already almost eleven o’clock.

They hadn’t anticipated a rare British heatwave when they planned this trip, and with the afternoons being too hot and humid to do more than vegetate beside a river or loch, they were cramming in as much sight seeing as they could in the early mornings.

Hiking her heavy pack onto her shoulders she moved around the outer edge of the circle, studying the formation with awe. She’d seen her fair share of stone circles, but there was just something about the massive granite rocks of Craig na Dun.

They called to her somehow.

They were more rustic then any she’d seen before, almost as if they’d stood there for as long as time itself. It was easy to see why the highlanders of old thought it a portal for fae and other mythical creatures. There was definitely a magical element to the place.

Gently, as though it might crumble beneath her touch, she ran her fingers across the first stone. Despite the warm weather, it was icy to the touch and she shivered in response. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling and she sought it out again and again as she moved from one stone to the next, examining, touching, admiring.

To an outside observer she would have appeared as though she was lost in a world of her own, but she was very much present, taking in every scar and crevice of the ancient granite.

They were magnificent.

A welcome, cool summer breeze picked up as she moved within the circle and the air seemed to hum at a pitch just out of hearing range, but she could feel it. It vibrated through the very marrow of her bones drawing her towards the centre stone. She raised one tentative hand, then the other, almost afraid to touch it, but powerless to stop herself.

As her palms made contact, one on either side of the cleft, the stone screamed. It was a heart wrenching scream of unimaginable agony, that burned through her like wildfire, incinerating everything in its path. It was as though she could feel the exact moment that the ancient granite was ripped apart and now the same forces were attempting to sever her soul, to consume it, to destroy it.

She was paralysed with fear. Everything she’d known, everything she was, everything she could be, was slowly being consumed by the flames. Everything was gone, there was no anchor to tether her to the earth. No point of light drawing her to safety. No home or love or dreams to fight for. She was truly alone, free falling into the abyss and, helpless, she surrendered and let the darkness take her.

Chapter 2 

[keep-me-inmind-kaspbrak]

You Take My Breath Away~Reddie Fic

Summary: When DJ job opens at the local roller rink Richie takes it not knowing he would meet the possible love of his life.

AO3: {READ}

Chapters: [Chapter 1], [Chapter 2], [Chapter 3]

Notes:  Thank you everyone for bearing with me on this chapter!  Life has been hectic and school hasn’t made it any easier, but the chapter is finally here!  I hope you all enjoy it!  Major S/o to @cestleprobleme for beta reading this as usual I couldn’t do it without her <3

WC: 3,553

Chapter 4

After dropping Eddie off at his dorm Richie sat in his car, heart racing, lips tingling, and euphoria racing through his veins. He laid back in his seat, tilting his head back letting out his shaky breath, and he began to laugh. He can’t believe that had actually happened. He could still feel Eddie’s soft lips on his; he could still taste them, they were a mix between vanilla and berries. Smiling a bit, Richie sat up and put the car into drive and headed to the parking lot near his building.

            As Richie made his way into his dorm room he was greeted by the dark silence that resided there. He flicked the light on and went over to his record player and placed the needle on the record that was already on the turntable. As the record began to spin static came through the speakers, and then the familiar chimes of Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon hummed throughout Richie’s dorm room.

            “I tell myself that I can't hold out forever I said there is no reason for my fear 'Cause I feel so secure when we're together You give my life direction You make everything so clear”

                       Richie flopped on to his bed and closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. Each lyric hit him and would bring his swirling thoughts straight to Eddie. Since meeting Eddie, Richie has been the happiest he has ever been. He hasn’t felt alone, he has been inspired to be the best person he could be, and he even gave up smoking for the damn boy.

            “My life has been such a whirlwind since I saw you I've been running around in circles in my mind And it always seems that I'm following you, girl 'Cause you take me to the places That alone I'd never find”

             As the lyrics swarmed Richie’s head he knew he had to do something about his feelings for Eddie. He wanted-…no, he needed to ask Eddie out on a date, a formal date, like a movie and dinner or something, something even better.

            Richie’s train of thought was interrupted as his phone started ringing. He looked down at it and saw that Bill was calling him.

            “Aye, whats cracka-lackin?” Richie answered.

            “Hey R-Richie! How a-are you?”

            “Oh you know, just visiting your mom,” Richie said with a humorous ring to his voice.

            “S-seriously, Richie? Beep b-beep. I was c-calling to a-a-ask you to juh-join us at game night wi-with the rest of the sq-squad.” Bill responded.

            “Wait a fucking second, did you just beep beep me!? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

            “It means sh-shut up, Richie, now a-are you d-down for tuh-morrow or not?”

            “Ouch! I am hurt, Billiam!” Richie gasped into the phone, clutching his chest despite the fact that Bill could not see him do so. “But I guess I’ll make an appearance, as long as we play monopoly.”

            “Psh, g-good fucking l-luck, Eddie will k-hick you’re a-ass.” Bill said derisively.

            “I’ll be there, what time does the party start and where at?”

            “P-probably around s-seven ‘o clock, and at B-bev’s a-a-partment on c-campus.”

            “Okay, I’ll be there, see you tomorrow, get ready to fucking lose!” Richie said in a rush before hanging up the phone before Bill could fire back.

            If Eddie was going to be at this get together tomorrow, it would be the perfect time to ask him out on a formal date. Richie could feel his gut turning in anticipation and nervousness, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips at the same time. Richie grabbed his phone and looked at the time and saw that it was getting close to one in the morning. Sighing, he plugged his charger into his phone, ripped his shirt and pants of, and went to bed.

 ~

            Richie had slept in well past noon the next day. It was typical of him to sleep this late, hell, he could probably sleep until one or two in the afternoon without anything to rouse him. After getting up, Richie spent most of the day in his bed playing video games until it was time to get ready.

            As the time to leave got closer he got ready, putting on a what he hoped was a clean band tee shirt, his ripped black jeans, and a grey and black flannel to top it off. He grabbed his leather jacket as he left his room and headed towards Bev’s apartment.

            It wasn’t too long of a walk, maybe ten to fifteen minute, but the cold evening made him walk a bit faster in hopes he would reach Bev’s all the sooner. As he got closer to the apartment building he saw Stan and Eddie walking into the complex. Quickening his pace, he made it in just before the door shut and saw Eddie and Stan make their way up the stairs.

            “Hey buckos, wait up!” Richie yelled.

            “Oh hey, Richie.” Eddie turned around, smiling and waving down at him.

            “Did Bill invite you?” Stan asked turning around as well to face Richie.

            “Yup! Get ready to get fucking destroyed during monopoly!” Richie said making his way up towards Stan and Eddie.

            “Not possible! I have won every game since we started game night.” Eddie said proudly puffing out his chest a bit.

            “Get ready to meet your match, Kaspbrak.” Richie looked down at him and gave him a sly smile with a wink.

            “Oh god.” Is all Stan was able to say as he made his way down the hall towards Bev’s apartment.

            Richie and Eddie walked side by side down the hall. As they reached the door Richie stood there motioning Eddie to go ahead and enter first. Eddie looked up at Richie and just smiled softly as he made his way through the doorway into the apartment.

            Richie made his way across the apartment to find Ben and Bev in the kitchen fixing bowls of chips, and Bill and Mike in the living room getting the first game: Twister. A smile spread across Richie’s face. He loved twister, it was super easy for him, one of the (only) benefits of having long, gangly limbs.

            His thoughts were interrupted when Mike turned to look at Richie and said, “You in?”

            “Get ready to lose!” Richie said taking off his jacket and shoes, and made his way over to the mat.

            The rest of the losers joined them in the living room and Bill took the spinner and started the game with the first spin, “Okay, l-left hand red.”

            The losers sat and watched as Richie and Mike progressively became a human pretzel, and Mike would try to elbow Richie to get him to fall but Richie was quick to twist out of the way. Bev and Stan started to make a bet on who would win, Bev standing her ground cheering on Richie and Stan telling Mike to take Richie down.

            “Left f-foot b-blue!” Bill shouted.

            Everyone was sitting on the edge of the couch as Richie twisted above and around Mike to get his left foot on blue. As he set his foot down he wobbled and almost slipped but managed to still stay up. He looked over at the couch and could hear Bev and Eddie cheering Richie on. As he turned his head he felt Mike move to get his foot on a blue, he had to almost do the splits to get to the closest blue. Mike reached and reached but as soon as he put his foot down he collapsed in a fit of giggles.

            Richie shot up and started whooping and hollering over his victory. Looking down he saw Mike laughing and Richie lowered his hand to help him up. “Damn Richie, you made that look so fucking easy!” Mike said patting Richie on the back.

            “Practice makes perfect, and I get plenty of that.” Richie winked at Mike giving a soft chuckle. “Would anyone like to challenge the victor?!”

            “Let’s go.” Eddie said immediately after.

            Richie’s eyes shot open and watched as Eddie made his way off the couch towards the mat. “You’re going down, Spaghetti Man.” Richie said playfully to Eddie.

            “We will see about that.” Eddie shot back with a bit a playful smile on his lips.

            Bev took the spinner from Bill and gave it a flick, “Right hand red, boys!”

            Richie slapped his right hand down on the closest red, and Eddie followed by slapping his hand right above the red Richie’s hand was on. Richie looked up at Eddie and saw him smiling devilishly at him. Richie swallowed as he heard Bev shout the next position, “Left foot blue!”

            Richie twisted his body to get his left foot comfortably on blue. He looked at Eddie, nodding at him and waiting for him to make his move. Eddie elegantly moved in, positioning his left foot right under and next to Richie’s left foot. They were slowly becoming intertwined and Richie could see what Eddie was attempting to do.

            “Right foot yellow!” Bev shouted looking down at the boys, giggling at where this was going to lead.

            Eddie was the first to move to Richie’s surprise, he slyly snuck under Richie swinging his left leg to let his foot comfortably rest on the yellow for a second. Eddie swung his hips up to position himself better, allowing his side to graze Richie’s side. His breath hitched a bit as Eddie looked at him from the corner of his eye with a sneaky grin peaking through.

            Richie took a deep breath and swung his left foot in front of Eddie’s positioning himself over top of Eddie. “Looks like we are giving everyone a show, huh Eds?” Richie whispered down at Eds.

            Eddie whipped his head around and said, “Only if you make it a show.” And with that Eddie stuck his ass out and bumped it against Richie’s lower thigh.

            “Jesus Christ, you two!” Ben said laughing a bit.

            “If you two wanted to play that kind of twister the room is down the hall!” Bev responded flicking the spinner again.

            “This calls for me to go get a drink.” Stan stood up, grabbing Bills hand and leading them towards the kitchen.

            “Right hand yellow.” Bev shouted with a grin.

            Richie took his right hand and placed it behind him to give himself some leverage and Eddie took his hand and placed it in front of him. Bev flicked it again and called various other positions. Soon Bill and Stan made it back to the living room to see Richie and Eddie still intertwined but in a less provocative position.

            “Right foot green!” Bev said.

            Richie was already in a nearly impossible position to get out of and Eddie was making it more difficult than usual. Eddie had already moved his foot and was waiting on Richie to make his move. Richie took in a deep breath and tried to wiggle his way around Eddie, it was increasingly difficult to sneak around him every way he turned to place his foot. Eddie had his body positioned in a way that made his stomach tighten and could feel his blood rush to his lower body.

            Richie bit his lip as he tried to place his foot in the green spot but lost his balance and fell. Eddie shot up, jumping up and down celebrating his victory. Richie lay on the mat taking deep breaths smiling a bit trying to get himself to calm down before sitting up.

            “Take that, Tozier!” Eddie shouted still celebrating his win.

            “You may have won the battle, but you haven’t won the war.” Richie responded slowly, standing up.

            “That’s what you think.” Eddie spouted back, poking Richie’s shoulder playfully.

            “Now now, boys, no fighting in my house!” Bev said standing next to Richie.

            Richie just laughed and headed over to the couch and flopped down grabbing the closest snack bowl. Eddie came and sat next to Richie on the couch and snuck his hand into the snack bowl grabbing a couple of chips and popping them into his mouth. Richie and Eddie sat and watched as Bill and Stan challenged each other at twister, which didn’t last very long before Bill fell after only the fifth position was called. They watched as Ben and Bev played a round that went on for quite a while before Ben’s hand slipped while moving his right foot.

           “Can we play monopoly now?” Eddie asked as Mike and Ben were folding up the Twister mat.

           “The last time we played you left crying Eddie.” Stan said.

           “So? Let’s play, please!” Eddie pleaded.

           “Huh-how ab-bout UNO? “ Bill offered up

           Everyone nodded, all agreeing on playing the game UNO. Richie sat down on the floor and everyone join in, forming a circle around the deck of cards, and Mike began to deal out the cards to each of the losers. The game started off slowly, but started to pick up pace as Richie, Eddie, and Bill had two cards left. It had come up on Eddie’s turn, he looked over at Richie and gave him a shit-eating grin as he placed a draw four card down, “UNO.”

           “ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW?!” Richie shouted.

           “Sorry not sorry.” Eddie shrugged.

           “You are going to pay for that, Spaghetti.”

           Everyone took their turn and it came to Eddie and he smiled and slapped his card down. Richie threw his cards down, “Fuck, are you serious!?!”

           “Yeah, someone a sore loser?” Eddie said, smiling back at Richie.

           “Yeah, actually I am, I want a rematch!” Richie exclaimed.

           "No, I think we should watch a movie.” Stan interrupted.

           "I ag-gree, i-it’ll be a g-good way to eh-end the n-night, don’t you think?” Bill added.

           Everyone else nodded and had agreed they’d like to watch a movie. Richie sighed and caved in and agreed as well. He helped clean up the game with Eddie; they collected all the cards and put them back in the designated box. Once they had cleaned up the game they made their way back to the living room where the TV was already set up with the movie the losers had chosen to watch, The Goonies. The couch was taken up, so was the love seat, all that was left was a rather large beanbag chair that could fit two.

           Richie walked over to the beanbag chair and sat down in the middle of it, and he looked up at Eddie with a smile and patted the side of it motioning for him to sit down. Eddie grabbed a blanket on the side of the couch, wrapped himself up and then sat down next to Richie. The movie started and they all fell silent as they watched the 1980s classic.

           After the movie had gone on for a bit of time, Richie could feel something fall against his shoulder softly. Looking down, he saw Eddie quietly asleep with his head resting on his shoulder. Richie carefully maneuvered his arm to wrap around Eddie’s shoulders, hoping it would be a bit more comfortable for him, and Eddie sleepily shifted his head so that it was now against Richie’s chest. The result was a softly snoring Eddie tucked under Richie’s arm, and the lanky boy couldn’t help but smile down at him throughout the rest of the movie.

            As the movie was coming to an end, Eddie slowly began waking up, shifting slightly beneath Richie’s arm. The credits began to roll, and Bev flipped the lights on and everyone groaned and covered their eyes.

           Damn, Bev, you could’ve warned us you were turning the lights on!” Richie said, rubbing at his eyes.

           “Sorry!” she said, not really sorry.

           Richie stood up carefully and stretched as Eddie was still curled up in the beanbag, rubbing at his eyes against the harsh light. Richie looked down at Eddie and said, “Did you sleep well, little prince?” with a slight smirk on his lips.

           Eddie flushed bright red and responded, “Shut up.”

           Stan made his way over to Eddie and whispered in his ear, something Richie couldn’t hear, but Eddie just nodded and told Stan he’d see him later. Stan then walked away toward Bill and they grabbed their coats and shoes and left, thanking Bev for a wonderful time and wishing everyone a goodnight. Shortly after they left Mike asked to stay the night at Bev’s knowing they were going to Bill’s room.

           Richie saw Eddie grab his shoes and coat and begin to thank Bev for the game night and food, and slowly back out the door after saying bye to everyone. Richie quickly grabbed his shoes and coat and hugged Bev hastily before heading out the door to catch up with Eddie.

           Eddie luckily hadn’t made it too far, and Richie was able to catch up easily. He walked up to Eddie’s side and kept quiet for a short while before piping up, “You want me to walk you to your dorm?”

           “Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine.” Eddie responded with a smile.

           “Are you sure, Eds? You don’t sound so sure.” Richie nudged.

           “I’ll be fine, Richie, seriously.”

           They continued walking, the only sound being exchanged was the crunch of gravel under their feet. Richie took a deep breath, he knew that this was the time to ask Eddie out. Richie stopped in his tracks to see Eddie had stopped walking a while ago and wasn’t to far behind him, just standing there looking at Richie.

           “Everything okay, Eds?” Richie asked with a bit of concern in his voice.

           "Uh yeah!” Eddie said quickly back, his hands worrying the fabric of his sleeve, clearly looking a bit nervous. He began to walk back up towards Richie.

           “Spaghetti man, something is up. You always fidget with your sleeve when you are nervous.” Richie said while walking up to Eddie to meet in the middle.

           “I do not!” Eddie fired back in a huff, crossing his arms across his chest.

           “Hate to break it to ya, kiddo, but you do. It’s cute, not gonna lie.” Richie said shrugging.

           Richie watched as Eddie looked up at him, smiling that small smile that sent Richie’s heart aflutter. Richie was about to pipe up and ask Eddie out but was taken back when Eddie spoke first.

           “Richie?”

           “Yeah?”

           “I was wondering…if you’d like to go on a real date? I mean if you want to. You can say no if you don’t want too…” Eddie said blushing, looking up at Richie with his big, round, dark eyes.

           Richie could feel his heart beat go straight up to his throat as he stood there speechless for a second or two, but when Eddie started to look a little crestfallen, he snapped back to his senses. “YES!” Richie shouted emphatically, a wide grin taking over his features.

           Richie could see Eddie smile back, clearly looking beyond excited to see that Richie had said yes. Richie was shocked that Eddie had beat him to the punch on this one, but kind of glad he did. It only reassured him that Eddie was having the same feelings for Richie that he was having for the smaller boy.

           “What day works best for you?” Eddie asked beginning to walk again this time a bit closer to Richie, soft warmth radiating off of him and brushing Richie’s skin.

           “For such a cutie as yourself? Anytime works for me, babe.” Richie said with a wink and a smile.

           “Wednesday?” Eddie said with a soft voice, looking up at Richie with a smile.

           “Sure thing, hot stuff.”

           Richie could hear a soft giggle escape Eddie’s lips, and he swore that the sound of that giggle sent his stomach into an instantaneous fit of butterflies. They continued to walk towards the dormitories, each exchanging glances at the other when neither of them were looking. Eddie soon piped up, “So, you want to do like, dinner and then go skating after?”

           Richie could feel a blush rise to his cheeks, “Dinner sounds great, but ya boy here can’t roller skate.”

           “WHAT!? Richie Tozier can’t roller skate?” Eddie gasped, in mostly real horror. “You work at a skating rink!”

           “What, I never learned!” Richie responded throwing his hands up in defense.

           “Well, I guess someone will have to teach you, huh?” Eddie said walking closer to Richie and nudging him with his elbow while wiggling his eyebrows.

           “As long as the teacher is hot.”

           “I think I can handle that.” Eddie said blushing a little, looking up at Richie with a cunning smile.

           After the short walk they ended up outside Eddie’s dorm. They stood there looking at the dorm for a short while before Richie said, “Looks like I ended up walking you back.”

           “I guess so.” Eddie chuckled.

           “Well, Mr. K, I bid you a good evening.” Richie said taking Eddie’s hand bowing down to give it a soft peck.

           “Goodnight Richie.” Eddie giggled as he backed away into the dorm.

           Richie stood there as he watched Eddie walk into the dorm safely. He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and grinned like an idiot to himself as he began to walk away to his own dorm.

TAG LIST: @eddie-kas, @welcome-assholes, @noahclapp-reddie, @justanothetfangirl, @earthvsjai, @pennys-pet-kitty, @aesteddie, @wintersember, @nesquickbgirl, @geckolover001, @marie23mandy

(tag list still open feel free to message me to be added!)

[dfroza]

A set of questions is seen

in Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the 20th chapter of the book of Luke that includes marriage in this world and the eternal:

One day Jesus was teaching in the temple courts and sharing with the people the wonderful news of salvation. The high priest, the experts of the law, and the prominent men of the city confronted Jesus and asked him, “We want to know right now by what authority are you teaching here in the temple? And who gave you the authority to teach these things?”

Jesus responded, “First, let me ask you a question and you tell me right now. Did John baptize because he had a commission from heaven or merely from men?”

His interrogators pulled themselves aside to consider how to respond to Jesus. “What should we say? If we say that John’s mandate was from heaven, he will ask us, ‘Then why didn’t you believe him and be baptized?’ But if we say, ‘John’s mandate was merely from men,’ then all the people around him will stone us, for they believe John was a prophet of God.” So unable to devise an answer they said to Jesus, “We cannot tell where John’s authority came from.”

Jesus said, “Then neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things.”

Jesus taught the people using this story:

“A man once planted a vineyard, then leased it out to tenants. Then he left to go abroad and was away for a long time. At harvest time, the owner sent one of his servants to the tenants to collect the landowner’s share of the harvest, but the tenants sent him away, beaten and empty-handed. So the owner dispatched another one of his servants to collect his portion, but the tenants treated him the same way. They cursed him, beat him, and sent him away empty-handed. Then the owner sent a third servant, but they brutalized him also with the same treatment. Finally the owner of the vineyard said to his son, ‘Perhaps if I send you, my own cherished son, they will be ashamed of what they’ve done.’

“But when the tenants saw the son coming, they schemed among themselves. ‘This is the heir of the vineyard! If we kill him, the inheritance will be ours.’ So they threw the son off the property and killed him.

“I ask you, what do you think the owner of the vineyard will do to his son’s murderers? He will come back and destroy them and give his vineyard to another.”

When the people heard this story, they all agreed, “This should never happen!”

Jesus looked straight at the people and their leaders and said, “What do you think this verse means? ‘The worthless, rejected stone has become the cornerstone, the most important stone of all.’ Everyone who falls in humility upon that stone will be broken. But if that stone falls on you, it will grind you to pieces!”

When the high priests and experts of the law realized that this story was about them, they wanted to have Jesus arrested that very moment, but they were afraid of all the people.

Later, they sent spies who pretended to be honest seekers, but who wanted an opportunity to entangle Jesus by his words. Their plan was to catch him saying something against the government, so they could hand him over to the jurisdiction of the Roman authorities who would execute him for sedition.

At the right time they asked him this question: “Teacher, we know that all you say is straightforward and what you teach us is right. You give us the true ways of God. You’re one who shows no favoritism to anyone’s status. So we ask you— is it proper or not to pay taxes to a corrupt government?”

Jesus saw right through their cunning ploy and said, “Why are you testing me? Show me one of the Roman coins. Whose head is on the coin? Whose title is stamped on it?”

They answered, “Why, it’s Caesar’s.”

Jesus said, “Precisely. The coin bears the image of the Emperor Caesar, and you should give back to Caesar all that belongs to him. But you bear the image of God. So give back to God all that belongs to him.”

The imposters were left speechless and amazed in the presence of all the people, unable to trap Jesus with his words.

Some of the Sadducees (a religious group that denies there is a resurrection of the dead) came to ask Jesus this question: “Teacher, the law of Moses teaches that if a man dies before he has children, his brother should marry the widow and raise up children for his brother’s family line. Now suppose there was a family with seven brothers, and the oldest married and died without children. Then his brother married the widow, and he too died with no children. And it continued to happen, one brother after another brother, until each of the seven had married the widow and died childless. Then finally, the widow died too. So here’s our dilemma: Whose wife will the woman be when she’s resurrected from the dead? Which of the brothers will be her husband, since all seven were once married to her?”

Jesus replied, “Marriage is meant for this world only. Those who are worthy of the resurrection from the dead into glory become immortal, like the angels, who never die nor marry. When the dead come to life again, they will be children of God—the children of the resurrection. Even Moses taught the resurrection of the dead when he wrote of the Lord God who was at the burning bush and said ‘I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.’ Don’t you agree that God is not the God of the dead, but the God of the living? For in his eyes, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are alive forevermore. He is the God who raises the dead.”

The experts of the law chimed in, “Yes, Teacher, you speak the truth beautifully.”

From then on, the religious Sadducees never dared ask Jesus a question again.

Jesus then posed this question to the people: “How can the experts of the law say that Messiah is David’s son? Haven’t you read in the Psalms where David himself wrote:

The Lord Yahweh said to my Lord,

‘Sit near me in the place of authority

until I subdue all your enemies under Your feet!’ ”

Jesus explained, “If David calls this one ‘my Lord,’ how can he be his son?”

Within earshot of all the people, Jesus warned his disciples, “Don’t follow the example of these pretentious experts of the law! They love to parade around in their religious garments so that people honor them wherever they go. They like to sit right up front in every meeting and push their way to the head table at every banquet. And for an offering they will pray long religious prayers at the homes of widows, cheating them out of their very livelihood. Beware of them all, because one day the Judge will strip them of honor, and judge them severely.”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 20 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 28th chapter of the book of Job that looks at mining earth for its treasures as well as wisdom being the treasure of the heart

the truest and purest gold is the Spirit of Light (inside, Anew)

Job: There is a place where silver is mined,

a place where gold is refined.

There iron is dug from the earth,

and copper is smelted from ore.

Humans put an end to darkness,

and search in every last corner

For the ore that is in gloom and darkness.

In the earth they cut a shaft

in a place forgotten, far from the beaten path;

They descend on ropes,

swinging dangerously back and forth.

The ground above yields food;

the earth below is turned as if fire has destroyed it

Where earth gives up sapphires from her rocks

and bits of gold from her dirt.

No bird of prey knows this way, this secret path down below;

no falcon’s eye has ever peered into it.

No proud beast has ever reached this place;

no lordly lion has marched over it.

The miner breaks apart flinty stone,

uprooting the ancient mountains.

He carves tunnels through the rock,

revealing precious treasures.

He dams up the underground streams until they cease seeping,

and he brings out into the light what was hidden there in the darkness.

But where is wisdom found,

and where does understanding dwell?

Job: No human perceives wisdom’s true value,

nor has she been found in the land of the living.

The deep says, “She is not to be seen within me.”

“Nor within me,” says the voice of the raging sea.

No gold can be given in trade for wisdom,

nor a sum of silver weighed out as her price.

She cannot be bought with all the gold of Ophir,

neither with onyx nor sapphire.

The shimmer of gold and brightness of glass cannot compare,

and no refined gold jewelry is worth her in trade.

Perish the mention of coral and crystal;

even more than pearls is the value of wisdom.

Ethiopian topaz—unequal as well;

even gold, unalloyed, is too paltry indeed.

Then from where does wisdom come?

Where does understanding dwell?

She is hidden away from every eye,

even from birds looking down from the sky.

Destruction and Death have both confessed,

“Rumors are all we know about her.”

God understands wisdom’s path and way;

her place is known to Him alone.

For He gazes out to the edge of the earth,

sees all that falls beneath the sky overhead.

He lent the wind its weight and force

and measured out the waters’ spread.

When He set a limit on the rain that falls

and made the thunderbolt a road to race,

Then He saw wisdom and made her known,

He settled her and searched out for her a place.

And to humankind, He said, “Now, the fear of the Lord is wisdom,

and to depart from evil is understanding.”

The Book of Job, Chapter 28 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, may 5 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about trust and rest:

"At the end of every seven years you shall grant a release (i.e., shemitah, שְׁמִטָּה, a "letting go," from שָׁמַט, to relinquish). And this is the manner of the release: every creditor shall release what he has lent to his neighbor. He shall not exact it of his neighbor, his brother, because the LORD's release has been proclaimed" (Deut. 15:1-2). Often it takes more faith to "let go" than to keep your hand to the plough... Relaxing your grip, letting the yield of your efforts go fallow, requires you to trust in God's promise rather than your ability to control outcomes. The Law of Shemittah (תּוֹרָה שְׁמִטָּה) teaches us that when we surrender to God's care, we will suffer no loss, even when we allow our land to go fallow. May the Lord make the work of rest within us...[Hebrew for Christians]

5.4.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 5, 2021

Mercy and Truth

“Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.” (Psalm 85:10)

The words “mercy” (Hebrew checed, also often translated by “kindness” or “lovingkindness”) and “truth” (Hebrew emeth) occur more often in Psalms than in any other book. In fact, “mercy” occurs more in Psalms than in all the rest of the Old Testament put together. Though at first these two concepts seem opposed to each other (for how can God’s truth, which abhors sin, be compatible with His mercy, which forgives sin?), nevertheless they are “met together,” for “his salvation,” according to the previous verse, “is nigh them that fear him” (v. 9).

“Mercy and truth” (or “lovingkindness and truth”) are brought together at least 16 times in the Old Testament, including 10 times in the psalms. And when God’s eternal truth can be united with His loving mercy, both mediated through His holy Word, there is great blessing indeed! “All the paths of the LORD are mercy and truth unto such as keep his covenant and his testimonies” (25:10). “I will worship toward thy holy temple, and praise thy name for thy lovingkindness and for thy truth: for thou hast magnified thy word above all thy name” (138:2). The first time the phrase is found in the Bible is in the prayer of Abraham’s servant thanking God for “his mercy and his truth” (Genesis 24:27).

God’s mercy and truth, of course, are really met together only in Jesus Christ, through whom God can both “be just, and the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus” (Romans 3:26). He is “our peace” (Ephesians 2:14) and is “made unto us...righteousness” (1 Corinthians 1:30). He is “the truth” (John 14:6) and will show in the ages to come “the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us through Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:7). HMM

[reginaldbelchhuggins-blog]

The Short and Miserable Romance of Victor Criss

Chapter 5: Last Kiss

Pairings: Henry x Victor, with some side Butch x Mrs Criss Rating: M Warnings for this chapter: Implied/referenced character death, bullying, implied/referenced violence,

Implied/referenced domestic abuse, period-typical  attitudes, homophobic language, noncon elements, underage sex, underage drinking, violence, and child abuse Warnings for later chapters: Violence, homophobia, racism, and sexism that are all period-typical; canon-standard content; underage sex, smoking, and drinking; noncon elements (but no actual noncon); canonical character death; major character death; strong language Chapters: [1], [2], 3, [4], [5], [6], [7] Ao3: [x] Summary:

Told from Victor's perspective, each chapter details either a first or last moment of Vic's growing relationship with Henry Bowers as they navigate homophobia, mental issues, and the growing influence of It. The first two chapters are pre-1988, the middle two will be where the sex is, and the final two are where the romance goes south

Chapter 7 could act as a stand-alone told from Henry’s perspective

Story prompt: The first and last Meeting/Kiss/Time of your OTP

A/N: I had a completely different version of this chapter up on Ao3 until my roommate was able to properly edit it. This is the new version:

June 1989

The summer sun was bearing down on the town, making everything hot, and everyone sticky. The people who weren’t inside found themselves drifting to Bassey Park, where picnics were being had, or the field behind the Tracker Bros, where one could win $20, if they were lucky, on a game of scratch ball.

The three teens found themselves somewhere in between, near the Derry Community House, standing around the large trees and monuments, not really feeling like doing anything; the fourth was lying belly-down on the grass, kicking his feet like he did when he was five and was scribbling out a picture for his mother. The slightest breeze caught their shirts or hair every now and then, but it was the treats they were munching on that was keeping them cool.

Belch and Patrick both had ice cream, but were experiencing it in vastly different ways. Belch was taking big, slurping licks from a two scoop cone with vanilla and chocolate, making it swirl on his tongue. His was truly a race against time and gravity to catch every drop as it melted, but so far, he hadn’t missed a single one. Patrick had made the smarter choice of a plastic bowl over a cone, but he sat there and watched it melt. Once it was effectively just cream, his tongue snaked out of his mouth in short little bursts, lapping it up. He rested his chin on his hands, laced beneath it, elbows far enough apart his neck barely moved as he dipped low enough to drink comfortably.

For Victor, his treat was an orange soda. He’d gotten used to the feeling of his braces, but was more aware of them with every sip than he’d been since he got them.

No soda without a straw, but I’d prefer none at all, the Dentist had said. Well, fuck him. It was hot outside, and food just didn’t seem that tempting.

Swallowing a mouth full of metal corroding orange flavored acid, Victor leaned against the tree in such a way his bangs were covering most of his face. He stood like this on purpose, so that he could watch Henry eating a Rocket Pop without being too obvious.

Henry’s mouth had turned red from sucking and nibbling on the tip of it. It was both beautiful and obscene. Unaware that he had an audience, Henry took the pop down halfway through the white portion, slurped up some of the melted juice, and then bit off the remainder of the red as he pulled it out. Even as his face contorted when brain freeze struck, it was filling Vic's belly with a dangerous warmth, and his mind with dangerous ideas.

"Can I have a sip of that?” Patrick asked. Vic made a Hmm sound as he turned to look at the boy who spoke. It took Victor a few moments to realize what he was talking about.

Patrick, not waiting for an answer, crossed his arms in front of his chest and rolled over. Now at Victor’s feet, his opened his mouth wide. Vic tipped his drink until a cautiously-sized stream was pouring down. It fell perfectly between Patrick's lips, hitting the back of his throat with an odd, but satisfying, sound. Patrick didn’t swallow, but let his mouth fill. When he'd had enough, he closed his mouth, his cheeks puffing as he pushed the liquid into them. He then rolled back over, and spat out every last drop into the bowl of cream.

“That’s gross,” Belch observed, with a flat tone. Victor giggled at Belch's delivery of the line.

“It’s just like a root beer float,” Patrick said, licking his lips. “Nothing like a good soda pop right into that tasty, tasty cream. Wouldn’t you agree, Vic?”

Henry's attention was sudden. He searched Vic, though for what, Vic didn't know. He turned it over in his mind, and found nothing overtly sexual or flirty – nothing that would’ve triggered some kind of jealousy or judgement. Instead of giving any insight, Henry scooted away from Vic a little bit, and went back to his Popsicle, his shoulders a little stiffer. It was a small thing, but Vic felt it like a punch to the stomach.

Belch made a smacking noise as he took a bite out of his cone. “Even grosser,” he said, with a full mouth.

Like popping a balloon with a bullet, things were back to normal with sudden ferocity, with the exception of Henry’s demeanor. Patrick was back to lapping up his melted float, Belch was absently licking away, and Henry was trying to look cool, his one arm across his chest and his one leg propped against the tree. Victor sucked up the last of his soda, and then scooted a little closer to Henry.

Henry pushed away from the tree, and started walking towards the trash. Vic stared after him, trying to figure out if it was on purpose or if it was a coincidence. The thought that he could've done something to make Henry want to avoid him was more stressful than Vic wanted to admit.

Stepping over Patrick, Henry headed towards the barrel the park used for a public trash. He looked in, and then dropped in his rocket pop. Absently, he kicked a ball of paper that someone had thrown beside the trash. It scampered across the grass and into Patrick, who looked like he was going to throw it, until he abruptly changed his mind.

Patrick began to unroll it, and smooth it out on the grass beside him. Vic recognized what it was before he even saw the familiar grayscale photo.

"Eddie Corcoran's missing poster," Belch said. Victor looked around, trying to locate the usual spots for the posters: the street lamp, the side of the outdoor restrooms, the buildings in the distant... they were all bare.

Henry plucked another ball from the pile and opened it up. Eddie's face stared up at him from that one, too. And the next. Even the one after that. Henry dropped each poster after unrolling it, stopping only once there were at least seven on the ground around him.

"Who would throw these away?" Patrick asked.

"Does it matter?" Henry asked, void of emotion. "In a few days there's going to be a new face being hung up everywhere, and nobody'll care about these assholes anymore."

"Yeah, but that ain't right," Belch said.

"Doesn't matter if it's right," Henry's voice was sharp, almost angry. It left no room for argument. "It's what's going to happen. Just like the Stuttering Freak's little brother and everyone else. They're gonna care for a few hours, and that's it."

Patrick's leg was cocked in the air, frozen mid-swing. He stared at Eddie's sideways photo, tracing the edges with his finger.

"What do you think it's like?" He asked, his fingers working out a stubborn wrinkle across Eddie's face. "Dying, I mean."

Belch'S face blanched, and his shoulders fell, as if someone had placed weights, heavy , even for him, across them.

"Maybe death came so fast they didn’t notice," Victor suggested, not knowing what else to say.

Victor didn't think about death often, not even with it happening all around them. When he did think of it, it was some far away thing. He knew it was coming, and he had some ideas about how it might happen, but it wasn't something he expected to be waiting around the corner at age 15. None of them did.

Henry was staring at the ground, his lips pressed together in a thin line. It was his give away that he was uncomfortable with the subject.

"It's just funny," Patrick said, a little laugh breaking up his words. "To think you could be living your last day on Earth, and not know it."

"SHUT UP PATRICK!" It was Belch who snapped. "Jesus crow, can we just talk about anything else?"

Victor wasn’t frightened when Belch raised his voice. But Henry stepping forward, quiet, staring at Belch with a wide-eyed glare was enough to send a shiver down Vic’s spine. Instead of snapping back, or yelling, Henry’s voice lifted up, calm, cool, and casual.

“Hey, so, a salesman is driving to his home from a long trip when he sees this Indian on the side of the road, thumbing for a ride. A little lonely, he stops the car and the Indian gets in. After a bit of small talk, the Indian notices a brown bag on the front seat.

“‘What’s in the bag?’ he asks.

“The salesman says, ‘it’s a bottle of wine. I got it for my wife.’

“The Indian is silent for a moment, and then says, ‘good trade.’”

It takes a few seconds for it to register that Henry had just told a joke. Not because he didn’t tell them often, but due more to the emotional residue of their previous topic of conversation. When it finally does hit them, Patrick is the first to laugh. High-pitched and full of such glee, his laugh draws out the one from Vic, given in equal parts nervousness and amusement. Belch is last, but laughs so hard tears build up in his eyes.

“Wait wait, I got a good one—”

As Belch told the story of the Traveling Salesman and the Farmer’s Daughter, a vaguely familiar form came wiggling through Vic's line of sight about a block behind Belch. He almost looked away, thinking nothing of it. But something held his eyes, told him to really look.

Squinting and shielding his eyes from the sun, Vic saw that sure enough, who Vic thought it was was exactly who it was: the chubby little new kid who refused to help Henry with the test. Things clicked into place for Victor in that moment.

Henry and Patrick were howling at Belch’s joke. Belch broke out into a huge smile, pleased with himself. When Vic started speaking, though, they all seemed to know it was for something different, and more exciting.

"Hey, Hank, I spy with my little eye something round and due for payback," Vic said, gesturing with his head. Henry looked in that direction. He didn’t smile with his mouth, but his eyes became clear, sparkling with that glint of mischief. When he looked back at Victor, there was warmth, even pride.

“Let’s get ‘im,” Patrick said, standing up. His lighter was already in his hand. His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, as he said, “I got something I want to show him.”

“Hold on, he’s going into the library,” Henry said, his tone thoughtful. He bit off his thumbnail chewing on it as the gears turned in his head. “I got a plan.”

Everything happened so fast, it felt like it wasn’t real.

They had waited for Tits Hanscom – whatever his real name was – to emerge from the library. When they pounced, Vic took his left arm, and Belch took his right. They lifted all 190 pounds of him off the ground. As they carried him to the kissing bridge, they passed him around, tormenting him. Patrick pulled Tits’ shirt over his head, and Vic drummed on his meaty stomach. Then Vic was dragging him, and Patrick was digging his boot into Tits’ ass.

The kid wasn’t having fun, but they were. They didn’t even feel slightly guilty about it, either. Not until later, when they'd head time to really think about what it was leading up to.

The closer they got to the canal, the less Victor felt like he was in control. It wasn’t his choice to press Tits into the kissing bridge and hold him there – it was just something he was doing. When Patrick was setting off fireballs with his can of hairspray and lighter, Victor should've stepped forward and smacked it out of his hands, but something held his legs in place. When Henry was pulling out his knife, Victor saw, but he didn't comprehend.

Henry wouldn't really hurt the kid, Victor believed at the time. He knew better now.

If Vic had realized Henry was dragging his knife across Tits’ skin, he didn't realize it was actually cutting.

But he didn’t want to think about that. He also didn’t want to think about how Henry's face had twisted and contorted until it was Butch's face. Spittle flying from his mouth, his voice sounding raw as he screamed, “Shut uuup!”

The look on Belch’s face had jarred Vic back to reality. He’d never seen Belch scared before, and he never wanted to see it again.

Leveling a dark look at Henry, Victor loosened his grip on the New Kid's arm; Belch saw, and followed suit. The New Kid dug his sneaker into Henry's gut, and used it as a spring board to flip backwards, his arms slipping freely from the two. He somersaulted over the railing, and hit the ground, rolling down the hill at the bottom of the bridge, and into the Barrens.

Vic hung back as Henry leaped after him, followed by a howling Patrick. He and Belch exchanged a glance that contained multiple conversations: Were they okay with this? No. What had they been doing, exactly? They didn’t know. Was Henry really going to carve his whole name into someone’s cottage cheese? Sure looked like it. Were they going to let Henry and Patrick catch the kid? Fuck no.

On that, they were over the edge too, kicking up dirt as they tried to keep their balance on the descent, watching Henry failing and falling only a few feet ahead of them—

That had been hours ago.

“PATRICK! PATRICK HOCKSTETTER!” Officer Conley shouted, his hands cupped over his mouth.

Vic was ankle deep in Derry’s shit water, a flashlight in one hand as he reached into the area below the sewer drain, trying to find the shiny thing Belch had spotted. He scooped out a handful of slimy dirt, and rinsed it in the stream. It wasn’t Patrick’s lighter, but someone else’s. Belch tapped Vic’s shoulder, and as the blond stood, he handed it over so Belch could see.

“Not his,” Belch said. He walked off, joining the two Officers Butch had assigned to them, not really believing that Patrick hadn't run away, or the story of just how things came to be. Belch’s voice broke through the night air high-pitched and sounding more scared than Vic had ever heard it before as he searched the underbrush. “PATRICK!”

Victor felt tired in a way that transcended his physical existence. Patrick had been armed. Then, when Henry split them up, he sent Belch with Patrick – Belch, the biggest, and strongest, of them all.

The odds were in their favor. Yet, somehow, Patrick was just gone. The Pervert had gotten around the flame thrower, gotten around Patrick's sharp eyes and rabbit-punches, and snatched him away to do God-knows-what to him before killing him.

And it was Vic's fault.

If he hadn't pointed out Tits to Henry, or wasted their time burying Henry's knife...

Using the dry part of his arm, Vic wiped some sweat from his brow, and then raised the light to look down into the sewer pipe. He thought he’d heard something splashing, but the water appeared undisturbed.  

It didn’t smell like sewer – it smelled like rotten Earth. Pungent and sharp, Victor found himself thinking of Henry’s basement. Or more specifically, of the thing at the bottom of the stairs. The thing he never quite saw, but had known was there. He knew it the same as any child knew something was under their bed, or lurking in their closet. He could feel it watching him.

He didn’t see it again sitting in the bushes across the Kenduskeag, moments before Belch came thundering up towards them, his face red. He had begun to see it, though. Digging deep into his memories, he could almost make out the shape and color of it. Something... silver. With orange polka dots. Polka dots? No. Not polka dots: pompoms. Big orange pom poms in a crooked row down its chest—

“Hey, what are you doing?”

A light struck the wall and Vic jumped back, startled by a movement in his peripheral. For just a moment, he swore he saw it again, moving faster than his eyes could comprehend. He swung his own flashlight around, and then let out a puff of breath.

Jumped at his own shadow is what he’d done.

Feeling stupid, Victor turned his light over to see who was at the opening of the sewer. He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or not to see Henry.

He started walking back towards his boyfriend. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he had somehow crossed nearly seven feet of sewage without realizing he was moving at all. Henry didn’t move the light from Vic, aiming it low so Vic could see where he was stepping. He did click it off when Vic was sliding out of the pipe, but only so he could stick it in his pocket and take Vic’s instead.

When fresh air struck Vic's face, he had to roll his eyes at himself again. How he could’ve mistaken that smell for something Earthen was beyond him, because he definitely smelled like shit. The pipe smelled like shit. Everything smelled like shit. It was in his nose.

"Why are you alone?" Henry asked, his voice tilting on the side of anger over concern. Victor looked around, realizing everyone had moved downstream. Henry waited for Vic to grasp the situation before grabbing Vic's neck roughly, digging his fingers in the back. A small, pained noise escaped as Henry pulled him in close. Close enough to kiss. "God dammit, Vic. That is exactly what got Patrick killed!”

“Let go of me, asshole!” Victor wanted to yell. His hands were even on their way up to plant themselves against Henry’s shoulders and shove him back, emphasizing his words. Instead, he took two fistfuls of Henry’s shirt, and pressed his face into it. Henry’s fingers loosened, letting him.

Henry’s shirt didn’t smell like sewer, or Earth. It smelled like suave soap, and Henry’s natural scent, strong from him sweating all day, unbarred by deodorant. Victor felt dizzy as he drew in a deep whiff, trying not to cry.

He loved that smell more than anything in the world. It made him feel safe, secure… loved…

“I’m sorry,” Victor said, closing his eyes, wanting to drift away like he’d done earlier. "I thought I saw something."

"If he was running away for some reason, seems like a good place to hide," Henry said. He was contemplating something, making his words slow. "But if he's hiding down there, he's going to have to wait. You go in there without a map and you'll starve to death before anyone'd find you.”

Victor sighed. “I know.”

“Vic,” Henry said, he voice falling into a cautious tone. "Were you and Patrick... did you guys... did he..."

Henry never finished any of his sentences, but he didn't need to. Vic's brow furrowed. He pulled back from Henry just enough to try and read his face in the dark.

"No," Victor let out a soft laugh. Henry wasn't laughing, though. When he looked at Vic, he was more serious than Victor had ever seen him. "Wait, do you really think I'd cheat on you?"

Henry shrugged. Vic waited on some kind of elaboration. When none came, he abruptly pulled away from Henry, anger bubbling up inside. Vic didn't know what he was going to do, but his hands were clenching into fists, and he had words forming in his mouth to throw at Henry for thinking that Victor would ever do that to him. Then Henry looked up, his ears twitching like a rabbit listening to the predator growing closer. Vic’s reflexes told him to shut up and step away. Henry shined the light across the stream, searching the underbrush for whatever made the noise that drew his attention. In one moment, they realized there was nothing there; in the next, they knew that was wrong. There was something there, they just couldn't see it. In the darkness, Henry looked calm, but Vic could feel Henry squeezing in fear as their hands closed around each other’s.

Soon, they were moving to catch up to everyone else. Or, more accurately, to get away from that area and the sewer pipe, and the feeling of being watched. Henry's legs were taking long strides, and Vic was in a near jog, the two boys were side-by-side, slapping mosquitos off their arms whenever they felt a tickle. As Henry started to veer off, and the distance between them grew, Victor found himself dwelling on Henry's words. When he looked at Henry, he felt love, sure. But there was now a pettiness. He thought of nasty things to say, and nasty things he could do, to make Henry feel even slightly the way he'd made Victor feel.

Him and Patrick? Really? It wasn't that Patrick wasn't attractive, but it was that Henry thought so little of Victor. As if Victor didn't tell him every moment he could that he loved Henry. As if Victor didn't go out of his way to do things that made Henry happy, even if they weren't exactly Victor's favorite thing. As if Victor was the one cruising around with girls, fucking girls only hours before fucking Henry, and not the other way around.

That Henry could even justify that thought for a second didn't just make him angry. It made Victor want to destroy things. He settled for kicking some kid's lost and dingy teddy bear as they came across it.

Henry’s voice was harsh, whispering, "From now on, you don't go anywhere alone. I don't care if it's to get the fucking mail, you fucking get someone to stand guard." His voice cracked as he said, "I can't lose you, too."

"Sure, Hank," Vic answered, spitting out each word.

"Hey, I'm serious. This isn't just some bullshit. If that guy can get Patrick, you don't stand a fuckin' chance," Henry said. So Vic repeated himself, "Sure."

Henry walked close enough to cup Victor’s chin, tilting his head up. Vic knew it was coming, and though he was tempted to jerk his head away, he didn't stop it. Henry brought their lips together. Victor wanted to enjoy it, to kiss back, but he wanted his anger more. His emotions were a jumbled up mess that needed sorting, and kisses were just complicating things.

The message wasn't getting through. Henry kissed Victor's unresponsive lips like there wasn't anything different than normal. Victor wasn't sure if he was being irrational or not, but that made him even angrier.  So he pretended to be listening to something behind them. Henry looked around when he noticed. Victor waited a few moments, and then started walking away, pulling himself free from Henry's grip easily. He heard Henry start to follow after a brief pause. They shared no more words, and when they caught up with everyone else, Vic's anger turned into sadness, and then, fatigue.

Vic went to Belch's side, and stayed there the remainder of the night. He was not giving Henry a chance to influence his thoughts before he had a chance to know what they were himself.

The adults called off the search. Officer Nell took Victor to his house, surprising both Belch and Henry, who watched him climb into the police cruiser without saying as much as a goodbye. The minute he got home, he knew he was alone. Mama wasn't there. Papa wasn't there. Hell, even Victor wasn't 100% certain he was all there. Feeling that anger resurface, Victor grabbed the Louisville slugger by the back door, and the Precious Moments figurines from the hall cabinet. With only moonlight to help him see, Vic tossed the figurines in the air, and, one by one, either sent them flying across the yard to shatter on the fence, or pulverized them into dust on the concrete porch when he missed.

When he was out of figurines, he took the bat to the clay planters. His Mama hadn't planted flowers in forever, so they were empty, and easy to break.

Finally, Vic took out the family photos. He sent the little frame his his fourth grade school picture across the fence and into the neighbor's yard. He broke the glass across his parents wedding photo, and then set it on fire with some matches. He put a crack in every frame still hanging on the wall, especially those of his dad.

Tired, he passed up leftover meatloaf for two spoons of peanut butter, and then collapsed, fully dressed, onto his bed. The phone rang on two separate occasions, but Vic didn't move. He laid there, staring up at the ceiling, hoping that some kind of epiphany would hit him.

It didn't.

[itbethatwaysometime]

Uncharted - Chapter 1

Relationship : James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Warnings: nothing yet, but if there is anything I’ll mention it (smut, violence etc.)

Word Count: 2059

Part 2

https://myfandomsbeatcancersass.tumblr.com/post/164981543348/uncharted-part-2

A/N: Hi! This is my very first fanfic post here on Tumblr. This is not my my first fanfic, but I’m still very new:) I’m planning on this to be a very long fic. I think I’m going to post every Thurday but I’m not sure yet... At the moment I already have seven chapters written and I’m not planning on finishing soon. I’m working on this but you can still send in requests for imagines... Hope you enjoy !

*not my gif

Unknown Location. Hydra Base

A venomous voice leaks through the thin walls of the dingy underground base.

“How did you let him slip through your grasp?” The dangerous women asks. She sits  on a chair that stood a foot higher than everyone else. Her demeanour seemed calm, her face as cold as stone, yet her voice was dripping with anger and her eyes held so much contempt.

A yellow light bulb hung right over head, casting a shadow over her face. Only her hands and feet were visible. She was gripping the armrest of her throne with vice and her long legs were crossed and laid diagonally to the floor. Long emerald green boots with sharp teeth adorning the sides glinted in the dim light, threat seeping through every pore.

A man kneeled before her. He was of average height, grey hair slowly taking over his brown locks. His frame was built, but obviously older than most agents. He wore scrappy clothing, his pants were repaired more than once and there were streaks of mud on his boots.

“I-I I don’t know, ma’am. He-e somehow took out all th-the trackers. We c-can’t find them.” he stutters, he’s on his knees hands clutching his sleeves to prevent them from shaking.

“So, you are telling me, that you lost track of the Asset?” she hisses. “You had ONE job.” Her voice finally giving away some of the anger she felt.

“I’m sorry, Madame Viper, please spare me, we will find him again.” He pleads with her.

“Your pathetic attempt at an apology is useless. You are useless. I had high hopes for you Zemo. But, you just let me down.” Madame Hydra tuts. A moment of tense silence goes by,  she finally lifts an elegant hand up. Her fingers wrapping delicately around the velvet leather of her whip, she swings her arm back and strikes him right in the throat, leaving him bleeding to death on the floor. She sighs as she signals some other soldier to take the body away and clean up the mess.

The rest of the audience of the room perks up, standing straighter as her unforgiving gaze passes through them.

“Find him.” She commands, and that’s all the persuasion they need before scurrying off to accomplish their task, hoping that the Lord will spare them of the wrath that is Madame Hydra.

Stark Tower, Avengers Base

Avengers, please go to Conference room B, an urgent meeting has been called on by Nick Fury, F.R.I.D.A.Y says through the coms. A collective groan echoes through the common room as the  members of the team of heroes begrudgingly get up and hurry to the conference room.

Steve is already there leaning on the far wall and Director Fury stands tall, arms linked behind his back.

“God, it’s barely noon, why are we here?” Tony whines, he rubs tiredly at his eyes,  

“Maybe if you weren’t hungover all the god damn time, you’d be awake enough to get herr without bitching.” the director shot back.

“Language.”

As the group settles down, Fury speaks up.

“We have found a potential new recruit,” he pauses as Maria hands out manila files to the Avengers, “We’ve been monitoring her for the last couple of months and she seems to be a perfect match.”

“That’s what you always say.” Tony yawns.

“It’s true.” Sam snickers.

“Alright, settle down, folks. From what we’ve seen she’s mastered more martial arts styles then I can count, she has the mutant ability to create portals and she has an intelligence that can match that of Tony’s and maybe even Banner.” The room goes silent and more than a few eyebrows raise.

“We’ll need two of you to extract the newbie tonight at around nine o’clock, understood?”

Fury says. “I want Cap on this one, whoever goes with him is your decision.” He points at all of them. With one last hard stare towards Tony, Nick exits the room, Maria trailing not far behind.

The moment the door closes, the room fills with uproar.

“Why doesn't Wanda go? She’s a girl, she’ll do better with another chick.” Tony shouts.

“Don’t speak to my sister like that.” Pietro retorts.

“Why don’t you go with Stevie, he likes you best.” Nat asks Sam, he rolls his eyes in response. “I’ve already checked on newbies, last time didn’t go well, I’m not going this time.”

“You know what, Vision should go.” Clint suggests. “I”m pretty sure we shouldn’t send in the red, powerful, synthetic being to go get the newbie. For all we know he’ll just pass through the wall of this girl’s apartment.” Tony snaps back. They all nod in agreement.

“You know what,” Steve speaks up, taking the powerful ‘Cap voice’,” Tony you’re coming with me.”

“What?” The man cries out in shock.

“Yep, Tony, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not. Everyone in this room has been sent to scout a new recruit at least once, except for you.” Tony gives him a ‘I’m done with your Star spangled ass’ look.

He groans, “Fine. But, you’re buying me shawarma.” Steve rolls his eyes.

“We’re leaving at 8:30 pm”.

Everyone exits the room to do whatever heroes do on their day off.

——————————

Your POV

“Ok, avocados, roman lettuce, cucumbers, olive oil, coconut oil, tomatoes, milk, oranges, strawberries…” you were walking through the isles of your local grocery store, going through you mental checklist making sure you didn’t forget anything.

You placed the items in your cart and once you were confident you didn’t forget anything, you went to pay.

“Would you like a bag?”  The 16 year-old snot nosed cashier asked you.

“Yes, please.” You answer. He nonchalantly passes you two plastic bags, not bothering to actually help you on this ‘very’ busy Wednesday evening. You carry your groceries to your second hand car, get in, and drive back to your tiny 3 1/2 apartment. How strangely domestic, you thought to yourself.

Yet, you liked it. As a kid you were always one for adrenaline. After your parents died, you were passed through so many foster homes, it was an ironic game of hot potato. You ended up leaving the system and fending for yourself. The powers definitely helped out a lot. You found out you had them when you were maybe twelve, almost thirteen. You were running away from some bullies and ended up cornered in an alley, instead of panicking, you just ran straight through the wall. Throughout the years, you trained yourself to be a strong and independent woman, studying hard in school and training hard on your own.

You hummed to the generic song on the radio when you turn the corner of the street that lead to your apartment. You lived in a quiet part of Manhattan that was a little sketchy but you didn’t mind. The old building was made out of classic red bricks with stairs leading up to each apartment complex.

You juggle your groceries and try to open your door without dropping your keys. You don’t want to be the victim in a cheesy horror movie.

You flick the lights open and walk into your tiny home. It’s small, but cozy. Right behind the front door is a small hallway where you put down your jacket, your shoes and your keys. You walk down a couple of steps and there’s your kitchen, dining table, couch and TV. And, when you go back to the hallway on the left, there’s your bedroom.

You drop all your groceries in the kitchen go take a quick shower.

After, you start cooking your dinner. As a kid you had a lot of free time, so all you did was absorb information, as much as you could take in.  You didn’t make friends to easily, partially because you were shy, but mostly because you didn't trust easily. You were always suspicious,  your father taught you to be. When you started living on your own, you were so focused on your studies and your training that not having much of a social life never really bothered you. Friends came and went, but you somehow always ended up on your own.

You connect your phone to your wireless speaker and start playing some music. You press shuffle and the loud guitar riffs of Iron Man by Black Sabbath fills your ears. You start cutting up the ingredients and adding some oil to the pan, adding the onions in and letting the caramelise slowly. Another song comes to an end. You’re left with the gentle sizzle of th—.

“I like her already, she has good taste in music.” You hear a somehow familiar voice come from right outside your apartment door. You could tell that there were two men standing outside your home. You silently close the stove and turn off your phone. You walk carefully to your room, avoiding the creaky wooden panels. You pull out your 9mm and put your back to the wall waiting for their next move. They sounded pretty nice, but you were always cautious.

“Hi, (Y/n). Could you let us in? We would like to talk to you about a sensitive topic that would be better discussed in private.” The second voice said. How the hell does he know my name?

You don’t respond.

———————

Steve’s POV

“Tony you can’t just break down the door!” He tells him. Jesus, what was he thinking?

“No, of course not. I can’t break down the door… but you can.” The smaller man says happily, as if he just cracked the Da Vinci Code. The Captain puts a hand to his head and sighs disapprovingly.

“(Y/n), we promise we aren’t going to hurt you. Just open the door please.” He prods gently.

“Are you serious? ‘We aren’t going to hurt you’,” he repeats mockingly,” you heard Fury, she’s smart, that won’t work.” Steve rolls his eyes for what seems like the millionth time today, that’s the effect Tony has on people.

“Ok, we’re coming in.” “Finally.”

He lays his hand on the handle and easily twists it off the door, it swings back with a small creak. The smell of a dinner being cooked immediately fills their noses.

“Jeez, she can cook too?” Tony whispers.

The apartment was tiny, he could barely fit in the first hallway that leads to the kitchen, thank  god he didn’t bring his shield, he would've been stuck. The stove was obviously left in a hurry, the spatula left messily to the side, the pan was still emitting a bit of steam; she’s still here. He hears Tony click on his gadget thing over his wrist and holds it up instinctively.

He motions his hand toward the door that’s about six feet away from them. She’s in there.

A small gush of wind blows their face and they stare at each other confusedly. A small swoosh accompanied with Tony yelping and swearing forces him to turn around in the tight space. He sees Tony, now kneeling on the floor, his mini propellor useless on the side with his hands in handcuffs behind his back.

“What the FUCK lady?” Tony yells. He turns around again and sees a small woman with (h/c) hair holding a gun up. She was wearing a loose AC/DC shirt with a pair of comfortably looking grey shorts.

“Who are you and why did you break into my apartment?” she asks, her voice calm and collected.

“Look, we just wanted to talk, we promise we aren’t here to harm you in any way.” he says reassuringly. She scoffs. “Are you serious?”

“I told you it wouldn't work.” Tony remarks from behind him. She tilts her head to the side and stares intently at him.

“Why is Tony Stark in my hallway? And why is Captain America also in my hallway after,” you look to your broken down door,” after assaulting my door?Aren’t you supposed to stand for justice or something like that.” She puts her gun down and sneaks a glance at Cap who looks down sheepishly. She walks around him and Tony, kneeling on the floor, to flick the light switch, finally illuminating the two intruders faces.

Needless to say, that was not the reaction he was expecting.

[timclymer]

The Myth of Menstruation

Concurring with my good friend and brother, Rev. Phil Valentine (metaphysician out of New York), the female menstrual cycle is normal, but NOT natural. As the human body has the innate capabilities to adapt to pathologies, irregularities, and abnormalities, the female body (ever since the Great fall nearly 6,000 years ago and which has absolutely nothing to do with a fictitious Biblical character named Eve) has adapted to the pathology of menstruation and now uses this process as a cleansing method to rid the female body of toxins and waste. The female body has taken that which is unnatural (to bleed and lose the vital life essence) and converted that process into a normal female body function. Because of the menstrual cycle, women now have an additional eliminative channel in the vagina, bringing their total to six major eliminative channels (colon, lungs, kidneys, liver, skin, and vagina). It is because of this sixth eliminative channel that rids the female body of unnecessary waste and toxins that women generally outlive men by seven years.

Why is menstruation considered a dis-ease? Because it is not natural in nature or the wild (free). It is rare to find a mammal that lives and eats according to the laws of Nature to have a menstrual cycle. Have you ever witnessed a female horse, gorilla, elephant, buffalo, monkey, hippopotamus, giraffe, zebra, rhinoceros, or cow having a menstrual discharge? Don’t you think corporate and greedy man would have devised feminine pads and tampons for these animals to prevent the spilling and dropping of excessively large amounts of blood? Why of course corporate man would have, just like he did for Western and civilized woman so that she could continuously battle in the war zone called corporate America that was originally designed for white males. Man created pads and tampons for career females so that the menstrual cycle would not interfere with daily business activity. You see, with men, there is no so-called “natural” phenomenon that over takes the male body once a month causing a break in chores and activities. Originally, during the cycle time, women abstained from work and other daily functions. This break time due to menstruation was anywhere from 1-3 days at the most.

Menstruation is not abnormal in domesticated creatures in so-called civilization (which really means “slavery”). Just look at the house cat and dog. These creatures have a menstrual cycle, just like the social creature called woman.

For a human being, especially a mammal, to lose its vital life essence (blood) monthly, is not a natural occurrence. Blood exiting out of the body is not a natural thing. If a man goes to urinate and sees blood in his urine, he first screams in fear and then goes to the emergency room at the local hospital to see the doctor. Why? Because it’s a sign that something is wrong (if a man does urinate blood, chances are he has prostate cancer).

The life of the flesh is in the blood. Even the Bible tells us this (Leviticus 17:11). The blood contains vital elements (minerals) necessary to maintain optimal health. The blood transports the various minerals to certain parts of the body so that certain organs may work and function optimally for the sake of the being. For example, calcium calms the nerves. Potassium ensures optimal nerve transmission. Iodine regulates and ensures optimal thyroid gland functioning and activity. Iron ensures hemoglobin and is now the major carrier of oxygen (taking over this duty from the mineral “gold” which we no longer use in our modern and degenerative states of existence as third dimensional beings). Now if the blood which carries these minerals throughout the body is being eliminated out of the body for the sake of ridding the female body of toxins and waste (which the colon and kidneys could easily perform), then the organs that need and depend on these vital elements are not going to get them and the result is going to be dis-ease or lack of good or optimal health (e.g. PMS [premenstrual syndrome]).

Take PMS for example; PMS is associated with mood swings, irritability of nerves, gas (flatulence), abdominal cramps, headaches, body spasms, short term memory loss, etc. Why? Because of a lack of nutrients or organ-specific foods to these areas for proper functioning. With blood saturated in the vaginal area during the menses and exiting via the vagina, the brain is not going to get the minerals carbon, copper, calcium and potassium (at least the amount it requires). Calcium is a calmative (calming agent). It calms you down. Do you know why the animals who graze on grasses like oats, alfalfa, barley, wheat, and gotu kola are so calm? Because they contain high amounts of calcium. Animals know that God made the grass to grow for their benefit and good health. The Book of Psalms clearly tells us that, “He causeth the grass to grow for cattle,…” Do you know why elephants are said to have good memories? Because they graze on gotu kola, an herb that enhances mental acuity and stamina. Therefore, female elephants do not experience episodes of short term memory loss (nor do they develop Alzheimer’s Disease as the herb gotu kola contains bio-aluminum [organic aluminum] which attracts harmful, man-made aluminum which causes Alzhiemer’s in the first place, and rids it from the body via the blood).

With blood leaving the body during the menses, the nerves are not going to get its needed amount of potassium for proper nerve transmission. The thyroid gland (a major factor in weight gain and loss) is not going to get the necessary amount of iodine it needs to regulate body weight. And with a major loss of iron, a trace element, anemia is going to undoubtedly occur and cause a host of ill-effects such as dizziness, weakness, nausea, fatigue, frigidity (or feeling excessively cold), and brittle fingernails.

During the menstrual cycle, the female body is going to saturate the blood supply in the vaginal area to help with the menstrual cycle, and as a result, necessary minerals will not be transported in the amount needed by the other body organs and members. These minerals that are lodged in the vaginal area during the menstruation will come out in bulk in the “white” stage (leukorrheac discharge). Yes, that white discharge commonly referred to as “leucorrhea,” is full of nutrition (that nutrition which did not make the grade doing the menstrual cycle). The white discharge is considered healthy or normal due to its high mineral content and non-smelly or foul odor, whereas and in contrast to an irritating, pruritic, copious, foul-smelling green or yellow discharge, which indicates vaginal or uterine infection or other pathogenic conditions of gynecologic origin. (See Mosby’s Medical, Nursing, and Allied Health Dictionary, 3rd edition, “leucorrhea.”)

So PMS is due to mineral deficiency, and not a curse by God on females. Medical logic suggest that PMS can be cured or corrected by counteracting mineral deficiency by giving the body more minerals before, during, and after the menstrual cycle. The best source of these minerals is raw, organic foods (fruits and vegetables) and herbs. And remember, your body has nerves that connect to every organ in your body. The gas pockets in the colon explode and press against other nerves sites in the colon (which contain 360 nerve crystals) and cause a host of other problems, especially headaches.

It is reported that the African women kidnapped and brought to America during the American slavery period (1555-1863) did not have a menstrual cycle, but a period. Yes, they only had a little drop of blood the size of a small dot, which is why it was called a “period,” that mark we make and utilize in the English language, but which is now associated with the menstrual “cycle.” The term “cycle” is now a synonym for the word “period.”

We find support of the disease nature of the menstrual cycle in the Bible in the story of Jesus healing the woman who had an issue of blood for twelve years. This account is detailed in the Book of Mark. Many Christian reverends, who do not apply or understand metaphysics, construe this issue of blood as a cut on the woman’s body that Jesus healed, but if these ignorant Christian reverends understood medical logic, science, and fact, they would know that no human being can bleed for more than a period of 12 hours without dying! If a person bleeds for 12 hours straight, we all know what happens, except for our blind Christian pastors, especially the Negro ones. We read in Mark, Chapter 5, Verses 25-34, the following: “And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse. When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up: and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, ‘Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitudes thronging thee, and sayest thou, who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what she done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, ‘Daughter, they faith had made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.”

Now why do you think this woman’s issue of blood that lasted for twelve years was called a “plague?” Well, what is a “plague?” The word “plague” is defined as: 1. A widespread affliction or calamity. 2. A cause of annoyance; nuisance. 3. A highly infectious, usu. fatal epidemic disease, esp. bubonic plague. (The American Heritage Dictionary, 3rd edition, Office Edition, pg. 633).

Do not most American females feel afflicted, annoyed, or nuisanced during their menstrual cycle? The answer is yes! Why do you think they take pharmaceutical drugs like Midol® during their cycle? For fun? Hell no! They are in pain or feel afflicted. Many or most of them (females) are not the same during this time, and they will tell you so, like they have told me so. They become very grouchy and irritated. Many will tell you that they are a “bitch” during this time and to leave them alone and/or don’t say a word to them, lest they slap you or punch you in the face. Why do they become like this? It is because of the calamity or the plague, as the Bible calls it.

In analyzing the Mark 5:25-34 story or parable of the woman with an issue of blood for twelve years, we must apply spiritual or metaphysical hermaneutics and exigesis. Number one, the issue of blood lasting twelve years could be no other than the menstrual cycle. It could not be a form of blood cancer (leukemia) as cancer kills usually within six months to three years. It could not have been a bleeding sore on the body because nobody can bleed daily and nonstop for twelve years. The touching of Jesus’ garments is a metaphor or spiritual symbolical meaning or action referring to Jesus’ lifestyle. A garment is what protects or covers you. Likewise, a righteous and wholistic lifestyle covers and protects you (from sickness, disease, slavery, and premature death). The woman touching Jesus’ garment meant that the woman touched (practiced) Jesus’ way of living. The “fountain of her blood” referred to her vagina. And clearly, her “faith” (in being cured by a righteous and Essenic lifestyle) made her whole (at ease and not dis-eased). It is important to note that the parable begins by saying that she suffered (took) many things of physicians (drugs) and had spent all that she had. If her issue was in fact a wound on the skin as most Negro Christian reverends suggests, a physician would have had knowledge to bandage up the wound in order to put pressure on the wound so as to stop the profuse bleeding.

Moving on in our subject matter, if menstruation is necessary and natural, and serves to expel or eliminate toxins from the female body on a monthly basis, why then does the menstrual cycle stop or go away during pregnancy? Does a toxic woman automatically become clean or nontoxic because of pregnancy? Of course not! So why does the menses halt? The answer lies in the fact of the body’s intelligence knowing that a new life is forming in the flesh and that the body will need extra nutrition for the building blocks of the new life. The body knows it loses these building blocks (minerals) during menstruation, so the body’s intelligence prevents the body from menstruating once conception takes place. So what about the process of eliminating toxins? How does the female body throw off toxins during pregnancy? The female body will utilize the first trimester (or first three months) to eliminate toxins from the mother host body via “morning sickness.” I don’t have a clue as to why this activity is called “morning sickness” because women will suffer through this sickness throughout the day – morning, noon, and night; – something to make you think about! Women will throw up (vomit, regurgitate) to help get the body clean for the baby to develop in. Some females are so toxic, that the body will dump most of the toxins from the uterine area in to the liver, which causes or manifests “eclampsia,” which is liver toxicity during pregnancy. Taking synthetic and harmful pharmaceutical drugs euphemistically called “prenatal tabs” (made with horse manure, bitumen, and coal tar) and inorganic sources of “iron” (which is derived from rusted metals such as railroad tracks) will greatly play a role in eclampsia. This synthetic and deadly “iron” [ferrous fumate and sulfate] is the cause of constipation and bloated feeling in pregnant women. Pharmaceutical companies mix this inorganic iron (humans require “organic” or “living” iron from plant sources) with inorganic sulphur. The injurious effects of inorganic mineral sulphur however, is caused by its affinity for iron and also its destruction of ferments and enzymes, and by its generation of sulphurous and sulphuric acids within the organism. It steals the iron from food and blood, forming sulphide of iron which constipates and dries up the several secretions of the digestive tract. It also steals nascent hydrogen from the fluids and tissues forming sulphuranhydride or sulphureted hydrogen. Women, this is the cause of the foul smelling gas you expel and have been revolted at, which is always given off by decaying organic matter, animal and vegetable. It is the smell of rotten eggs, putrid sores, fecal matter, and decaying flesh.

Should menstruating women engage in sexual intercourse? For health and hygiene reasons, I say no, especially if a woman is lying on her back. My reasoning is this – like the rectum, the female vagina has a “downward” spiral energy. Most eliminative channels have a downward, spiral energy (e.g. colon, kidneys). While in the sex act, the male penis strokes in and out while inside the vagina. As menstruation is a cleansing time, expelling toxins and waste from the female body, waste and toxins traveling down the vagina to the exit or opening of the vagina will eventually be pushed back up into the uterine area by the stroking male penis, and especially if a man is stroking or penetrating hard, fast, and deep with his sex organ. This is something to think about. Plain and simple, it is unhygienic and unhealthy and poses a serious health risk.

In closing, what can a female do to offset the side effects of the “plague” (menses)? The answer is found in the Bible in Psalms 104:14. It clearly states, “He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth.” Plain and simple!

To replenish the body of the necessary nutrients (minerals), consume herbs such as alfalfa, sheep sorrel, suma, rooisbos, rose hips, watercress, parsley leaf, moringa or karela seed, barley grass, wheat grass, nettle leaf, and spinach leaf. These herbs provide almost every mineral the body needs.

Also, consume sea weeds such as kelp, dulse, spirulina, chlorella, Irish Moss, bladderwrack, Blue-Green Algae, Iceland Moss, and red marine algae. Sea weeds are the best and most nutritious foods you can eat, and provide your body with everything you need (oxygen, minerals, protein, etc.) and are an excellent source of organic “iodine” (thyroid gland food).

Natural sources rich in “iron” include: yellow dock root, burdock root, dandelion root, elderberries, red raspberry leaf, rooibos, and mullein leaf. Green vegetables such as parsley, greens, chives, and spinach are also great sources of iron. Blackstrap molasses (unsulphured) also provides a good amount of iron.

Natural sources of “calcium” include: comfrey root (don’t believe the hype about liver toxicity), oatstraw, horsetail, and red raspberry leaf. All green leafy vegetables are good sources of calcium (if you juice or lightly steam them).

Herbs to coagulate the blood and stop excessive bleeding include: goldenseal, cranesbill (alum root), dragon’s blood, manjistha, musta, shepherd’s purse, lady’s mantle, yarrow, cayenne, Solomon’s seal, barberry, and heal-all herb.

Herbs to regulate and normalize the menstrual cycle and flow include: maca, black cohosh, blue cohosh, dong quai, mugwort, red raspberry leaf, wild yam root (best and highest source of natural progesterone), squawvine, false unicorn, chaste tree berries, lycii fruit, red clover tops (best and highest source of natural estrogen), licorice root, sarsaparilla, and angelica.

Herbs that counteract menstrual cramping and spasms include: beth or birth root, crampbark, fennel seed, anise seed, and wild yam root.

Herbs that counteract menstrual related pain and headaches include: white willow bark, black willow bark, feverfew, meadowsweet, birch bark, wood betony, wild lettuce, peppermint, wintergreen, and woodruff.

Herbs that help soothe the nerves during the menstrual cycle include: nerve root or lady’s slipper, kava kava, jatamansi, valerian root, lavender flower, passionflower, hops, skullcap, chamomile, and linden flower.

Herbs that give energy for fatigue during the menstrual cycle include: ginseng (all species), ashwagandha, schizandra berries, jiwanti, yerba mate, green tea, suma, codonopsis bark, kola or bissey nut, and guarana seed.

Herbs for mental stimulation during the menstrual cycle include: gotu kola, gingko biloba, bringraj, ashwagandha, ginseng, holy or blessed thistle, kola or bissey nut, yerba mate, and guarana seed.

Herbs that counteract constipation during the menstrual cycle include: senna leaves and pods, cascara sagrada, buckthorn, aloe vera resin, rhubarb root, jalap root, bibitaki, mandrake, black walnut hulls, poke root, slippery elm bark, Irish moss, guar gum, acacia gum, and psyllium Husks.

Herbs that strengthen the uterus during the menstrual cycle include: ashoka, squawvine, false unicorn, pumpkin seed, cocculus root, and saw palmetto.

Natural remedies to counteract breast soreness and tenderness during the menstrual cycle include: (oils) [internally and externally] evening primrose oil, borage oil, black currant oil; (externally – massaged into breasts) olive oil, coconut oil, shea butter, sweet almond oil, avocado oil, grapefruit seed oil, rose hip seed oil; (essential oils that can be added to breast massage oil) fennel seed oil, clary sage, grapefruit peel oil, and rosemary; (herbs) saw palmetto berries, honeysuckle flower, red raspberry leaf, red clover tops, yew tips, poke root, wild indigo, and red root.

Herbs that counteract eclampsia during pregnancy include: white peony bark, deer tongue herb, milk thistle seeds, dandelion root, burdock root, carbon (activated charcoal), uva ursi, grapevine leaf, and Oregon grape.

Djehuty Ma’at-Ra is an herbalist and researcher located in the Glendale area of Los Angeles, California and can be reached via e-mail at djehutym@juno.com

Source by Djehuty Ma’at-Ra

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/the-myth-of-menstruation/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/187519962425 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

The Myth of Menstruation

Concurring with my good friend and brother, Rev. Phil Valentine (metaphysician out of New York), the female menstrual cycle is normal, but NOT natural. As the human body has the innate capabilities to adapt to pathologies, irregularities, and abnormalities, the female body (ever since the Great fall nearly 6,000 years ago and which has absolutely nothing to do with a fictitious Biblical character named Eve) has adapted to the pathology of menstruation and now uses this process as a cleansing method to rid the female body of toxins and waste. The female body has taken that which is unnatural (to bleed and lose the vital life essence) and converted that process into a normal female body function. Because of the menstrual cycle, women now have an additional eliminative channel in the vagina, bringing their total to six major eliminative channels (colon, lungs, kidneys, liver, skin, and vagina). It is because of this sixth eliminative channel that rids the female body of unnecessary waste and toxins that women generally outlive men by seven years.

Why is menstruation considered a dis-ease? Because it is not natural in nature or the wild (free). It is rare to find a mammal that lives and eats according to the laws of Nature to have a menstrual cycle. Have you ever witnessed a female horse, gorilla, elephant, buffalo, monkey, hippopotamus, giraffe, zebra, rhinoceros, or cow having a menstrual discharge? Don’t you think corporate and greedy man would have devised feminine pads and tampons for these animals to prevent the spilling and dropping of excessively large amounts of blood? Why of course corporate man would have, just like he did for Western and civilized woman so that she could continuously battle in the war zone called corporate America that was originally designed for white males. Man created pads and tampons for career females so that the menstrual cycle would not interfere with daily business activity. You see, with men, there is no so-called “natural” phenomenon that over takes the male body once a month causing a break in chores and activities. Originally, during the cycle time, women abstained from work and other daily functions. This break time due to menstruation was anywhere from 1-3 days at the most.

Menstruation is not abnormal in domesticated creatures in so-called civilization (which really means “slavery”). Just look at the house cat and dog. These creatures have a menstrual cycle, just like the social creature called woman.

For a human being, especially a mammal, to lose its vital life essence (blood) monthly, is not a natural occurrence. Blood exiting out of the body is not a natural thing. If a man goes to urinate and sees blood in his urine, he first screams in fear and then goes to the emergency room at the local hospital to see the doctor. Why? Because it’s a sign that something is wrong (if a man does urinate blood, chances are he has prostate cancer).

The life of the flesh is in the blood. Even the Bible tells us this (Leviticus 17:11). The blood contains vital elements (minerals) necessary to maintain optimal health. The blood transports the various minerals to certain parts of the body so that certain organs may work and function optimally for the sake of the being. For example, calcium calms the nerves. Potassium ensures optimal nerve transmission. Iodine regulates and ensures optimal thyroid gland functioning and activity. Iron ensures hemoglobin and is now the major carrier of oxygen (taking over this duty from the mineral “gold” which we no longer use in our modern and degenerative states of existence as third dimensional beings). Now if the blood which carries these minerals throughout the body is being eliminated out of the body for the sake of ridding the female body of toxins and waste (which the colon and kidneys could easily perform), then the organs that need and depend on these vital elements are not going to get them and the result is going to be dis-ease or lack of good or optimal health (e.g. PMS [premenstrual syndrome]).

Take PMS for example; PMS is associated with mood swings, irritability of nerves, gas (flatulence), abdominal cramps, headaches, body spasms, short term memory loss, etc. Why? Because of a lack of nutrients or organ-specific foods to these areas for proper functioning. With blood saturated in the vaginal area during the menses and exiting via the vagina, the brain is not going to get the minerals carbon, copper, calcium and potassium (at least the amount it requires). Calcium is a calmative (calming agent). It calms you down. Do you know why the animals who graze on grasses like oats, alfalfa, barley, wheat, and gotu kola are so calm? Because they contain high amounts of calcium. Animals know that God made the grass to grow for their benefit and good health. The Book of Psalms clearly tells us that, “He causeth the grass to grow for cattle,…” Do you know why elephants are said to have good memories? Because they graze on gotu kola, an herb that enhances mental acuity and stamina. Therefore, female elephants do not experience episodes of short term memory loss (nor do they develop Alzheimer’s Disease as the herb gotu kola contains bio-aluminum [organic aluminum] which attracts harmful, man-made aluminum which causes Alzhiemer’s in the first place, and rids it from the body via the blood).

With blood leaving the body during the menses, the nerves are not going to get its needed amount of potassium for proper nerve transmission. The thyroid gland (a major factor in weight gain and loss) is not going to get the necessary amount of iodine it needs to regulate body weight. And with a major loss of iron, a trace element, anemia is going to undoubtedly occur and cause a host of ill-effects such as dizziness, weakness, nausea, fatigue, frigidity (or feeling excessively cold), and brittle fingernails.

During the menstrual cycle, the female body is going to saturate the blood supply in the vaginal area to help with the menstrual cycle, and as a result, necessary minerals will not be transported in the amount needed by the other body organs and members. These minerals that are lodged in the vaginal area during the menstruation will come out in bulk in the “white” stage (leukorrheac discharge). Yes, that white discharge commonly referred to as “leucorrhea,” is full of nutrition (that nutrition which did not make the grade doing the menstrual cycle). The white discharge is considered healthy or normal due to its high mineral content and non-smelly or foul odor, whereas and in contrast to an irritating, pruritic, copious, foul-smelling green or yellow discharge, which indicates vaginal or uterine infection or other pathogenic conditions of gynecologic origin. (See Mosby’s Medical, Nursing, and Allied Health Dictionary, 3rd edition, “leucorrhea.”)

So PMS is due to mineral deficiency, and not a curse by God on females. Medical logic suggest that PMS can be cured or corrected by counteracting mineral deficiency by giving the body more minerals before, during, and after the menstrual cycle. The best source of these minerals is raw, organic foods (fruits and vegetables) and herbs. And remember, your body has nerves that connect to every organ in your body. The gas pockets in the colon explode and press against other nerves sites in the colon (which contain 360 nerve crystals) and cause a host of other problems, especially headaches.

It is reported that the African women kidnapped and brought to America during the American slavery period (1555-1863) did not have a menstrual cycle, but a period. Yes, they only had a little drop of blood the size of a small dot, which is why it was called a “period,” that mark we make and utilize in the English language, but which is now associated with the menstrual “cycle.” The term “cycle” is now a synonym for the word “period.”

We find support of the disease nature of the menstrual cycle in the Bible in the story of Jesus healing the woman who had an issue of blood for twelve years. This account is detailed in the Book of Mark. Many Christian reverends, who do not apply or understand metaphysics, construe this issue of blood as a cut on the woman’s body that Jesus healed, but if these ignorant Christian reverends understood medical logic, science, and fact, they would know that no human being can bleed for more than a period of 12 hours without dying! If a person bleeds for 12 hours straight, we all know what happens, except for our blind Christian pastors, especially the Negro ones. We read in Mark, Chapter 5, Verses 25-34, the following: “And a certain woman, which had an issue of blood twelve years, And had suffered many things of many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered, but rather grew worse. When she had heard of Jesus, came in the press behind, and touched his garment. For she said, If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole. And straightway the fountain of her blood was dried up: and she felt in her body that she was healed of that plague. And Jesus, immediately knowing in himself that virtue had gone out of him, turned him about in the press, and said, ‘Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said unto him, Thou seest the multitudes thronging thee, and sayest thou, who touched me? And he looked round about to see her that had done this thing. But the woman fearing and trembling, knowing what she done in her, came and fell down before him, and told him all the truth. And he said unto her, ‘Daughter, they faith had made thee whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.”

Now why do you think this woman’s issue of blood that lasted for twelve years was called a “plague?” Well, what is a “plague?” The word “plague” is defined as: 1. A widespread affliction or calamity. 2. A cause of annoyance; nuisance. 3. A highly infectious, usu. fatal epidemic disease, esp. bubonic plague. (The American Heritage Dictionary, 3rd edition, Office Edition, pg. 633).

Do not most American females feel afflicted, annoyed, or nuisanced during their menstrual cycle? The answer is yes! Why do you think they take pharmaceutical drugs like Midol® during their cycle? For fun? Hell no! They are in pain or feel afflicted. Many or most of them (females) are not the same during this time, and they will tell you so, like they have told me so. They become very grouchy and irritated. Many will tell you that they are a “bitch” during this time and to leave them alone and/or don’t say a word to them, lest they slap you or punch you in the face. Why do they become like this? It is because of the calamity or the plague, as the Bible calls it.

In analyzing the Mark 5:25-34 story or parable of the woman with an issue of blood for twelve years, we must apply spiritual or metaphysical hermaneutics and exigesis. Number one, the issue of blood lasting twelve years could be no other than the menstrual cycle. It could not be a form of blood cancer (leukemia) as cancer kills usually within six months to three years. It could not have been a bleeding sore on the body because nobody can bleed daily and nonstop for twelve years. The touching of Jesus’ garments is a metaphor or spiritual symbolical meaning or action referring to Jesus’ lifestyle. A garment is what protects or covers you. Likewise, a righteous and wholistic lifestyle covers and protects you (from sickness, disease, slavery, and premature death). The woman touching Jesus’ garment meant that the woman touched (practiced) Jesus’ way of living. The “fountain of her blood” referred to her vagina. And clearly, her “faith” (in being cured by a righteous and Essenic lifestyle) made her whole (at ease and not dis-eased). It is important to note that the parable begins by saying that she suffered (took) many things of physicians (drugs) and had spent all that she had. If her issue was in fact a wound on the skin as most Negro Christian reverends suggests, a physician would have had knowledge to bandage up the wound in order to put pressure on the wound so as to stop the profuse bleeding.

Moving on in our subject matter, if menstruation is necessary and natural, and serves to expel or eliminate toxins from the female body on a monthly basis, why then does the menstrual cycle stop or go away during pregnancy? Does a toxic woman automatically become clean or nontoxic because of pregnancy? Of course not! So why does the menses halt? The answer lies in the fact of the body’s intelligence knowing that a new life is forming in the flesh and that the body will need extra nutrition for the building blocks of the new life. The body knows it loses these building blocks (minerals) during menstruation, so the body’s intelligence prevents the body from menstruating once conception takes place. So what about the process of eliminating toxins? How does the female body throw off toxins during pregnancy? The female body will utilize the first trimester (or first three months) to eliminate toxins from the mother host body via “morning sickness.” I don’t have a clue as to why this activity is called “morning sickness” because women will suffer through this sickness throughout the day – morning, noon, and night; – something to make you think about! Women will throw up (vomit, regurgitate) to help get the body clean for the baby to develop in. Some females are so toxic, that the body will dump most of the toxins from the uterine area in to the liver, which causes or manifests “eclampsia,” which is liver toxicity during pregnancy. Taking synthetic and harmful pharmaceutical drugs euphemistically called “prenatal tabs” (made with horse manure, bitumen, and coal tar) and inorganic sources of “iron” (which is derived from rusted metals such as railroad tracks) will greatly play a role in eclampsia. This synthetic and deadly “iron” [ferrous fumate and sulfate] is the cause of constipation and bloated feeling in pregnant women. Pharmaceutical companies mix this inorganic iron (humans require “organic” or “living” iron from plant sources) with inorganic sulphur. The injurious effects of inorganic mineral sulphur however, is caused by its affinity for iron and also its destruction of ferments and enzymes, and by its generation of sulphurous and sulphuric acids within the organism. It steals the iron from food and blood, forming sulphide of iron which constipates and dries up the several secretions of the digestive tract. It also steals nascent hydrogen from the fluids and tissues forming sulphuranhydride or sulphureted hydrogen. Women, this is the cause of the foul smelling gas you expel and have been revolted at, which is always given off by decaying organic matter, animal and vegetable. It is the smell of rotten eggs, putrid sores, fecal matter, and decaying flesh.

Should menstruating women engage in sexual intercourse? For health and hygiene reasons, I say no, especially if a woman is lying on her back. My reasoning is this – like the rectum, the female vagina has a “downward” spiral energy. Most eliminative channels have a downward, spiral energy (e.g. colon, kidneys). While in the sex act, the male penis strokes in and out while inside the vagina. As menstruation is a cleansing time, expelling toxins and waste from the female body, waste and toxins traveling down the vagina to the exit or opening of the vagina will eventually be pushed back up into the uterine area by the stroking male penis, and especially if a man is stroking or penetrating hard, fast, and deep with his sex organ. This is something to think about. Plain and simple, it is unhygienic and unhealthy and poses a serious health risk.

In closing, what can a female do to offset the side effects of the “plague” (menses)? The answer is found in the Bible in Psalms 104:14. It clearly states, “He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that he may bring forth food out of the earth.” Plain and simple!

To replenish the body of the necessary nutrients (minerals), consume herbs such as alfalfa, sheep sorrel, suma, rooisbos, rose hips, watercress, parsley leaf, moringa or karela seed, barley grass, wheat grass, nettle leaf, and spinach leaf. These herbs provide almost every mineral the body needs.

Also, consume sea weeds such as kelp, dulse, spirulina, chlorella, Irish Moss, bladderwrack, Blue-Green Algae, Iceland Moss, and red marine algae. Sea weeds are the best and most nutritious foods you can eat, and provide your body with everything you need (oxygen, minerals, protein, etc.) and are an excellent source of organic “iodine” (thyroid gland food).

Natural sources rich in “iron” include: yellow dock root, burdock root, dandelion root, elderberries, red raspberry leaf, rooibos, and mullein leaf. Green vegetables such as parsley, greens, chives, and spinach are also great sources of iron. Blackstrap molasses (unsulphured) also provides a good amount of iron.

Natural sources of “calcium” include: comfrey root (don’t believe the hype about liver toxicity), oatstraw, horsetail, and red raspberry leaf. All green leafy vegetables are good sources of calcium (if you juice or lightly steam them).

Herbs to coagulate the blood and stop excessive bleeding include: goldenseal, cranesbill (alum root), dragon’s blood, manjistha, musta, shepherd’s purse, lady’s mantle, yarrow, cayenne, Solomon’s seal, barberry, and heal-all herb.

Herbs to regulate and normalize the menstrual cycle and flow include: maca, black cohosh, blue cohosh, dong quai, mugwort, red raspberry leaf, wild yam root (best and highest source of natural progesterone), squawvine, false unicorn, chaste tree berries, lycii fruit, red clover tops (best and highest source of natural estrogen), licorice root, sarsaparilla, and angelica.

Herbs that counteract menstrual cramping and spasms include: beth or birth root, crampbark, fennel seed, anise seed, and wild yam root.

Herbs that counteract menstrual related pain and headaches include: white willow bark, black willow bark, feverfew, meadowsweet, birch bark, wood betony, wild lettuce, peppermint, wintergreen, and woodruff.

Herbs that help soothe the nerves during the menstrual cycle include: nerve root or lady’s slipper, kava kava, jatamansi, valerian root, lavender flower, passionflower, hops, skullcap, chamomile, and linden flower.

Herbs that give energy for fatigue during the menstrual cycle include: ginseng (all species), ashwagandha, schizandra berries, jiwanti, yerba mate, green tea, suma, codonopsis bark, kola or bissey nut, and guarana seed.

Herbs for mental stimulation during the menstrual cycle include: gotu kola, gingko biloba, bringraj, ashwagandha, ginseng, holy or blessed thistle, kola or bissey nut, yerba mate, and guarana seed.

Herbs that counteract constipation during the menstrual cycle include: senna leaves and pods, cascara sagrada, buckthorn, aloe vera resin, rhubarb root, jalap root, bibitaki, mandrake, black walnut hulls, poke root, slippery elm bark, Irish moss, guar gum, acacia gum, and psyllium Husks.

Herbs that strengthen the uterus during the menstrual cycle include: ashoka, squawvine, false unicorn, pumpkin seed, cocculus root, and saw palmetto.

Natural remedies to counteract breast soreness and tenderness during the menstrual cycle include: (oils) [internally and externally] evening primrose oil, borage oil, black currant oil; (externally – massaged into breasts) olive oil, coconut oil, shea butter, sweet almond oil, avocado oil, grapefruit seed oil, rose hip seed oil; (essential oils that can be added to breast massage oil) fennel seed oil, clary sage, grapefruit peel oil, and rosemary; (herbs) saw palmetto berries, honeysuckle flower, red raspberry leaf, red clover tops, yew tips, poke root, wild indigo, and red root.

Herbs that counteract eclampsia during pregnancy include: white peony bark, deer tongue herb, milk thistle seeds, dandelion root, burdock root, carbon (activated charcoal), uva ursi, grapevine leaf, and Oregon grape.

Djehuty Ma’at-Ra is an herbalist and researcher located in the Glendale area of Los Angeles, California and can be reached via e-mail at djehutym@juno.com

Source by Djehuty Ma’at-Ra

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/the-myth-of-menstruation/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

[dfroza]

“the time had come to rethink everything.”

because it matters what we think and believe, and what we write and speak. and in Today’s reading we see how God our heavenly Father was heard speaking from Heaven at the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan river. for God speaks as creative Voice. and we have the ability to speak in the same manner, from the space of the heart, even to hold the power of Light (Spirit) transforming the heart itself, to be reborn in the image of the Son, and to be baptized as well.

we have to choose to be in eternal Love.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is chapter 3 in the book of Luke that shares the True story of this metamorphosis:

Our story continues 15 years after Tiberius Caesar had begun his reign over the empire. Pilate was governor of Judea, Herod ruled Galilee, his brother Philip ruled Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruled Abilene.

In Jerusalem Annas and Caiaphas were high priests in the temple. And in those days, out in the wilderness, John (son of Zacharias) received a message from God.

John brought this divine message to all those who came to the Jordan River. He preached that people should be ritually cleansed through baptism as an expression of changed lives for the forgiveness of sins. As Isaiah the prophet had said,

A solitary voice is calling:

“Go into the wilderness;

prepare the road for the Eternal One’s journey.

In the desert, repair and straighten

every mile of our True God’s highway.

Every low place will be lifted

and every high mountain,

every hill will be humbled;

The crooked road will be straightened out

and rough places ironed out smooth;

Then the radiant glory of the Eternal One will be revealed.

All flesh together will take it in.”

In fulfillment of those words, crowds streamed out from the villages and towns to be baptized by John at the Jordan.

John the Baptist: You bunch of venomous snakes! Who told you that you could escape God’s coming wrath? Don’t just talk of turning to God; you’d better bear the authentic fruit of a changed life. Don’t take pride in your religious heritage, saying, “We have Abraham for our father!” Listen—God could turn these rocks into children of Abraham!

God wants you to bear fruit! If you don’t produce good fruit, then you’ll be chopped down like a fruitless tree and made into firewood. God’s ax is taking aim and ready to swing!

People: What shall we do to perform works from changed lives?

John the Baptist: The person who has two shirts must share with the person who has none. And the person with food must share with the one in need.

Some tax collectors were among those in the crowd seeking baptism.

Tax Collectors: Teacher, what kind of fruit is God looking for from us?

John the Baptist: Stop overcharging people. Only collect what you must turn over to the Romans.

Soldiers: What about us? What should we do to show true change?

John the Baptist: Don’t extort money from people by throwing around your power or making false accusations, and be content with your pay.

John’s bold message seized public attention, and many began wondering if John might himself be the Anointed One promised by God.

John the Baptist: I baptize you with water, but One is coming—One far more powerful than I, One whose sandals I am not worthy to untie—who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He is coming like a farmer at harvesttime, tools in hand to separate the wheat from the chaff. He will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire, and He will gather the genuine wheat into His barn.

He preached with many other provocative figures of speech and so conveyed God’s message to the people—the time had come to rethink everything. But John’s public preaching ended when he confronted Herod, the ruler of Galilee, for his many corrupt deeds, including taking Herodias, the ruler’s sister-in-law, as his own wife. Herod responded by throwing John into prison.

But before John’s imprisonment, when he was still preaching and ritually cleansing through baptism the people in the Jordan River, Jesus also came to him to be baptized. As Jesus prayed, the heavens opened, and the Holy Spirit came upon Him in a physical manifestation that resembled a dove. A voice echoed out from heaven.

Voice from Heaven: You are My Son, the Son I love, and in You I take great pleasure.

At this, the launch of Jesus’ ministry, Jesus was about 30 years old.

He was assumed to be the son of Joseph, the son of Eli, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi, the son of Melchi, the son of Jannai, the son of Joseph, the son of Mattathias, the son of Amos, the son of Nahum, the son of Hesli, the son of Naggai, the son of Maath, the son of Mattathias, the son of Semein, the son of Josech, the son of Joda, the son of Joanan, the son of Rhesa, the son of Zerubbabel, the son of Shealtiel, the son of Neri, the son of Melchi, the son of Addi, the son of Cosam, the son of Elmadam, the son of Er, the son of Joshua, the son of Eliezer, the son of Jorim, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi, the son of Simeon, the son of Judah, the son of Joseph, the son of Jonam, the son of Eliakim, the son of Melea, the son of Menna, the son of Mattatha, the son of Nathan, the son of David, the son of Jesse, the son of Obed, the son of Boaz, the son of Salmon, the son of Nahshon, the son of Amminadab, the son of Admin, the son of Ram, the son of Hezron, the son of Perez, the son of Judah, the son of Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of Abraham, the son of Terah, the son of Nahor, the son of Serug, the son of Reu, the son of Peleg, the son of Heber, the son of Shelah, the son of Cainan, the son of Arphaxad, the son of Shem, the son of Noah, the son of Lamech, the son of Methuselah, the son of Enoch, the son of Jared, the son of Mahalaleel, the son of Cainan, the son of Enosh, the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God.

The Book of Luke, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 11th chapter of the book of Job that documents Zophar’s address to Job:

Finally, Job’s third friend, Zophar the Naamathite, spoke to Job.

Zophar: Shall such a great volume of words remain unanswered

and a long-winded man be so easily acquitted?

Shall your empty prattle silence people,

and when you mock, shall no one shame you?

You’ve told us, “I have a clear understanding of things,

and I am innocent in Your eyes, O Lord.”

Ah, but I wish God would speak,

that He would address you openly, so I will argue for Him.

I wish He would show you the secrets of great wisdom—

for the two sides of sound wisdom are both found in His mercy and justice.

Know this: God forgets some of your guilt.

Can you see to the unseen side of God,

or explore the limits of the Highest One’s knowledge?

Higher than the heavens—what can you do to reach it?

Deeper than the realm of the dead—what can you know of it?

Its farthest reaches exceed the ends of the earth;

its breadth spans far beyond the sea.

If He passes by, as is His routine, and throws you into prison,

and calls you to testify about what you’ve done, who can challenge Him?

He recognizes worthless people without integrity,

so do you really think when He sees wrongdoing He doesn’t examine it?

As they say, “The empty-headed will become clever

in the day the colt of a wild donkey is born human!”

If you will focus your intentions in His direction

and open your hands and reach for Him,

Where you have guilt on your hands,

if you will send it far away and not tolerate sin in your tents,

Then you will lift up a face clean of all stains;

you will hold your head high, secure, and free of fear.

You will forget all of these troubles of yours;

they will pass beneath your memory like a drop of water that has just flowed away.

Life will become brighter than high noon;

darkness will give way to morning.

Once again, you’ll trust in the presence of hope;

you’ll scan the horizon and sleep safely.

You will lie down, and no one will terrorize you,

and many will long to be in your good graces.

But the eyes of the wicked will grow dark as they lose hope;

they’ll find no escape, and in despair,

they’ll long only to breathe their last dying breath.

The Book of Job, Chapter 11 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Sunday, April 18 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

April 18, 2021

The First Day of the Week

“And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.” (Acts 20:7)

Given the fact that everything about God’s Word was specifically inspired by its Author, it is appropriate that this important phrase, “the first day of the week,” occurs exactly eight times in the Bible. The first six of these (Matthew 28:1; Mark 16:2, 9; Luke 24:1; John 20:1, 19) all stress the fact that it was on this day that the greatest event in history (since the creation) had taken place. The creation of the universe had taken place on the first day of the week, and now its Creator had conquered sin and death itself on that day. In the Bible, of course, the number “seven” represents completeness, so “eight” represents a new beginning—a new creation, a resurrection.

The last two references tell us just how the early Christians remembered this day. Our text verse tells us this was a day on which the disciples assembled together, had a preaching service, and then “broke bread.” This was not a special assembly called just for Paul, for he had already been waiting there x days (see the previous verse). This was about 25 years after the resurrection itself, and the Jewish believers were evidently still observing the seventh day as a rest day, but then they also observed the first day of the week as the time to commemorate the Lord’s death in “breaking of bread” to celebrate His resurrection and especially to hear the preaching of His Word. The final reference tells us one other vital thing they did: “Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him” (1 Corinthians 16:2). The first day of the week should always be a time of remembering Him in these joyful ways, for He is our living Lord and Savior. HMM

[dfroza]

A connection of giving & receiving

is what Paul writes about in Today’s chapter of the New Testament from the Letter of 2nd Corinthians

[Chapter 8]

Now, friends, I want to report on the surprising and generous ways in which God is working in the churches in Macedonia province. Fierce troubles came down on the people of those churches, pushing them to the very limit. The trial exposed their true colors: They were incredibly happy, though desperately poor. The pressure triggered something totally unexpected: an outpouring of pure and generous gifts. I was there and saw it for myself. They gave offerings of whatever they could—far more than they could afford!—pleading for the privilege of helping out in the relief of poor Christians.

This was totally spontaneous, entirely their own idea, and caught us completely off guard. What explains it was that they had first given themselves unreservedly to God and to us. The other giving simply flowed out of the purposes of God working in their lives. That’s what prompted us to ask Titus to bring the relief offering to your attention, so that what was so well begun could be finished up. You do so well in so many things—you trust God, you’re articulate, you’re insightful, you’re passionate, you love us—now, do your best in this, too.

I’m not trying to order you around against your will. But by bringing in the Macedonians’ enthusiasm as a stimulus to your love, I am hoping to bring the best out of you. You are familiar with the generosity of our Master, Jesus Christ. Rich as he was, he gave it all away for us—in one stroke he became poor and we became rich.

So here’s what I think: The best thing you can do right now is to finish what you started last year and not let those good intentions grow stale. Your heart’s been in the right place all along. You’ve got what it takes to finish it up, so go to it. Once the commitment is clear, you do what you can, not what you can’t. The heart regulates the hands. This isn’t so others can take it easy while you sweat it out. No, you’re shoulder to shoulder with them all the way, your surplus matching their deficit, their surplus matching your deficit. In the end you come out even. As it is written,

Nothing left over to the one with the most,

Nothing lacking to the one with the least.

I thank God for giving Titus the same devoted concern for you that I have. He was most considerate of how we felt, but his eagerness to go to you and help out with this relief offering is his own idea. We’re sending a companion along with him, someone very popular in the churches for his preaching of the Message. But there’s far more to him than popularity. He’s rock-solid trustworthy. The churches handpicked him to go with us as we travel about doing this work of sharing God’s gifts to honor God as well as we can, taking every precaution against scandal.

We don’t want anyone suspecting us of taking one penny of this money for ourselves. We’re being as careful in our reputation with the public as in our reputation with God. That’s why we’re sending another trusted friend along. He’s proved his dependability many times over, and carries on as energetically as the day he started. He’s heard much about you, and liked what he’s heard—so much so that he can’t wait to get there.

I don’t need to say anything further about Titus. We’ve been close associates in this work of serving you for a long time. The brothers who travel with him are delegates from churches, a real credit to Christ. Show them what you’re made of, the love I’ve been talking up in the churches. Let them see it for themselves!

The Letter of 2nd Corinthians, Chapter 8 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is chapter 6 of 1st Kings where the building of the Temple in Jerusalem is documented:

Four hundred and eighty years after the Israelites came out of Egypt, in the fourth year of Solomon’s rule over Israel, in the month of Ziv, the second month, Solomon started building The Temple of God. The Temple that King Solomon built to God was ninety feet long, thirty feet wide, and forty-five feet high. There was a porch across the thirty-foot width of The Temple that extended out fifteen feet. Within The Temple he made narrow, deep-silled windows. Against the outside walls he built a supporting structure in which there were smaller rooms: The lower floor was seven and a half feet wide, the middle floor nine feet, and the third floor ten and a half feet. He had projecting ledges built into the outside Temple walls to support the buttressing beams.

The stone blocks for the building of The Temple were all dressed at the quarry so that the building site itself was reverently quiet—no noise from hammers and chisels and other iron tools.

The entrance to the ground floor was at the south end of The Temple; stairs led to the second floor and then to the third. Solomon built and completed The Temple, finishing it off with roof beams and planks of cedar. The supporting structure along the outside walls was attached to The Temple with cedar beams and the rooms in it were seven and a half feet tall.

The word of God came to Solomon saying, “About this Temple you are building—what’s important is that you live the way I’ve set out for you and do what I tell you, following my instructions carefully and obediently. Then I’ll complete in you the promise I made to David your father. I’ll personally take up my residence among the Israelites—I won’t desert my people Israel.”

Solomon built and completed The Temple. He paneled the interior walls from floor to ceiling with cedar planks; for flooring he used cypress. The thirty feet at the rear of The Temple he made into an Inner Sanctuary, cedar planks from floor to ceiling—the Holy of Holies. The Main Sanctuary area in front was sixty feet long. The entire interior of The Temple was cedar, with carvings of fruits and flowers. All cedar—none of the stone was exposed.

The Inner Sanctuary within The Temple was for housing the Chest of the Covenant of God. This Inner Sanctuary was a cube, thirty feet each way, all plated with gold. The Altar of cedar was also gold-plated. Everywhere you looked there was pure gold: gold chains strung in front of the gold-plated Inner Sanctuary—gold everywhere—walls, ceiling, floor, and Altar. Dazzling!

Then he made two cherubim, gigantic angel-like figures, from olivewood. Each was fifteen feet tall. The outstretched wings of the cherubim (they were identical in size and shape) measured another fifteen feet. He placed the two cherubim, their wings spread, in the Inner Sanctuary. The combined wingspread stretched the width of the room, the wing of one cherub touched one wall, the wing of the other the other wall, and the wings touched in the middle. The cherubim were gold-plated.

He then carved engravings of cherubim, palm trees, and flower blossoms on all the walls of both the Inner and the Main Sanctuary. And all the floors of both inner and outer rooms were gold-plated.

He constructed doors of olivewood for the entrance to the Inner Sanctuary; the lintel and doorposts were five-sided. The doors were also carved with cherubim, palm trees, and flowers, and then covered with gold leaf.

Similarly, he built the entrance to the Main Sanctuary using olivewood for the doorposts but these doorposts were four-sided. The doors were of cypress, split into two panels, each panel swinging separately. These also were carved with cherubim, palm trees, and flowers, and plated with finely hammered gold leaf.

He built the inner court with three courses of dressed stones topped with a course of planed cedar timbers.

The foundation for God’s Temple was laid in the fourth year in the month of Ziv. It was completed in the eleventh year in the month of Bul (the eighth month) down to the last detail, just as planned. It took Solomon seven years to build it.

The Book of 1st Kings, Chapter 6 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, november 19 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons about the eternal life of our Creator and our faith & hope in Love:

The name of the Lord is YHVH (יהוה), which comes from a root word meaning existence (i.e., hayah: היה, to be). It is this name that gives existence to creation, as it says, "in him all things hold together" (τὰ πάντα ἐν αὐτῷ συνέστηκεν; Col. 1:17) and by his power "all things are carried" (φέρων τε τὰ πάντα; Heb. 1:3). In God we “live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28) and "from him and through him and to him are all things" (Rom. 11:36). Some people think of "eternal life" as unending life or immortality of the soul, but eternal life (i.e., chayei olam: חַיֵּי עוֹלָם) transcends the idea of time and is centered in relation to the Living God, right now, wherever we are... Therefore Yeshua says to his followers, "Live in me and I will live in you" (John 15:4). We need not fear death, then, because we partake in the overcoming life of God given in Yeshua: there is no ultimate separation from his love. When we live in Messiah our true life is "concealed" and we pass over from the temporal world of shadows to the world of reality, from fear to comfort, from darkness to light. We “lose our life in order to find it” (Luke 17:33). The walk of faith surrenders all that this life may promise for the sake of finding true life in God. [Hebrew for Christians]

11.18.20 • Facebook

"Draw near to me, hear this: from the beginning I have not spoken in secret, from the time anything came to be there I AM, and now the Lord GOD has sent me, and his Spirit" (Isa. 48:16). Note in this verse the strong intimation of the transpersonal unity (echdut) nature of ha’shilush ha’kodosh, or the ineffable Godhead.... Of course the Torah clearly affirms that "God is one" (יְהוָה אֶחָד), though note that the word "one" (i.e., echad: אֶחָד) means something more than mere numerical identity (i.e., yachid: יָחִיד) but instead unity in plurality, a "transcendental" oneness that points to the unfathomable mystery of the Name YHVH and the tri-unity of the Godhead (אֵין סוֹף). Note further that the Shema is composed of three parts yet is one affirmation, and the great birkat Kohanim, or the "priestly blessing," is composed of three stanzas that use the Name YHVH three times. The Tabernacle, or Mishkan, was composed of three separate sections, with the inmost chamber holding the sacred "three-in-one" box called the Ark of the Covenant... Space is defined in terms of three dimensions, as is time (i.e., past, present, future). God has not spoken in secret, friends. "Who has ascended to heaven and come down? Who has gathered the wind in his fists? Who has wrapped up the waters in a garment? Who has established all the ends of the earth? What is his name, and what is his son's name? Surely you know!" (Prov. 30:4).

Both the Torah of Moses and the New Testament attest that Yeshua is Elohim (אֱלהִים) -- the sole Creator of the cosmos: בְּרֵאשִׁית הָיָה הַדָּבָר / "in the beginning was the Word" (John 1:1,14). The Divine Word and Voice cannot be separated from God any more than the Spirit of God can be separated. Yeshua is the Source of all life in the universe: כָּל־הַמַּעֲשִׂים נִהְיוּ עַל־יָדוֹ / "All things were made by Him (John 1:3). The "Word made flesh" is the "image of the invisible God" and the "radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint (χαρακτήρ, 'character') of his nature" (Col. 1:15). All of creation is being constantly upheld by the word of His power (Heb. 1:3): "All things were created by Him (i.e., Yeshua), and for Him" and in Him all things consist (συνεστηκεν, lit. "stick together") (Col. 1:16-17). As our Creator and Master of the Universe, Yeshua is both our King and our Judge, and therefore our lives center upon him... [Hebrew for Christians]

11.18.20 • Facebook

Regarding Abraham it is written: “And he believed the LORD, and he counted it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6). Here note the distinction between the promise of God and the commandments of God. The promise of God focuses on God’s heart - his desire and goal, his character and passion - but the commandments of God focus on man’s heart, in his desire and will to obey (or not). Receiving God’s love is not based on imperative and the language of conditional acceptance, but is based on the invitation and promise of love and grace. The “work of faith” (מַעֲשֶׂה הָאֱמוּנָה) is to believe that God accepts you despite your unacceptability, and that you are esteemed righteous for believing the truth of God’s heart. Faith justifies the ungodly because faith accepts the promise, just as Abraham was justified because he trusted in the promise of the seed to come. Therefore, as Rabbi Paul taught, we maintain that a person is justified apart from the law (Rom. 3:28), which is to affirm that eternal life is found exclusively in the grace and promises of God. This is the Torah of “faith, hope, and love,” and it is a lifelong discipline to know it in the truth. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for God’s righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Matt. 5:6). [Hebrew for Christians]

https://hebrew4christians.com/

11.18.20 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

November 19, 2020

Redeem the Time

“Walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time. Let your speech be alway with grace, seasoned with salt, that ye may know how ye ought to answer every man.” (Colossians 4:5-6)

Time is the most precious resource available to us. Obviously, it becomes available moment by moment, and there is absolutely no way to recapture what has moved into the past. “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom” (Psalm 90:12).

Our lifestyle should be recognizable from the wisdom that comes from the “fear of the LORD” (Psalm 111:10). So much so that our everyday conversation should not be “in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual” (1 Corinthians 2:13).

“Every idle word that men shall speak” will one day be evaluated “in the day of judgment” (Matthew 12:36). It is clear that “God shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good, or whether it be evil” (Ecclesiastes 12:14).

That is why we are to “redeem the time.” The Greek term is exagoradzo, meaning to buy up or to make the most of time “because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:16). Our speech must be consciously planned to “answer every man” in such a way that it is “alway with grace, seasoned with salt”—two apparently opposite characteristics.

Our words should be “as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones” (Proverbs 16:24), “but if the salt have lost his saltness, wherewith will ye season it?” (Mark 9:50). It is the combined power that is important; “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear” (1 Peter 3:15). HMM III