#for some reason the read more was IMBEDDING ITSELF IN THE ASK?

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Exposition And Info Into The Story

This specific post is for @loverboyxbutch who has asked for multiple things with multiple caveats so we have to absolutely get this perfectly answered!

Question One: Exposition And Letters

The quote: I was wondering if you had any advice about telling part of a narrative through things like letters or diary entries?

There are two different ways to incorperate diary entries and letters. It all depends on your formatting

You could have the person's letter be an actual quoted segment of the letter so the reader could physically read it or you could have the basic information be relayed to the reader by the characters.

Neither way isn't better than the other but they do have different pros and cons.

The benefits of quotes is the fact that it allows the reader to see the original writer's personality to come through in their writing. The con is the fact that this quoting can quickly get out of hand and the information is kinda under the emotion.

The benefits of characters relaying the information is the fact that this cuts down on flowing emotion. All the information is laid out there! The negative is the fact that this information lacks emotion and personality.

Objectively speaking, expositio is best gathered through story since it's more natural without having to do an infodump!

Question Two: Balancing Emotion With Info

Quote: "I’m not too sure how to balance the realism and emotion with the information that needs to be displayed."

Remember, realism in stories is less "factually accurate" and more "consistent within itself".

In this case, realism in information is "would this character say this" and "how would this character say this"?

Audiences hate "infodumps" because it feels like the character's personality has turned off and now a college professor is speaking.

So it's definitely important you maintain a character's unique voice and personality when reporting on information. However this can lead to some unreliable narrating.

Ultimately, a character's emotion trumps all else. If a character doesn't have a personality that would reveal all this information in an objective way then they will hide stuff or tell the information in a way that validates their own perspective.

However, in the case a character is willing to reveal information without trying to impress their ideology and beliefs onto your character you need to keep in mind what a character could reasonably know and care about.

Two characters could know the same information but prioritize others. For example, D might focus on the damn bread prices rising again while C is focused on the official's death.

Question 3: What Context The Reader Needs

Quote: "I struggle to imagine how much context the reader would want or need."

This is definitely the hardest thing to answer since this is a highly case by case basis but I will try.

The best universal measurement for what a reader needs to know is how much a character needs to know.

Your characters have information that the readers don't have and the readers have information that the characters don't have but readers don't want to know everything.

Readers need a little confusion and curiousity so they will keep reading and investigating.

The key is to get enough information out there that readers will be emotionally incentived to chase after the rest.

For Worldbuilding, unless this information directly impacts the characters then unfortunately readers just wont care about all the little details.

For future events, forshadowing and outlines are your best friend. You can also use an unconventional story formatting by having "flashbacks" be imbedded into the story as their own individual chapters.

For characters, you can use the "show, don't tell" method. Characters who aren't actively trying to deceive others will lay their personality on their clothing, their face, their room, their friends, and the way they speak.

I hope this was informative @loverboyxbutch . I genuinely appreciate your constant support and I wanted this to be an amazing post for such an amazing mutual :)

[the-possum-writes]

Hiiii!! I just finished watching AT again, and i been loking for some FinnxReaderxFern fics, and i read ur at content and i just love it.So i was hopping if i could request a fic where Finn and Fern has this, confrontation? Jelousy talk? about each other's feelings about reader!!

You can Say no if you don't wanna do it, but i would really apreciated<3.

[Confronting their feelings about you]

❥Character(s): Finn, Fern

❥Tags: SFW, canon typical violence, expressing emotions, gender neutral pronouns for the reader

 ❥Synopsis: What started as a simple afternoon dedicated to cleaning turned into a short lived but intense knife fight when you came up as a conversation topic.

 ❥Wordcount: 1000

❥A/N: I want this gress boy to heal so i'll take whatever chance i get to write him learning to overcome his Finn jelousy.

❥Taglist: @foxpearlwilder

Today is a typical day for the guys; a knife storm has just passed, so they are calmly brushing away the residual weaponry from clogging the top of the treefort, like they do when there is hail or dry tree leaves. "There's less daggers compared to last time, makes ya wonder why huh Fern?" During the cleanup, Finn speaks aloud, the idea circling through his mind a few times

"Hmm, probably because of climate change." Fern disputes bluntly.

Finn pauses in his sweeping to glance up at the sky, contemplating to himself before offering his own two cents. "Or is it because the knife god is dissatisfied with the number of swords and knives forged this year? That the sword-smiths probably have a secret society where they sacrifice things in exchange for good materials." The longer the human boy rambles, the more Fern is interested by the explanation and begins unironically contributing his own perspective.

"What if the knife god sends us knives to test if they're nice and sharp?" The offer compels Fern to stop sweeping as well, although his reason for doing so is more of a curiosity to see if his human brother can figure out what he is thinking about. With them still being the same guy, Finn shares that challenging expression in his eye.

Fern swoops down and throws a knife at Finn, but the boy rolls to the side and retrieves a knife from the ground just in time to deflect the second knife thrown at him. Fern attempts to continue throwing blades at his playmate, but he only draws closer in range, forcing Fern to sidestep the pointy jabs directed at him as he grabs his own knife, and they begin sparring right there with the brooms long forgotten. They go at it for a while till Finn notices the sun leaning over the horizon and remembers something.

"Okay okay that's enough, let's wrap this up before the sun goes down."

"Got somewhere to go?" Fern asks as he hops from side to side, still energized from the spar.

"Yeup, a friend wants to collect kelp samples for a college project and I promised I'd help."

"Kelp samples?" Hah! That's boring..." His smile faded. "Wait.. you talking about the biology student that's always cooped up at Turtle P's library?"

Finn confirms, "That's the one." While the human boy skipped happily at the thought of you, Fern's jaw tightened as he felt an unpleasant stir in his chest. Finn had his back to Fern and was in the process of picking up his fallen broom when a knife imbedded itself just next him, missing his palm by only an inch.

"Who knowsss what kind of trouble you'll sstumble into when you're out there collecting kelp sssamples, you could get ambushed by kelpies or banditsss," the grass boy explains with a low tone and a snake whisp in his tongue before his voice shifted back to normal. "They are my friend too! and the last thing I want is to find out they got hurt because you weren't able to help. Now, pick up that knife and show me you can protect them from anyone and anything."

Finn considers the challenge, normally he'd never say no to one but he's grown familiar enough with Fern's mood swings to know it's that darn octopus messing up his head again, but if there's any best way to get it out of his system it's by sparring. With that goal in mind, Finn acepts the challenge even though it means fighting Fern when he's at his "most intense". The duel starts just like the previous one but the longer it went on the more Finn came to realize it no longer had the same playful approach as before, it became all the more apparent whenever Fern purposely scratches at him every time he left opening rather than playfully bump him with the butt of the dagger.

"They're my friend I'd never let anything happen to them!" Finn grinds his teeth as their blades collide.

"I knew them way before you did, i was gonna ask them out... before..." Fern stutters for a second, giving Finn the opportunity to kick him in the back of the knee and knock him down.

"Before you turned into a sword right?" Despite the takedown, Finn's tone softens as he assists his brother in standing up. "So that's what has you all jumbled up. Fern, remember what I said about bottling up your feelings?"

"That I should use my words." He nods like a scolded child.

"How about you share'em with me?" Finn held Fern in hug before giving him a much needed squooze.

Fern sighs. "You know more than anyone why I like them. And when I heard you were going out with them I guess I got a little jealous."

'Right just a bit,' Finn thought, but didn't dare to speak it out and upset his grass bro. "Have you considered asking them out yet?" The human youngster suggests, "You know, like on an actual date and not just collect samples." It sounds simple enough to him, but Fern's inner struggle makes it not so simple.

"I did. But after the whole "I turned into a sword and then the grass disaster," I had a feeling that they wouldn't even want to look at me." Fern deflates and drops down Finn's grip while he explains, but Finn holds him up again.

"Well, you'll never know unless you try it out!"

Fern turned his head in the direction of his human counterpart. "What? But what about YOU? I am sure you have a crush on them."

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I do. They're really amazing with the knowledge they have about a bunch of stuff, however... I've already dunked on my other relationships, if anything I'll probably ruin this one too."

For once, Fern sees a part of himself in Finn that isn't just superficial similarities; the hesitance and self-doubt are all too familiar, and despite the little devil inside him telling him to exploit Finn's weakness, he instead tries to encourage him. "Finn, you're a great shot ."

A knock on the door and a doorbell ring from below the tree fort, followed by your familiar voice asking for someone to open it. The two brothers exchange glances before Fern breaks the silence. "How about we each take our shot and let them decide?" he asks, offering a peace deal with a handshake.

"Sounds good."

[whirlybirbs]

𝒜.𝑀.   ;   watering hole   |    a high-society drabble

summary: arthur and the boys have a bit to drink. reposted since the read more was glitching in the ask! anon asked: psst, i know u wrote about drunk!arthur before but. mayhaps, some more?

pairing: arthur morgan/reader (turner placeholder lastname)

a/n: drunk arthur absolutely kills me - i just replayed the lenny mission last night so this is (chef kiss) timing. part of a companion piece to simpler said aloud. this is a drabble for the collection high-society, which follows the events of that fic. 

It's a quiet night.

You're posed by the fire with a needle and thread in your hands. In your lap sits a tumble of blue fabric. The stitch along the shoulder has been ripped, leaving a gaping hole in one of Arthur's favorite flannel shirts — and with all the washing and cooking done for the night, you'd settled in beside Tilly and Abigail intending on finally fixing up the shirt for the outlaw.

Fireside chatter is nothing but a gentle lull; the majority of the camp has settled in for the night, save for Hosea and Lenny, playing cards at the table beyond the fire, and the handful of boys who'd ridden out just after dinner set on gathering some supplies from the General Store.

You're tying a knot in the thread when you hear the clamor of laughter and hooves coming in from the woods — immediately, Tilly spares you an unimpressed look.

"Here comes th' carnival," she sighs, "No wonder it took them so damn long."

"Christ, I can almost smell the whiskey off them from here," chirps Hosea, holding his cards and shaking his head. That muscles a laugh out of you.

Abigail snorts. "This'll be a real show."

Considering the fact it was Charles and Javier and Bill and Arthur... well, of course, it oughta be. Anytime that posse decided on a drink at the local saloon, it almost always turned into a flurry of laughter and one too many bar fights.

Standing, you smooth down your skirts and pull the patterned shall around your shoulders a bit tighter. You fold Arthur's shirt neatly, pop it on the log you'd previously been perched upon, and make your way over to the jovial gaggle of men with a smile.

You aren't surprised to see Arthur hanging off of Charles with Sugarcube hitched to Taima — the blonde outlaw clings to his dear friend as laughter rocks his shoulders and he slips gracelessly off the back of the appaloosa and into the tall grass.

"Whoah!"

The thud sends all four of them into a barrage of laughter; and as legs wobble down from their horses, you wonder how the hell they even made it back to camp. Even Charles, a notorious heavy-weight, sways with a buzz as he hitches Taima and stumbles towards Arthur — he's hellbent on offering a hand, only to crack a wry grin when he spies you nearing.

"Arthur, look who it is."

You have to laugh when a blonde head suddenly pokes up from the grass like a field mouse. The crooked little smirk on his face is terribly charming, and you just shake your head when the outlaw gives a big holler and scrambles upright.

"Y' look a lot like th' girl m' gonna marry —"

He trips over his own two feet when he finally stands — and he laughs it off, blinking down at the gilded steel-toed boots as if they were to blame — but manages to stagger on over your way with a goofy grin on his face.

"I been singin' about y' all night," he slurs, hands moving to his hips, "Did y' hear? All th' way from Rhodes... reckon I was loud enough..."

"Singin'?" you gasp playfully, sparing Charles a look over Arthur's broad shoulders, "Is tha' true?"

Charles manages a pained nod.

"He wouldn't shut up!" comes Bill's bark.

"He really does try," Javier grins, moving to press a chaste kiss to your cheek as he weaves by in friendly gesture. You roll your eyes, patting his arm as he bids goodnight.

God, Hosea was right.

They all smell like whiskey.

"My, my, Arthur Morgan," you croon, watching as he tips his head back and adjusts his gambler's hat as he swaggers near. There's a prideful grin on his face as he wobbles, "It's a shame I missed it."

He nearly giggles then, leaning into Charles as the equally-broad man wraps an arm around the outlaw's shoulder. As the others wander off, it's the two gentle giants left to muscle each other around like brothers.

"Maybe next time, y' can come with us, then."

"An' see me at my worst?" he scoffs, waving his hands and giving a toothy grin, "Can't be havin' that."

"Oh, yes," you agree, shaking your head as Arthur snorts at your tone — it's playful and sweet and oh-so-amused and he finds himself rather enraptured with which your hair disagrees with the humid air. Tumbles of tresses fall around your shoulders and you press an unruly tangle behind your ear, "God forbid I see Mr. Arthur Morgan piss-drunk, howlin' at a piano... I mean, if I tagged along, at least I could play while y'did."

His laugh is distracted. He's busy being moony-eyed, stuck on the soft glow you hold in his heart. It doesn't make much sense but it does to him. You're so damn pretty he swears it's like someone's shoveled a bushel of roses right into his lungs. He forgets how to breathe around you.

"Christ, I love you."

It comes out like an exhale.

Soft enough to remind you how much you love him, and earnest enough that Charles suddenly wonders if he is intruding on this moment.

"Maybe it's best we get you to bed, Arthur..."

"I love you, too, you goon — now c'mon, Charles s'right."

You spare Charles a fond look, fingers moving to touch his free hand gently in thanks — for all of it. Carting Arthur back, keeping an eye on him, being his friend... Being your friend. He squeezes your hand back as Charles' brows quirk at the trading of affections and you can see the gears turning as you slip an arm around Arthur's waist.

"Didja hear that, Charles?" Arthur slurs, "Sh' loves me."

"I thought we went over this —" you laugh, sing-song sweet.

"Yea," a chuckle bubbles up as he staggers along towards his tent, supported by yourself and Charles, "Still like hearin' it, though."

"Once you're in bed," you grunt at the sudden weight being leaned your way, "I'll tell y' it all you'd like."

Safe to say, Charles Smith has never seen a drunk Arthur Morgan be put to bed that fast.

[kaybee87]

Part 3 is here people, this fic has just imbedded itself inside my head and I’ve spewed it out quicker than ever before.

Warnings: the usual, set in a psych ward. This part contains mentions of previous child abuse. Blood.

Part 1

Part 2

Therapy part 3

After her initial confession they’d talked about it in more detail, her abuser was a family friend someone her parents trusted and had believed over their own daughter. She’d said she would spare him the exact details but he would’ve listened if she wanted to tell him, he was starting to realise he’d do anything for her. His family had been commenting on his brighter disposition over the last few weeks and saying how they were sure he’d be able to come home soon, he wasn’t completely sure how he felt about that. What if he couldn’t get her out? What would he do without her?

He screamed himself awake. The nightmare was different this time, she was still on the floor still surrounded by blood but this time he was standing over her his heavy crutch in his hand covered in blood and he was panting in exertion. This time the dream haunted him even more, why was he dreaming he’d hurt her? He would never do that, it just didn’t make any sense.

“Are you avoiding me, Ivar?” She asked “did I do something wrong?” The regret he felt was instant, this was what the trauma had done to her. Turned her into a people pleaser, constantly worrying she was at fault for something. He hadn’t meant to avoid her but the nightmare had scared him and he’d not shared his frequent nightly visions with her for fear she’d abandon him. Pulling her into his lap, holding her like he might a baby or small child he kissed the top of her head. “Of course not, I’m sorry just feeling a little off today,” he refused to tell her the truth. “You’re thinking about when you leave aren’t you?” He hadn’t been but he was now. He gave her a look of fake confusion. “It’s ok, you’re so much better now it’s obvious you’ll be leaving soon. It’s something we have to accept”. But he wasn’t willing to accept that. “When I go, I’m taking you with me!” She smiled at his gesture but he could tell she didn’t believe him.

The doctors had told Ivar if he carried on with this level of improvement he would be able to return home soon. He was torn, of course he didn’t want to stay in here any longer than he had to but he didn’t want to leave his girl behind either. That’s how he’d started to think of her now, his girl, they hadn’t even kissed not romantically anyway but they were always together. Always cuddling, small kisses on foreheads and cheeks, sharing their deepest secrets and fears. He knew if he had to be without her he’d end up right back in here, knew she was the only reason for his happiness. It made him laugh when they said he’d improved, like he was back to his usual self only he’d never been this happy in his life. He was nothing like he was before he come in here, he was no longer lost, not since finding her.

They spent their days together, always touching in some way. They sat next to each other for all their meals and they wandered the garden together. His new favourite moments were when he laid in her lap and she read to him. It amazed him how she had become this incredibly special person when she’d spent pretty much her entire life in this place. Of course she’d received an education still but it wasn’t just her intelligence that astounded him, but how she seemed to understand people the way they worked what made them tick and yet she hadn’t interacted with the outside world in fourteen years. The nights however were spent alone and he never missed her more than when he awoke sweating from his reoccurring nightmare.

After the latest vision of him standing above her in her room on the ward holding his crutch as a weapon and looking down on her body covered in blood he’d called home. He’d spoken to his mother, who was prone to visions herself. Ivar had cried down the phone, something his mother had not heard him do in a very long time. He’d explained the nightmare how it had been at first, how it had progressed and how he was scared it was a prediction of his future. Aslaug had told him not to worry that it was probably figurative not literal, she’d reassured him and calmed him down. The minute she’d gotten off the phone she told Ragnar they had to get their son and his new friend out of the hospital and now!

@mylifeisactuallyamess @istorkyou @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @draculasbride-blog @youbloodymadgenius @batmandallyboy

[what-the-witch-stuff]

Allright. Elliott thread that nobody asked for. Part 3

You wonder what’s going on?: Part 1   |   Part 2

Where was I....

.....Ah yes: But how else would you know? Because you need to know. Everyone needs to know that he is a real author (and a gentleman of course). You need to know that he has the skill, the education and the dedication to the craft. He is not just anybody, like some fraud who has nothing to show for himself. Oh, The horrors of anybody doubting him! ...oh~ wait a second, that is exactly what this is about, isn’t it? When you first meet him: He has nothing to show for himself.

If I would write angsty insecurity-issues stuff, this is where I would lay the foundation. I am still a tad bit indecisive about how fragile his ego actually is. Like, beneath the facade: How much would Elliott link his level of success to his sense of self worth? How much is his self-expression a form of compensation? Let the fanfics decide! Nevertheless, there is some evidence for Elliott having a real issue when his insinuation clashes with reality, I think. He complaints to the player that back home people doubted him and told him he would never make it as an author. In the end, he does successfully publish a book! His success is, after all, part of the friendship/dating arc. He apparently even goes on a book tour if you marry him (?).

I am at the end of year 1, first time playing this game. I just saw Elliott and things progressed downhill from there. I don't know shit, but how to read more into fictional ppl than what is actually there. So I don't know.

But I guess that, until Elliott is indeed successful in the game, the possibility of his failure is very much apparent to him. He never says so canonically (except when he talks about his money running out). This might be very much just a subconscious thing, though. He, funnily enough, does complain a whole lot, about his living conditions and all annoyances that come with it. Which.(~may I remind you~) He. Deliberately. Chose. For. Himself. BECAUSE ~ladies and gets~ HE IS AN IDIOT. Because Elliott, as much as he wants to pretend otherwise is in actuality a stranger to impulse control. He reflects on his decisions even less, that anyone is giving him credit for.

„Oh, wow, I get criticised? People are doubting me for valid some obscure reasons? My success is not guaranteed and anybody pointing that out triggers that sweet existential dread inside me? Better move the fuck away to someplace where nobody knows me or cares!“ Even better: „Oh, see that little shack at the beach, that does not look like it will give any decent shelter during any other seasons but summer? And that might get flooded or could get damaged during storms? Let's not even think about winter, haha. That little shack where, it is dark, cold and damp inside and sometimes algae grow on the floor? Perfect! Let's move there! You know what: Let's bring the piano too!!!!“

- Author's note - Because we all know that pianos love nothing more than constantly changing temperatures and moisture and shit. The 5th heart event is either fake or a fever dream because that thing would be horribly out of tune by the time Elliot plays his little song. And I highly doubt, that Elliott learned how to tune a piano himself. You really need to know, what you are doing and you need the tools! Not to mention that getting a piano professionally tuned costs. a lot. (Yeah, my piano sounds like shit. Thanks for asking) - Author's note end -

Another thought connected to the piano: When you already have limited savings, what better way to spend them, than on some moving company to transport your piano to some remote village and into a shitty little shack by the beach? Even if he bought the piano afterwards, that would still be one rather bad decision money wise. Hey, little group survey: What are your headcanons, on how Elliot deals with money? Because the longer I think about it, my answer would be: Not great!

No, but really, how much does that man hate himself??? Some of you might have wondered, why the same eerie wind chime music from the community centre, also plays inside the beach hut. And I always thought this might be an indicator for how uncomfortable the hut is. I mean, there is only so much that you can convey through imagery. In itself, you might not immediately think that Elliott's living conditions are too bad. However, I don't think that Elliot is connected to the Junimos in any way, storywise.  Even thematically, I do not see a connection, because the hut is not "imbedded into nature" or anything. Therefore, if the wind chimes are not the musical theme of the Junimos themselves, then it could be an ambience track to underline the desolate state of the community building. And this is the same ambience we are confronted with in Elliott's hut. It might be just that bad.

... ...

or ConcernedApe ran out of original tracks...... But where's the fun in that?

__________________________________________

And that’s it for today’s post. For coherency I am going to end it here. Next part, as always, will be linked in an edit, so stay tuned. ________________________________________________ Edit: you waited long enough. And I am here to deliver

Part 4

[daydreaming-away-reality]

Don’t Recall [3]

Tom Riddle x Reader | ☔ + 🌠 + ✨ | 2k [ Don’t Recall Masterlist ]

The sound of whimpering filled the air as you stood with your arms crossed, (E/C) eyes narrowed as you looked down at the girl before you. A trail of blood was running down the arm that she clutched onto, as she tried to make herself smaller to avoid your gaze.

Tom stood next to you, holding onto the letter that had arrived for you a few days ago. The brown haired boy let out a huff, annoyance evident on his face. 

When Tom heard the scared whispers of the other orphans as they walked down the hall, he didn’t pay them any mind. He never cared about what the others had to say about him and knowing that he would be attending the Hogwarts in less than a month had solidified that for him.

Both you and Tom had received letters recently about your acceptance into the school. An attached note explained how someone would escort you both to shop for supplies as well. Getting these messages finally made that visit from the professor feel real. Relief to get away from Wool’s Orphanage was a shared unspoken feeling between the two of you. 

A chance to start again.

Trying to ignore the hushed words of usually useless information from the others, Tom continued on his way.

At least until he heard them say your name.

His footsteps abruptly stopped as he stopped only long enough to catch the important details before picking up a brisk pace to find you.

The other kids scattered when they saw the determined presence of Tom as he made his way towards where he heard you were. Something about the aura around him scared some of them. 

As he approached the room where you were supposed to be, Tom felt goosebumps as he drew closer to the deserted space. Despite it being summer, the temperature was dropping to a chill with every step closer to the room.  

Spotting the back of your figure, Tom entered the room, feeling the cold that originated from this room. Your face held an unreadable expression as you stared at the girl with cold eyes. If you knew that Tom was beside you, there was no indication given. When he shifted his gaze, he spotted the new girl who arrived at the orphanage. Grasped in her hand was the familiar sight of waxed sealed letter.

“T-Tom,” the girl’s voice exclaimed. When she noticed his eyes on the letter, her entire expression to one that looked more pitiful. Tears began to well up in her eyes. “Help me, it’s not what it looks like.”

Not fully understanding what was happening, Tom looked at her suspiciously.

“Why do you have (Y/N)’s letter?” he asked in a stiff tone.

“I...”

That sentence was never going to justify her reasons to Tom, even if she were able to finish it.

As he took a step forward, your gentle touch on his arm halted him. Looking into your (E/C) eyes, he watched as you mouthed the word, don’t.

Giving you the smallest of nods, Tom was startled when he heard the shriek by the girl.

“Don’t touch him!” 

Both of you were redirected to the girl as she glared at your hand on Tom’s arm. 

“Tom doesn’t even look my way because of you,” she hissed. “Leave him alone.”

Although Tom didn’t quite understand what she was getting at, he knew that whatever this was about was petty.

A pure look of disgust appeared on your face as a cracking sound filled the air. As the temperature dropped another degree, the cracking stopped ominously. 

The window behind the girl shattered, glass flying everywhere. 

On instinct, Tom pulled you back to keep you a safe distance from the spontaneous combustion. 

When Tom looked back at the girl, she had dropped the letter in favor of cradling her injured arm - a piece of glass had imbedded itself in her arm. Lucky for her, all the shards were small, so nothing but a bit of blood would be the only thing she would see today.

Moving to pick up your letter, Tom could see the nonverbal exchange between you and the girl. Whimpers began to fill the air and when you took a step forward, the girl immediately tried to shuffle back.

Fear filled her eyes.

Letting out an annoyed huff, Tom looked at the girl with no sympathy for her. 

“Leave both (Y/N) and me alone,” he stated. 

Turning back to you, Tom reached out and nudged you to encourage you to go with him. You glared a final dagger the girl’s way before walking beside Tom away from the scene. The air finally warmed, returning to the normal room temperature.

Following Tom, you soon found yourself guided into his room. The door pushed so it wasn’t closed but offered the two of you enough privacy.

“Here,” Tom offered, handing your letter back to you. You accepted, staring at the wax seal. Not much longer before you’d be gone.

Tom’s hand on your back gently guided you towards his bed where you sat down and let out a sigh. The brown haired boy sat down next you.

“You okay?”

His question prompted you to nod. Besides hearing an onslaught of accusations from the self-centered girl who baited you out by taking your letter, nothing was wrong. For someone so new to Wool’s Orphanage, the girl clearly had no idea that there were rumors that circulated about you and Tom. If anything, the only part of the rumors she heard were your name and Tom’s.

If she knew what was good for her, she’d stay away from you both now.

“Anything you want tell me about?” Tom asked. “What happened?”

You gestured to the paper on his desk and he immediately fetched it with a pencil. You paused to think, then wrote down just enough words to get your idea across.

Selfish brat.

A chuckle came from Tom when he saw your words. “Yeah, it definitely sounded that way.”

Shifting the conversation elsewhere, the rest of your day was spent listening to Tom. No one came looking for you about the new girl’s situation. No one mentioned you when they talked about the broken window. 

Although one comment managed to reach your ears among the hushed whispers.

Ice princess.

To everyone except Tom, that sounded like a fitting title for you.

You quietly followed after Tom through the bustling streets, eyes filled with wonder as you watched all the magic happening around you. Not far behind you was a witch who was supervising and assisting the two of you. 

For your first experience at Diagon Alley, you were absolutely captivated by the sights around you. There were witches and wizards all around you. Everything magical seemed... so normal. 

You felt Tom grab your arm and gently pull you aside when a group of wizards loudly paraded down the streets, jerseys adorned, and faces painted in bright colours.  

“Carefully,” Tom murmured. “Don’t want to lose you in that crowd.”

You smiled and gave Tom’s hand a reassuring squeeze. It was nice to have someone who cared about you around like this. Things at Hogwarts might be different for the two of you later on, but you appreciated these moments now.

Unknown to you, Tom’s cheeks heated up a little when he realized the two of you were holding hands out in public. While he mental panicked, your focus was elsewhere on the various shops that were located on this street.

Having already gotten your wands, robes and other material, the only things left were the textbooks. 

(E/C) eyes spotting the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts, you pulled Tom in the direction of the shop. The witch accompanying the two of you seemed to have noticed the store as well.

“That should be our final stop for the day,” she said.

As your trio wandering into the store, the witch offered to help you both find all the textbooks and let you roam around freely. Wandering away from Tom, you peered at all the different shelves and books in curiosity. 

Browsing through some books, a title caught your attention.

The Daily Prophet Archival Collection 1930-1935.

Pulling the book off the shelf, your eyes skimmed the back cover.

…most notable articles... important information... best writers.... murders...

Siting down, you flipped to the table of contents. Finger gliding across the dates and article titles, you froze when you found what you were looking.

Arson of the (L/N) Household - March 20th,1931

You could feel your pulse accelerating as you flipped through to get to the article. No one seemed to ever know the true reason why you had lost your parents - assuming it was just a bad fire. You had desperately tried to seek out information only to no avail. But now that you knew about the magic community, you had a feeling you’d be able to dig up something - anything.

You were right. To think it would take seven years for you to find it.

Eyes barely taking in the moving images for the passing pages, you could barely focus on anything else but the book before you. 

Stopping at the right page, you felt your heart suddenly stop. 

The sight of the burnt remains of the place you called home with fumes of smoke still filled the top of the page. 

“Take (Y/N) and get away from here!”

You pushed the uncomfortable feeling back and continued to read the article.

Late last night, on the outskirts of London, the (L/N) household experienced arson and with left both Roy and Pearl (L/N) deceased. It wasn’t until smoke had filled the sky that the neighbours had noticed the fire and called for assistance.

Roy (L/N) was a top auror within London, famed for his ability to help capture the worse criminals of the magical community. Often working with the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, (L/N) was an up and coming wizard expected to great things. 

He and Pearl were well known through the magic community as the young couple that were destined to do great things - as their colleagues noted.

Their young daughter (Y/N) (L/N) is the sole survivor of the fire.

This tragic event appeared to be linked to Roy (L/N)’s work as one of the wizards responsible for the arson, Argon Nott, was captured fleeing the scene. Timaeus Rowle is believed to be his companion that managed to escape and is still at large.  

Nott, along with Rowle, were affiliated with the group, Crux, an underground crime organization that has recently been brought into light by the work of (L/N). Cases around the Crux are still waiting for trial in the coming months. 

Due to the roles that Roy and Pearl (L/N) held within the Ministry, their funerals and memorial services are set to be held later next months.

Gently tracing the image of your parents, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen their faces. Years had slowly taken away their details, leaving behind the only the traces of their haunted screams in their final moments. Trying to commit this image to your memory, you watched your parents wave at you cheerfully, their fate unknown to them.

Finishing the article, you blankly stared at the moving picture of Timaeus Rowle. After reading through all that information, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Numbly flipping to the back in search of the index, you checked for any additional entries on Rowle. 

Nothing.

Your parents were amazing people who had their lives cut short and one of the criminals were out there, living his life.

This was not the sense of closure you had always hoped for.

Slowly shutting the book and letting out a shaky breath, you held back the tears that threatened to fall.

Life wasn’t fair.

You knew that ever since moving to Wool’s Orphanage, but finally knowing about your past brought these feelings up once more.

Getting up, you put the book away. 

Just as you put the book away, a familiar figure approached you. Tom had a relieved smile as he approached you. 

“Finally found you,” he said. “Ready to go?”

While your thoughts were all jumbled up with this new information, you knew that you shouldn’t say anything to ruin this day with Tom. Things were going to get better.

Meeting Tom’s dark eyes straight on, you gave him a firm nod.

[host-club-hq]

Call of the Scar pt. 3

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 3.4k

➼ summary: Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley embark on their great journey together in their fourth year at Hogwarts. What does this unsuspecting year hold for them?

➼ part 3 of many :)

➼ want to request? do it here. let me know what i can write for you :)

Dumbledore rises and nods to the back of the Hall, signaling Filch, who begins to limp forward with an old chest.

"I wold like to say a few words before we bring in the casket." The Hall stops and looks to Dumbledore at the front of the Professors' tables. 

"Casket. Did he say casket?" you lean over to Hermione to confirm your suspicions. Hermione nods.

"Eternal glory. That is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do so, that student must survive three tasks. Three very dangerous tasks.”

"Wicked." Fred and George mutter with identical smirks adorning their features.

"You see, the Triwizard Tournament has an unfortunate history of killing off its participants. For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain, we have the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Bartemius Crouch-"

CRACK!

A stitch of lightning flashes across the enchanted ceiling and the torches along the walls flicker, casting the Hall into and eerie semi-darkness. The rear doors fly open and a man stands in dark silhouette, clad in a long black traveling cloak, clutching a staff. Lighting flashes again and Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody is revealed, all grizzled grey hair and scarred flesh. As he limps forward- CLONK! CLONK!- all eyes shift to his wooden leg while the electric blue eye imbedded in his skull scans the Hall warily.

"Bloody hell. That's Mad-eye Moody." Ron speaks aloud.

"Alastor Moody? The Auror?" Hermione corrects as she leans to get a look of him.

"Auror?" Dean Thomas pipes up from where he's seated.

"Dark wizard catcher. Half the cells in Azkaban are filled thanks to him. Supposed to be mad as hatter these days, though. Sees Death Eaters in his dustbins." Ron sighs in disappointment of the once great man.

"Dark wizard catcher?" you take a sudden interest in the profession as it's mentioned in this passing conversation. 

Another bolt of lightning flashes. Annoyed, Moody points his wand to the ceiling and, casting a red jet of flames, calming the enchanted sky. Slowly, the torches regain their bloom.

Satisfied, Moody pockets his wand, brings out a flask, and tips it to his lips. Harry watches his every move, fascinated. 

"That's that he's drinking, d'you suppose?" Seamus quietly inquires. 

"Dunno, but I don't think it's pumpkin juice." you grimace. 

Moody and Dumbledore exchange whispers and a handshake, then Moody takes one of the remaining seat at the tall table. The staff eye him in mute disbelief. 

"Barty, as you were saying..." Dumbledore gestures for Barty to continue. 

Barty Crouch blinks and turns back to the stunned students. 

"After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that, for their own safety, no student under the age of seventeen will be allowed to put forth their name for the Triwizard Tournament. This decision is final." Barty winces when the uproar of upset underage students begins and he does his best to ignore them.

"What?!" Fred is bewildered. 

"That's rubbish!" George shakes his fist angrily. 

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore bellows. He says this so forcefully the result is absolute. 

"Thank you."

Taking his wand, Dumbledore turns to the casket and gives it three taps. As the lip opens, he removes a wooden cup dancing with blue-white flames.

"The Goblet of Fire. Anybody wishing to submit themselves to the Tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and drop it into the flame within the next twenty-four hours. Do not do so lightly. If chosen, there is no turning back. As of this moment... the Triwizard Tournament has begun."

With a massive thud, Moody drops a textbook onto Neville's desk, the same textbook on everybody's desk: The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.

"I see you all slogged down to Flourish & Blotts like good little boys and girls and bought the textbook. Congratulations... it'll make a find doorstop." Moody sneers. 

The students exchanged confused glances and then glance back down at their textbooks. Not like most were going to read them, anyways. Moody turns. 

"I'm Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any questions?" Moody's blue eyes scan the silent classroom and land on Harry. Harry stares back, willing himself to hold the old warrior's horrifying visage. Moody turns away and takes his flask.

"When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a practical approach. You may wonder what I mean by that. I'll show you. But first, which of you can tell me..." Moody takes a sour tug on the flask, snatches up a specimen jar, and watches a spider scuttle within.

"... how many Unforgivable Curses are there?"

The students trade uneasy glances. Finally, Hermione's hand raises tentatively. As his real eye continues to stare at the spider, Moody's blue eye rotates into Hermione.

"I might've known. Go on, Granger." Moody encourages. 

"There are three, sir-" She stops. "How did you know..." Moody circles again.

"Your name? I know a bit more than that. You're top of your class- correct?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Naturally inquisitive?"

"Yes..."

"Socially inept?"

"Well..."

"And... Muggle born." Moody stops, eye raking over the others.

"I'm not about to walk into a room full of strangers without doing background. Constant vigilance!" Moody jabs his staff into the floor right in front of you and Harry. As the class jumps, Harry studies Moody's scars. 

"Girl Weasley!" He exclaims. Your eyes rake up to meet his with anxiety swimming in your irises. 

"Sir?" you gulp.

"Don't think I didn't research your background as well." Moody makes sure of that.

"I don't doubt you did, sir." your eyes fail to maintain eye contact. 

"Twin sister of Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes, sir."

"Always alert?"

"I would think so-"

"Bossy?"

"I-... I would suppose I am-"

Moody speaks to Harry. "The devil likes disguises. Never forget that." He nods. Harry remains transfixed. Finally, Moody moves on. You let out a hitched breath and slouch your tensed shoulders. 

"He's right, you are bossy." Harry smiles mischievously. Your eyes shift to look at his and you make no comment, which is highly unusual for you, given your nature. Harry's smile disappears when he notices your irregular breathing and the tears welling up beneath your eyelids. He assumes you didn't take Moody's comment well and he'd taken it a step further. You turn away and Harry reaches for your shoulder cautiously. 

"Wait, Y/N, I-"

"Again, Granger. How many curses?" Moody speaks again and Harry instinctively shuts his mouth. 

Hermione hesitates, noticing the glossy nature of your eyes before she realizes she's being spoken to. She steals once last glance at you before she turns to Moody. 

"Three." She replies. 

"And they're so named...?"

"Because they're unforgivable. The use of any one of them..." Hermione's voice shakes. 

"... will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban, correct. Now, the Ministry says you're too young to see what these curses do, I say different! You need to know what you're up against. You need to be prepared. You need to find another place to put your gum besides the underside of your desk, Mr. Finnigan!"

Seamus blinks, caught in the act. He whispers to his desk mate. "Blimey. The old codger can see out of the back of his head..." Moody whirls around and chucks the chalk he was writing with in Seamus's direction.

"... and hear across classrooms! So. Which curse shall we see first? Weasley!"

"Y-yes?" Ron gasps and jumps to look up at Moody. 

"Give me a curse." Moody implores pressingly, his artificial darting from the board to Ron hastily. 

Ron watches uneasily as Moody returns to the specimen jar, reaches inside and lets the spider run up his hand. 

"Well... our dad once told me about one... the Imperious Curse." Ron falters, voice wavering. Lory nods grimly to herself, Ron's statement evoking a memory of long ago. 

"I expect your father would know that one. Gave the Ministry a fair bit of grief some years ago. Perhaps this will show you why." Moody unsheathes his wand and aims it carefully towards the fidgeting insect.

"Imperio!"

As Moody waves his wand, the spider leaps from his palm onto Dean Thomas's desk. The class begins to giggle, and the giggles turn into roaring laughter as the spider hops from Dean's desk and into Crabbe's face, who exclaims in horror and reaches up to swat the spider from his face. 

"Don't worry! She's completely harmless." Moody assures with a small smirk playing on his face.

The spider flies across the room and lands on Paravrti's hand, who immediately ceases her laughter and exchanges her amused expression for one of terror with a mixture of horror. She stiffens and freezes at the contact, heavily exhaling as the spider crawls up her arm and dangerously close to her face. 

Moody cackles in amusement as he directs the spider to hover dangerously close to Ron's face, who whimpers in terror. 

"If she bites... she's lethal!" Moody grins with a playful wave of his wand, causing the spider to drop on Ron's face, who's eyes widen to the size of saucers as his body stiffens. Moody laughs once more, true delight gracing his features. 

Draco's laugh sounds prominently through the classroom and snatches Moody's attention, who doesn't enjoy the smug look gracing his features. 

"What are you laughing at?" Moody challenges, hurriedly waves his wand to cause the spider leap through the air and land directly on Draco's face, causing him to yell in horror. 

"Serves you right, Malfoy." you turn in your seat and grin childishly at him. Once the spider finally removes itself from Draco's face, he doesn't hesitate to glare intently at you, smugly sitting in front of him. 

"Shut your mouth, blood traitor." he growls. You merely shrug, your heart hammering in your chest with confidence. 

"Talented, isn't she? What should I have her do next? Jump out a window? Drown herself?" One by one, the students' smiles dry up.

"Scores of witches and wizards claimed they only did You-Know-Who's bidding under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Here's the rub: how do you sort out the liars?" Moody rapidly wets his lips, stating intently at the class. The statement sinks into the minds of the students as it falls silent for moment, if only just. 

"Another!" Moody urges. He scans the forest of hands, when his eye rotates with particular interest on... Neville.

"It's Longbottom, is it? Professor Sprout tells me you have an aptitude for Herbology." Moody mutters quietly to Neville as he towers over his desk.

Neville nods shyly, then answers. "There's... the Cruciatus Curse." he stutters nervously.

"Yes. Particularly nasty." Moody exclaims. He steps forward, looming over Neville and drops the spider onto his desk.

"Crucio!"

The spider twitches, legs trembling violently. Moody stands utterly motionless, eyes fixed on Neville, who seems transfixed on the spider's misery. Lorelei's contorts in sympathy for the creature as it whines and screeches, her eyes squinting shut to obstruct her sightline of the writhing spider. Hermione's eyes drift from the spider to Neville's hands, which are clenching the corners of his desk so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

"Stop it! Can't you see it's bothering him?! Stop it!"

Finally... Moody drops his wand. The room falls under a solemn silence. 

"Um... perhaps you could give us the last Unforgivable Curse, Miss Granger." Moody stands at her desk, drops the spider from his hand to her desk, and stares at her expectantly. Everyone's eyes are trained on Hermione to catch her response, especially you. 

Hermione glances at you and shakes her head insistently. 

"Avada Kedavra!"

There is a flash of green light, a rush of air, and the spider... rolls onto its back. Dead.

"The killing curse. There is no blocking it. Only one person is known to have survived it. And he's sitting in this room."

As the others turn their eyes on him, Harry looks up and sees Moody studying him. Moody's tongue nervously probes the corner of his mouth as he takes out his flask and turns away. Harry's eyes drop tot he spider, lying motionless.

"Bugger off, you lot. Nothing to see here." you shoo off the tables around you and the students avert their eyes elsewhere in the room. Harry is silently grateful. 

You, Harry, Ron, and Hermione drift from the class. 

"Brilliant, isn't he? Completely demented, of course, and terrifying to be in the same room with, but he's really been there, y'know? He's looked evil in the eye." Ron gushes. 

"I think he's cruel. Did you see Neville? I though he was going to-" Harry lets out a short warning whistle before you can continue: up ahead, within earshot, Neville stands by a stained glass window, his face running in rainy blue light as he gazes vaguely beyond. 

"Neville....?" you gently touch his shoulder. 

Clunk! Clunk! Moody limps past them and places a leathered hand on Neville's shoulder. 

"It's alright, sonny. You come with me. We'll have a cup of tea in my office." Moody leads Neville away. Harry and the others head off themselves. 

Set within the glass pane is an ancient witch fashioned out of blue glass, her "skin" running with rain. A tiny fissure mars the glass below one eye. She looks be crying. 

A bitter wind sweeps crystalline sheets of rain from the roof. Far below, Cedric Diggory dashes toward the Great Hall.

Inside the Hall, the goblet flickers eerily at the top. A group of underclassmen- Harry and Ron among them- stand by as their older classmates submit their names. Hermione clutches a copy of Triwizard Tragedies. You nudge her. 

"You're only going to worry yourself sick with that book, you know." you inform curtly, eyeing the book. 

"People have gotten splinched in this Tournament! More than once!" Hermione exclaims in horror. 

"Splinched?" Dean Thomas inquires. 

"Dunno. But it doesn't sound good." Seamus exhales anxiously. 

"Potter." Cedric nods to Harry and drops his name. Ron raises his hand in greeting, but Cedric is already dashing back into the rain. Ron frowns, drops his hand, and glances back to the Goblet. 

"Eternal glory. Be brilliant, wouldn't it, three years from now, when we're old enough, to be chosen?" Ron dreams. 

"Better you than me." Harry grins and Ron nods knowingly. 

"Better not be either of you, you hear me?" you warn the two. Ron rolls his eyes. 

"You're not the boss of me. I am two minutes older." Ron brags. The group groans. 

"Not this again." Hermione goes back to her book. 

"Oh, two whole minutes older. What an accomplishment. You probably pulled me by my heal to get out first." You retort in exasperation. Ron scowls. "Did not!" He exclaims. 

You’re about to continue the argument when, just then, Fred and George come striding forth, looking very pleased indeed. 

"Well, we've done it, lads." Fred announces proudly, almost smugly. 

"Cooked it up just this morning." George smirks. They hold up twin vials. 

"It's not going to work..." Hermione informs in a sing-song tone. Everyone turns. Hermione flips a page in her book. 

"Yeah? And why's that, Granger?" The twins arrive either of her sides. 

"Because a genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an Aging Potion." Hermione informs with an annoyed expression. 

"That's what makes it so brilliant. It's pathetically dim-witted." Fred's playful smile never falters. 

"Go on, then." you challenge. 

"Ready Fred?" "Ready George." "Bottoms up!"

As one, they top a gooey green liquid onto their tongues and, with great drama, cross the golden line encircling the Goblet. As they drop their names, everyone waits. And waits. Fred and George grin and hive five each other and...

... are ejected high in the air, out of the circle and flat on their backs, whereupon little white beards sprout on their chins. Everyone laughs.

"You said!"

"You said!"

The twins lunge at each other, limbs tangled as they wrestle each other into submission, blaming the other for their shared misfortune. Then Seamus stops laughing. Then Dean. Harry. Ron. You. Finally, when no one is laughing, Hermione looks up and sees what has silenced them:

Victor Krum.

He drops his name, glances at her, briefly, then lowers his head and slouches away. Hermione watches him go, briefly, then returns back to her book. 

"What do you suppose that was?" You lean slightly to whisper in Harry's ear, who shrugs. 

"No idea." he answers with little interest. Ron, on the other hand, is close to glaring.

The House tables crackle with anticipation as, overhead, the enchanted ceiling swirls with dark clouds. At the Tall Table, the staff awaits, Moody among them. Dean Thomas dashes up to the Gryffindor table.

"Did you hear?! Not a single student from Beauxbatons submitted their name." he exclaims. 

"What!?" Ron gasps. Harry and Ron glance to the Ravenclaw table, where Cho sits next to an empty seat. Ron looks crestfallen. 

"Oh, rubbish, one of them must have submitted their name." Your expression changes from determined to confused when you realize that none of the Beauxbaton students are anywhere to be seen.

"They've gone home!" Ron declares, bewildered and disappointed. 

"I can't say I'm surprised. Those girls were just a tad high-strung, if you ask me." Hermione's triumphant smirk is unmissable, and you pat her on the shoulder with the same type of smirk. 

Suddenly, there is a stir at the back of the Hall and the Beauxbaton girls, chins held high, stride single-file into the room, past the House tables and up to the Goblet of Fire where- one after another- they deposit their names. As a final flourish, tiny Gabrielle Delacour casts a handful of pixie dust into the Goblet, which issues a pink cloud of rose petals. The Hall rings with whistles and cheers. Ron beams. 

"Oh, for crying out loud." you slouch in your seat at the display. 

"I love it when they do this..." Ron sighs with a dazes expression overtaking his features. 

"Do what?" Hermione demands. 

"You know... walk together."

"Thank you, ladies of Beauxbatons, for that enjoyable but of theatre. Now... the moment has arrived." Dumbledore draws his wand and gives a great sweeping motion. Instantly, the torches lining the hall gutter, then die. The only light comes from the blue-white flames of the Goblet. 

A hush descends. Then... the flames crackle and turn red. A charred bit of parchment flutters from the goblet and Dumbledore plucks it out of the air.

"The champion for Durmstrang is... Victor Krum." A storm of applause accompanies Krum from the Slytherin table to the top of the hall and into the adjoining chamber.

"No surprise there!" Ron scoffs. 

Once more, the Hall grows quiet, all eyes on the Goblet. The flames turn red. A second piece of parchment, a particularly feminine parchment, floats free.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is... Fleur Delacour."

"I'm telling you, they don't make them like that at Hogwarts." Ron shakes his head and whistles through his fingers- a touch too loudly, and you whack him harshly upside the head. Hermione glowers at him.

"And lastly, the Hogwarts champion." A beat of stressed silence passes. "Cedric Diggory!"

"Silly git..." Ron grumbles as the Hall erupts in cheers. 

"He's meant to be quite smart, actually. And he's a Prefect." you nod curtly. 

"Like that's a good thing..." 

"Excellent! We now have our three champions. I'm sure I can count upon all of your to give your full support to each and every-"

A collective gasp cuts Dumbledore short: the flames in the Goblet of Fire have, once more, turned red. Moody's eye rotates. A fourth... and fifth shred of parchment flutter forth. For a moment, Dumbledore simply lets them float in the air, regarding it suspiciously, then he takes them.

"Harry Potter and Y/N Weasley." He announces grimly. 

Your face falls and your heart stops beating for a moment. The blood drains from your face and you turn to look at Harry, who's utterly confused as well. 

There is a moment of suspended silence. Then every eye in the Hall turns toward you and Harry. Incredulous, Ron searches your face for some explanation. Finally, Hermione whispers:

"Go on, you two." Hermione places her hand gently on the small of your back to push your up. 

You and Harry rise stiffly and you begin the slow walk past the house tables. As you come level with the tall table, Harry catches sight of Dumbledore. He is not smiling.

[thewatermelloncat]

Stupid Surprises

Summary: Loosely based on this prompt from Anonymous:

Your fics are my favorite 😊 I have a prompt if it inspires you! Maybe Klaus brings home a stray cat or dog that he initially wants to keep, and is going to surprise the siblings with it, until Five "mysteriously" can't stop sneezing, and Klaus realizes Five's allergic to the pet and his surprise is about to backfire.

☆ Read the prompt once and then it got muddled around in my head while I formulated the story. Kind of missed the brief on this one, sorry mate. Hope you like it anyway!  ☆

Author’s Note: I chose a cat because I definitely think Klaus is more of a cat person. Also, with Mr Pennycrumb in canon, I doubt that Five would be allergic to dogs.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Not that they all expected Klaus to walk into the room with his arms flailing to excitedly announce his entrance, but it was certainly suspicious that he stepped in slowly with his arms close to his body. The sight of their brother in his long black coat appearing to be hugging himself would seem like he was cold but the summer night outside didn’t permit that kind of behaviour. Almost at once everyone in the room turned to him as he awkwardly hung by the door.

Seeming to notice all eyes on him he steps forward a little and hesitantly says, “what would you all say if I brought a cat home?”

The reaction was instant, a few scoffs of surprise around the room, a couple of shaken heads, but Allison was the first to speak. “You didn’t!” she crosses her arms in disbelief.

“Oh, but I did” a twinkle of mischief sparks in Klaus’ eyes as he pulls out a black kitten from his coat, not much bigger than his hand.

At the sight of the cat both Allison and Luther’s expressions soften, after all it is undeniably cute. Vanya makes an adoring hum as she sits forward in her chair to get a better look at it.

“How did you catch it?” Diego scoff in wonder, knowing that stray cats tend to run away from strangers. More interested in the story than the cat itself.

“It’s friendly” Klaus chirps as he adjusts the kitten in his hands.

“All right then, why?” Five asks, ever practical.

“Well, we have tons of room and I thought why not?”

“But a stray, Klaus?” Allison asks. “We could just go and buy you one. It’s not like we don’t have the money for it.”

“Where’s the charity in that?” Klaus dismisses.

“Buy you one from a shelter then” Allison corrects.

Klaus hums dismissively and shrugs his shoulders. “Already got this one.”

“How do you know that it’s not diseased?” Luther brings up.

“I’ll get him checked out” Klaus promises, looking down fondly at the kitten in his grasp.

“How do we know it’s a him?” Diego mentions.

“I’ll get that checked out too” Klaus says.

“What are you going to do with it in the meantime?” Vanya asks. “Doubt any vets will be open at this time.

“He can stay in my room but I’m going to show him round first” Klaus says before setting off to do just that.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

From the minute Klaus walked in with that cat Five knew he was allergic to it. He’d never had any experience with cats before, never owned one and never spent time around one, but somehow, he just knew. Though it wasn’t something he would say. His brother seemed so happy when he had pulled it out of his coat the night before and he didn’t want to get in the way of that. The mansion is a huge place, he’d probably never see the thing anyway.

 Well, firstly, he was wrong. Immediately when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast, he saw the thing on Klaus’ lap. Not wanting to cause a fuss he picked up a piece of toast and poured himself some coffee before sitting over at the other end of the table.

“Does it have a name yet?” Vanya asks.

“Amity” Klaus looks down as he scratches the cat’s head, it purring faintly.

“I thought you were calling it a him?” Diego recalls after hearing the feminine name.

“Well, we don’t know for sure that it isn’t a girl yet. And besides it’s a cat, does it really matter?”

“Guess not” Diego mumbles as he looks back down to his breakfast.

“How old do you think it is?” Luther asks.

“I don’t know, I’m not a cat scientist” Klaus starts rambling as Diego turns toward Five.

“Hey, you’re weirdly uninterested in this.”

“When am I ever interested in anything you talk about?” Five drones.

“You usually have an opinion on everything one way or another” Diego points out before dropping the topic entirely. He seems to leave Five alone but every now and again Five can feel Diego eyeing him suspiciously.

 “When are you taking it to the vet?” Vanya asks Klaus amid another conversation.

“Around lunchtime, I can’t be bothered leaving yet” Klaus reasons.

“In that case should we all head up to the lounge then?” Allison suggests to which they all do, seeing that no one has any complaint.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Unfortunately, with the group moving to the lounge in a mass exodus, Five wasn’t able to grab a chair faraway from Klaus. Not that it mattered anyway with his brother allowing the cat to roam around freely. Though he was able to distract himself with a book he’d nabbed from the shelf and was doing his best to ignore the itching in his nose. He wasn’t particularly worried about his cat allergy making an appearance in front of his siblings, he had good self-control.

 “Huppt” Five silently stifles a sneeze that he’d been feeling building up for a while now. He’d been trying to hold it in as long as possible but it could no longer be helped.

The quiet noise went mostly unnoticed, just a few glances his way. People sneeze, it’s nothing to worry about. Though overtime the frequency Five’s sneezing increases. No more than two at a time but to his siblings it becomes concerning.

Luther looks over to Five after he stifles another double and sniffs congestedly, his expression worried. “Are you getting sick?”

For a quick second Five considers lying as saying yes. It would be an easy escape to his problem but it would be harder to uphold when further questions would be asked. “No” he shakes his head.

“You sure, you’re sounding like it?” he checks.

“Trust me, it’s nothing to worry about” Five says and before his brother can open his mouth again, he tells him, “I’m going up to my room.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Ah, shit!” Five whispers out a curse as he inspects his blazer, finding a strand of black fur imbedded in it already. “AIKx'schoo!” he doesn’t even have time to contemplate how that’s practically impossible seeing he hadn’t gone near enough to the cat for that to happen, before another sneeze tears out of him.

Nonetheless it was only one fur, easily plucked out of the fabric weave and discarded. No point making a fuss of it. After shouldering the blazer back on Five turns around hearing footsteps stop in his doorway.

“The general consensus downstairs is that you’re sick and aren’t admitting it” Diego says coolly as he leans against the frame.

“I’m not sick” Five upholds.

“I never said I agreed with them” Diego tilts his head knowingly.

“Humour me then, Diego. What is it that you think?” Five says smugly.

“I think that your allergic to the cat.”

Five’s smug expression drops and he says nothing because there really isn’t anything that he has prepared to say against that. Though his change in expression is enough of a confirmation.

“Five, you have to tell him” Diego sighs.

“Don’t make a deal of it” Five dismisses. “I’ll barely ever see it.”

“Think harder” Diego prompts. “He’s going to carry that cat around everywhere. It’ll be attached to his hip.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t tell him” Five snaps before he shrugs his shoulders, “it makes him happy.”

“But we can’t have you wondering around miserable” Diego gestures to him. “Will you not tell him?”

Five’s silence serves to answer the question and he reads Diego’s face as his expression changes. Watching his brother draw in a deep breath before he turns back from the door, Five knows what he plans to do.

In an instant he has Diego pressed against the wall with his forearm against his chest. It’s more the surprise that holds Diego there with his strength outweighing Five’s enough to overpower him if he wanted to.

“You will not tell him!” Five whispers harshly.

Diego stares down at him with a defiant look.

“If you tell him” Five pauses to pull a knife out from Diego’s belt and brings it up against his throat. “I’ll take this knife and cut your neck.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

His empty threat didn’t work on Diego as he finds out later when Klaus comes up to his room.

“Knock, knock” he says as he raps on the doorframe, his voice sounding far too gentle for Five to expect a normal conversation.

“What do you want?” Five’s distasteful tone aims to scare him away.

“To talk to you” Klaus says, undeterred by Five’s hostile demeanour. He pauses for a second to get his bearings before he says simply, “Diego told me.”

Instantly a grumble winds up in Five’s throat but before he can speak and curse Diego’s existence, Klaus interrupts him.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed by it” Five maybe lies a little. “I just don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

“I’d feel worse if I didn’t know and you suffered in silence” Klaus tells him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It takes a couple of seconds for Five to answer but when he does, he says, “you seemed so happy.”

Klaus smiles and breathes out a little laugh. “There are other things that make me happy.”

“But it’s not fair to make you give it up and throw it back out on the street” Five reasons.

“Hey, we don’t need to get into all of that” Klaus stops him as he pulls an extra chair up to the desk to sit beside him. “Now, I’ve talked to Vanya” he says with his expression turning more serious. “Her apartment allows them to keep pets, so she’s agreed to take it.”

Five seems to settle a little but he still says, “I don’t want to make you do that, Klaus.”

“It’s no problem” Klaus shakes his head. “Vanya likes Amity and Amity seems to like her.”

“But the cat doesn’t stay with you.”

“No” Klaus shakes his head and Five can see past his smile that there is hurt behind his eyes. “But I can go visit anytime I want.”

Despite Klaus’ expression his words are spoken in a cheerful tone and Five relaxes a little more. Knowing that somehow Klaus will forgive him.

“And this way you can get back to your usual self and Amity doesn’t get thrown back on the street” Klaus continues brightly.

Five purses his lips in half a smile but his hum of recognition is cut short as he suddenly needs to sneeze. “Her’isshh!” he only just manages to lean away from Klaus.

“Ah shit, sorry” Klaus exclaims as he stands out of his chair. “Probably all covered in fur” he identifies before looking down at his clothes, seeing black strands stuck to the fabric.

“It’s all right, Klaus” Five quickly utters before he turns away to sneeze again. “hig’nxxt... nrgtsch!”

“I’ll leave you alone” Klaus hurriedly makes for the door before he turns around once he’d passed through. “Vanya’s about to take the cat back with her, but I doubt you’d want to say goodbye.”

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (14/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,554

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing

masterlist

a/n: I’m so sorry this took so long to post, and thank you all for understanding.  Also, the reader’s inner monologue at the beginning is me rn as I catch feelings.  Anyways, here’s the long awaited chapter fourteen!  Let me know what y’all think!

You wandered through the compound, feeling a little lost.  Ever since you’d realized you had feelings for a certain super soldier, you’d started feeling like a dumb little love struck school girl that listens to Taylor Swift unironically and wears fake glasses because she thinks it’s cute.

It’s a very specific feeling.

Before all of your realizations, you never questioned going to see Bucky.  You’d just join him in whatever he was doing.  You’d walk into his room without knocking and throw yourself across his bed just for him to run his fingers through your hair.  He’d let out that deep chuckle that resonated through his chest.  Your fingers would trace circles on the fabric covering his knee as you closed your eyes, relishing in his touch.  But now, as much as you wanted to do that, you couldn’t.

Because feelings were fucking ridiculous.

You felt like you were seventeen again, counting down the minutes until you’d get to see the Soldat again, get to hear his raspy voice as he gave you commands and feel his hands on you as he guided you through your training.

Yeah, maybe you were a little more fucked up than you thought, because who in their right mind would think that was attractive?

And also, you hadn’t realized just how much you needed Bucky’s touch until you started to overthink yourself.

“Aunt Y/N,” Morgan said as she spotted you, running down the hall to launch herself into your arms.  She’d just gotten back from riding with Happy to bring all her friends home to the city after another day at Pepper’s makeshift daycare.

“Hey, baby girl,” you said as you wrapped your arms around her.  You took comfort in the feeling of the youngest Stark, her weight bringing your racing mind back down to the ground again.  “How was your day?”

“Good!  I started reading my first chapter book today!”

Of course, she did.  Morgan was just as smart as her dad had been, and it wouldn’t surprise you if she ended up being just as much of a prodigy as him.

But the difference was that, unlike her late father, she was going to have her family telling her how proud they were of her and how much they loved her several times a day.  There was no doubt in your mind that she would grow up knowing just how much she was cherished.  Your family wouldn’t allow anything else.

“Oh, really?” You asked, grinning as you carried her through the hall to the living area.  “What book did you start reading?”

“Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone!” She said with a few giggles as her arms wrapped around your neck.  “I wanna tell Uncle Bucky!”

And, well, if that wasn’t the best damn reason to go see the object of your affections.

You immediately turned on your heel and began to head for his room.  “He’s going to be so proud of you.”

Once you reached Bucky’s door, you didn’t bother knocking.  Why would you?  It’s not like he’d ever had a problem with you just barging in before.

But, oh, how you’d wished you had.

Your heart stopped in your chest as a knife flew through the air, imbedding itself in the wall by your head.  You were lucky that Morgan was on your other head, even though you knew that if he wanted the knife to hit either of you it would’ve.  “James,” you gasped, your eyes slowly focusing in the dim light.

He was crouched in the corner, his hair hanging in a curtain around his face.  But you couldn’t tell if he was cowering away from you or getting ready to strike.

“Morgan, go find your mother,” you said, your voice quiet and stern as you set her on the ground and moved to stand in front of her. “Tell her that I said Code Soldier.”

“But—”

“Morgan, now.”

She could be upset with you later.  If this was the Soldat, then she needed to be as far away as possible.

And, to her credit, she followed your command after just a moment’s hesitation.  She may have been young, but she wasn’t stupid.  She could tell when she needed to listen to you.

You shut the door with a soft click, hoping that F.R.I.D.A.Y. would automatically lock it.  The last thing you needed was one of your other teammates barging in.

Heavy breathing broke the silence that fell over the room as the man stared at you.

“James—”

The man in front of you didn’t react, he just watched you with glittering eyes.  His eyes were so dilated that you could barely see the white surrounding the sea foam irises.

This was the Soldat.

“Soldat,” you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. You had no idea how well addressing him was going to go.  You hadn’t seen this side of him since you’d been rescued from the Red Room.  You tentatively took a step towards him, freezing when you saw the way he tensed.  He seemed skeptical of you, like he recognized you on some level but couldn’t quite place it. “Soldat, it’s me.”

Nothing.

Swallowing, you took another few steps towards him.  “It’s me, Y/N.  Malen’kaya.”

That grabbed his attention.  His features softened, though his eyes stayed as dark as they were.  “Malen’kaya?”

You nodded, hope coursing through your veins. “Yes.  Yes, it’s malen’kaya.”

Before you could blink, the Soldat had flown across the room and had wrapped his arms around you.  He was shaking as his hands roamed over your back, your shoulders, your arms, and back again, as though trying to convince himself that you were real.

You had never seen him this scared.  Bucky, sure, but not the Soldat.

He suddenly pulled away, his calloused hands holding your face.  His touch was much rougher than Bucky’s, though not unwelcome.  “Why are you here?  I thought Natalia got you out?  Did they find you?”

“Wait, what?” You asked, shaking your head.  “What do you mean—”

And then it hit you.  He thought he was still with HYDRA.  He thought that they had dragged you back to the Red Room.

And somehow, he knew that Natasha was the one to get you out.

Something was off.

The past few days, there was a sort of tension in the air, like something was about to happen.

And most of it was coming from the Soldat.  Ever since he’d gotten back from his mission about a week ago, he’d been acting strange.  He was always looking over his shoulder, his mind clearly a million miles away.  His touches lingered a little longer than normal, which was already pretty long.

Not that you minded that bit.

You liked when he touched you.  When he felt comfortable enough to let his hands rest on your shoulders, his front gently pressing against your back.

“Soldat?”

The man in question grunted from the other side of the room, where he was pulling a knife out of your target.

“What’s wrong?”

He paused, his back still to you.  It was clear that he knew what you were referring to—the weight that hung in the air around you.  He could lie to you, tell you that it was nothing, but you were too smart for that.  You’d spent years training with him now and you could read his face no matter how stoic he tried to appear to be.

“Soldat, talk to me,” you said as you came up behind him.  Reaching forward carefully, you hesitated before resting your hand on his arm.  “Please?”

And maybe it was the way you said it.  Maybe it was how your voice cracked and your eyes watered as you stared up at him, confused as to why your one friend wasn’t talking to you.

Maybe it was because it was you and he’d proven over and over to himself lately that there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you.

But he turned to face you, his fingers brushing against your cheek.  “I didn’t stop them,” he said finally, his voice low and raspy as always.

“What do you—”  You broke off, feeling a stab of pain, as his eyes trailed down to your abdomen.  You knew exactly what he was talking about.  The soft black fabric of your tank top covered the almost-healed stitches.

While he’d been on his last mission, Madame B had taken you for the Graduation Ceremony.  At the time, you hadn’t known what it was.  You’d simply followed her into the basement of the Red Room, anxiety coursing through your veins.  It hadn’t taken long to realize that something horrific was about to happen.

But you’d been knocked out before you could even open your mouth to scream.

When you’d come to, you’d been greeted by searing pain in your lower abdomen and two perfect rows of stitches on either side of your hips.

“You didn’t know,” you said, frowning as you took a step closer to him.  You didn’t like that he blamed himself for not being there to stop it from happening. “And you were on a mission.  There was nothing you could’ve done.”  Your eyes flickered down to his lips as your mouth suddenly grew dry.  You two were so close that all you had to do was stand up on your tiptoes and press your lips to—

The Soldat cleared his throat as he took a step away.  “We’re done for today,” he said as he crossed the room, the knife he’d been retrieving from the target in his hands.  “We’ve already gone later than normal and you need to get to bed.”

“But—”

“I said we’re done!”

You froze, eyes widening as he whirled on you. He looked absolutely pissed.  His icy blue eyes were narrowed, his jaw clenched so tightly you were sure his teeth were going to shatter.

His face softened as he realized what he’d done. But before he could even open his mouth to apologize, you were out the door.

You were the last one to hit the showers, the rest of the girls having already headed for bed.  You guessed you had about ten minutes until room check, but Madame B was always a little lenient on you when your training with the Soldat went later than normal.

There was an eerie silence in the showers as you washed away the day.  Despite the front you put up, you hurt.  Badly. Despite the clean stitches, you were still in a lot of physical pain.  Every breath was a little more labored, a little harsher.

And that wasn’t even counting the emotional pain. You’d never even thought about having children or a family, but to have that choice taken away…

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you whirled around, only to find nothing.  The doorway leading out of the showers was completely dark and while you weren’t typically afraid of the dark, there was something foreboding about it.

You wanted to call out to see if someone was there, but at the same time, you felt as though that’d be a stupid decision and would end in your death if someone actually was hiding in the shadows.

You turned back to the spray, washing away the conditioner.

But you were definitely hearing footsteps.

You bit your lip as you turned off the water. Silence filled the room once again as who ever was in the changing room stopped moving.

Someone was definitely out there.

You grabbed the towel hanging on the hook outside your stall, wrapping it around yourself.  You didn’t want to face whatever was out there naked, but you really had no choice since your clothes were in the next room.

“Hello?” You shouted, your voice shaking.

You also had no idea if you’d be able to take whoever was out there down.  Sure, you were highly trained, but if this was an intruder, it would mean that they had managed to break into the Red Room undetected.

Steeling yourself for whatever was awaiting you, you rounded the corner, only for the breath to be stolen from your lungs.

“Natalia?” You gasped, your heart hammering as you took in the woman in front of you.

She was older than you remembered her, of course. But she looked softer.  Better cared for.  Her hair—her gorgeous red hair that had been halfway down her back the last time you’d seen her—was cut to just barely lay over her shoulders.  There was a logo of a shield on her all black ensemble.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said with a faint smile. Like she was almost afraid of how you’d react.

“It’s you,” you said, voice cracking.  Water dripped on the floor as you stepped towards her.  You raised a hand before letting it lower, as though you were afraid that she’d disappear with a single touch.

She nodded, tossing you your clothing that had been left on one of the benches and prompting for you to get dressed.  “It’s me.”

“Where have you been?” You asked as you pulled on your leggings and tank top, brows furrowed with confusion.  You weren’t even bothered by how wet your hair was getting your clothes.  “What… What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting you out.”

“Soldat,” you said quietly, brushing his hair back from his face.

His eyes were locked on you, visibly relaxing as you touched him.

“I need you to stay calm.  Can you do that for me?”  When he nodded, you moved him towards the bed so he was sitting.  You slid behind him, allowing his head to rest on your chest.  Your fingers ran through his hair soothingly as you cradled him to you.  “We’re not in the Red Room.  You’re not with HYDRA.”

He still seemed wary though he didn’t interrupt you.

“We’re in a compound in New York,” you said, searching his face for any signs of Bucky breaking through now that he had calmed down. “We’re with the Avengers.” Swallowing, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.  “I know you protect James.  That you’re a part of him that comes out when he’s unsafe.  But I promise you’re safe, okay?  I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you.”

He nodded, though his eyes didn’t change. He was still the Soldat.

“I need you to let me talk to James,” you said slowly.  You had no idea how the Soldat would reply to that.  You could only hope that he trusted you enough.  “Can you do that for me?”

The Soldat closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. There seemed to be a shift in him and you held your breath as a shiver ran through his body.

“James?”

His eyes fluttered open and you were greeted with an ocean of blue.  “Y/N? What happened?”

“James,” you said, letting out a sigh of relief as you threw your arms around him.

He didn’t hesitate in hugging you back, letting your head burrow into the crook of his neck.  “I’m here.  I’m here,” he said.  His eyes caught on the knife embedded in the wall by the door.  “How…  How did that happen?”

“I came in and the Soldat had taken over,” you said quietly, biting your lip.  You didn’t want him to know right away that Morgan had been with you, or he’d never forgive himself.  “You must’ve had a really bad nightmare or something.”

“Did I…”  He swallowed.  “Did I do anything bad?”

“No,” you quickly said, shaking your head.  “Morgan was—”

He jerked back, his eyes wide.  “Morgan was here?!”

“Yes, but she got out before—”

Bucky stood up, disentangling himself from you. He began pacing the floor of his bedroom.  “She… She saw me like that.  She saw the Sold—”

“James,” you said sternly as you stopped him in his tracks.  “Nothing happened, okay?  The Soldat listened to me, okay?  He listened to me and let you take back over because I asked him to.  Everything’s okay.”  He still seemed unsure, despite your words.  Thinking quickly, you said, “Get in the shower.  Take a long one.  We’re going out tonight.”

“What?” He said, his brows furrowing as he stared down at you.

Pushing him towards the bathroom, you felt a burst of mischief.  “Go get in the shower.  I’ll set out some clothes for you.  Be ready by seven.”

You knew that he’d be ready much sooner than that, but you’d need the time.

He gave in, knowing that you were as stubborn as the day was long.  You’d could argue with a river until it started running backwards, if you chose to do so.  “Alright, alright,” he said, allowing you to push him into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed, you immediately went to his closet.  As soon as you opened it, you saw what you needed.

Hanging pristinely in a clear garment protector was a matte black suit.  It was hanging with a matching button down and a bowtie, and just below it were a shiny pair of Oxfords.

You laid out the suit in its garment bag

In just over an hour and a half, you found yourself in a pale blue vintage dress.  The skirt swished around your knees as you pulled on your stockings and your heels.  Your hair was curled and red lipstick carefully applied.

Bucky had done so much to take care of you, but now it was your turn to take care of him.  It was your turn to make sure that Bucky’s demons were kept at bay and that he had someone there with him to pull him out of the dark.

By the time you were done and had made your way down to the kitchen, Bucky was already standing by the island and watching Rhodey throw vegetables into a skillet.

He looked absolutely gorgeous in his suit.

Sam, who was sitting on one of the stools and scrolling through his phone, noticed you first.  A grin spread across his face as he cleared his throat, nudging Bucky and nodding in your direction.

Bucky’s eyes widened almost comically large as he took the sight of you in.  He cleared his throat, rubbing his hands against his pants.  “You…  You look…” He coughed as a blush crept across his cheeks and down his neck.  “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said softly as you walked over towards him.  Almost on instinct, he held out his elbow for you to take and you rested your hand in the crook.  “Now come on. We have places to go and people to see,” you teased as you tugged him towards the elevator.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” He asked as you led him out to the Uber Black that was waiting.  He opened up the door for you, sliding in after you.

“Nope,” you said with a grin.  “It’s a surprise.”

The man beside you grumbled, but there was a soft grin tugging at his lips.  Your heart hammered inside your chest as his hand brushed against yours before his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said, his voice breaking you out of your reverie.  “I don’t know where we’re going or what we’re doing but thank you.”

You simply nodded, resting your head against his shoulder.  “I’d do anything for you, James.”

A little over an hour and a half later, the Uber came to a stop in front of Bill’s Place.

“Y/N…  I…,” Bucky said as the two of you stepped out of the car.  “This is…  I saw Billie Holiday perform here.”  He let out a laugh as he pulled you towards the speakeasy.  “It was Monette’s Supper Club back then.  Stevie and I were fifteen and we had no business sneaking in, but we did.”

“Come on, then,” you said with a bright grin as you took his hand, leading him inside.  You had to make a few calls in order to get in, since it was typically reservations only, but sometimes being able to pull the Avengers card came in handy.

Bill Saxton was already playing when the two of you stepped in, a few couples already dancing.

“May I have the honor of this dance?” Bucky asked he bowed deeply, his lips pressing to your hand.

Giggling, you mock curtsied.  “Of course, you may,” you said.

This was going to be a night you dreamed about for the rest of your life.  Bucky held you close, his hand warm against the small of your back.  His cold hand in your right kept you present in the moment, because otherwise you’d be left drowning in his eyes.

God, you’d do anything just to be able to kiss him again.

You swallowed to try to cure your dry throat as a slow song came on, and you leaned your head against his chest.  “James?”

“Yeah, sugar?”  You could feel the vibrations of his voice against your cheek.

“You’re my favorite person in the entire world.”

If you could see him, you would’ve seen the way he blushed and the adoring look in his eyes.  His nose brushed against your hair as the smell of your shampoo invaded his senses.  “You’re my favorite person, too.”

[ohhoneato]

Next up is Polo Dorenmorphercarger.

Yes that's his real name.

Born in a family of assassins run by his mother after his father passed away, the children in his family are asked to choose a new family name at a certain age, as a sign of maturity. His chosen name was Roamer, which is why Nero's last name was Roamer.

Their little brother, born after Nero's banishment, chose this last name. He obviously didn't mature.

I have a full short story written for Polo that shows off his character perfectly, written in a sort of letter format.

Before going any further though, I know I haven't really put any trigger warnings or anything, but this one really kind of needs it, although it doesn'tgo into detail. So:

Trigger warning: abuse, rape and death.

Now that that's out of the way, please enjoy.

Dear brother,

Mother told me I should start writing in a diary of sorts, as I am soon to begin assassin training. Instead of a “diary”, I decided instead to write letters to the one I care of most, you. As youngest I am the last to begin training, making mother quite worried. She is afraid I will not be good enough. I do not have an affinity for fighting, as you well know, so I will hopefully have an affinity for magic. You have just informed me that I am using too many commas and run on sentences. This isn’t actually meant to be read by you, I hope you know! I have informed you of this promptly and I hope you will take it to heart. I will keep you updated (not really) on the regular and be sure to tell you of everything. Please excuse the terrible punctuation, after all I am only nine.

Love, Polo.

Dear broter,

Sorry for any typos I make, I do not have much time between classes. Things have been very exciting within the last two days. I have begun a sword fighting class, mother beleives that I should be trained all around. Even if I am not very good at it, I can be mus….muscule… whatever… memory trained. It has been hard, but I beleive I may be getting the hang of it. Next class I have is to be a magic class. For using magical items. They are taking me out to find my own magical item within the next few days, but first I must pack and this class is to show me what to pack. I must go now, I was supposed to be in class a minute ago and lost track of time writing.

Love you, Polo.

Dear Brother,

It is my first day looking for a magical item and so far, I am having no luck. I had no idea it would be this difficult to find an item I’m supposed to have a spiritual bond with. Mother and the instructors have told me to stop sighing so many times today, I’m sure that could become their catchphrases. I’m tired and I miss you. But I’ve been assure that it will be worth it. I must carry on. After all, the family business rests on our shoulders. It’s about time I started my training. I must go and continue training. Please keep me in your thoughts.

Love, Polo

Dear Brother,

I have much time to sit and talk with you, as I have finally found it. It only took a week too, mother told us it usually took longer. It’s a shame though, I wanted to beat your record of three days. Ah well, you remain the superior brother for now. I’ll one up you one day. Now, more on the magical item. It is a pink spiritual stone, made for possession and deception. I know you won’t approve much of it, but it is what I’ve become attached to. I beleive it is most definatly mine to have. I will not abuse it’s powers, after all, I’m such a natural with it I shouldn’t have trouble mastering it. It has imbedded itself into my hand and can make copies of itself. It’s truely a marvel. It is also quite beautiful, sparkling like a Rose Quarts or something similar. I must be getting ready for bed now, I will write you more later.

Love, Polo.

Dear Brother,

As I thought, you are not pleased with my gift and have personally decided to speak to mother about it. I even now can hear you and mother yelling at each other. Why can’t you be happy about it? Does it seem too dark? I would have thought you’d be proud of me, finding something so fitting for the profession. No, actually, I can beleive you’re angry. You’ve always been quite protective of me, why would you be happy about this? But I am happy. I would like to keep being happy. I am finally making my way along, becoming one with the family, making mother proud! I’ve been trying so hard- You are exiting mother’s room. I must find out what has happened. I will write another letter in a moment.

Love, Polo.

Brother,

It has been a week since I finished my training and you were kicked out of the family for trying to attack our mother. Mother has tried to convince me to stop writing to you, but I won’t. You will always be my brother, no matter how foolish you act. You were the favorite. You were the best. The better brother. Why? Why would you throw that away so easily?! I need to know. I need to ask you. I have completed my training as I said, so mother will let me wander the city looking for work now. Just think, ten years old and I’m already good enough with magic and decent enough with a sword that I can hold my own in the real world. Why won’t you be proud of me? Why?

Brother,

I will not be writing for a few months as I will be traveling and taking jobs alone. I will have to be diligent and cunning. I will hopefully be seeing you soon.

Brother.

I am not sure I will ever be able to talk about this with anyone, including you. It has been months since I’ve written you, possibly years. I am Fifteen now. I looked back through my old letters. It’s sort of silly, I could not even spell believe correctly then, yet I believed myself ready to go out into the real world. I was so passive aggressive, saying things about you being the better brother. I even heard that within all this time, we now have a younger brother. I will treat him better than you treated me, I promise. I will love him more than you love me. This will be a great feat. You loved me more than life itself. You treated me better than royalty could ever expect. I miss you. Nero, I miss you. I love you. I always will. I wish you could have read these letters in life, especially this one. I am about to tell you what happened to me all this time. Well, a kind of short version. Leaving out some minor things. I wish I could leave some gruesome details out, but since you will never be reading this, no one will ever be reading this letter, I must for a therapeutic reason. Here goes the big thing. I was in the middle of a job. Kill the target, get out as soon as possible sort of thing, except my target had been informed of me. I’d made somewhat of a name for myself by then, I was about to turn twelve in three days time. I snuck into his room and instantly got rushed by his guards. I would have prefered almost any other sort of torture than what they did. My entire body shakes when I think of it. I cannot even stand human touch anymore. Which I feel terrible about, if I hadn’t allowed myself to become sloppy, such a vile thing wouldn’t have happened and perhaps I could have saved you. An odd sentence to be writing, and assassin saving someone’s life instead of taking it. But although what was done to me was unspeakable, I must at least force myself to write the words instead of avoid it as I am. They violated me. They raped me. I can still feel them inside me when I think about it and it sends me into waves of panic. I cannot breathe when I think of this act, I cannot sleep, I cannot live. I wish to die when I think of the incident. Isn’t that terrible. The Pink Gem has been trying to convince me to let her take over and I have almost been convinced many times. It’s hurts so much, she can make the pain go away. Then I thought of you and I now think of our new brother and realize I musn’t succumb, for surely she will try to hurt everyone for self gain. She is selfish, as I must admit it was that selfishness for the same end goal that drew me to her. To continue the story, I eventually after another year, found my way to you. You were living your life in hiding from all those who wanted revenge with a beautiful woman named Rose.

She was an all mother of sorts, as it seemed she took in those with magic whom were abandoned or lost. She was kind, gave me a place to eat and sleep, helping to clear my mind of that which had happened previously. She had the same powers as I, yet on a much smaller scale, only able to manipulate a single town at a time. She did not believe she need it on a larger scale, the humans she kept as slaves and pets were all she needed. I found myself both somewhat disgusted and intrigued by her beliefs. Back to you. I hadn’t even been looking for you at the time. I had sat down to eat and you’d walked up to me. You called my name quietly. I glanced up and the first look of hope came into my eyes that had been there in years. I ran to you and hugged you so tightly. And you hugged back. Oh you hugged back so tightly, I miss it still. I still feel it. I started to panic at the touch, but I forced it away, after all I had been the one looking for you, I’d initiated the hug, what would you think if I had just pushed you away. Then you spoke. And it all went away. All of the panic, all of the pain, all of the terrible thoughts, away with a simple “I love you.”

We released and we began to catch up. I skipped details of most that had happened when I’d begun my search till then. I told you it’d been uneventful. I could see you didn’t believe me. I knew you could see the deadness in my eyes. You could see I’d almost completely given up, not only on finding you, but life. I was tired. I still am. But I haven’t given up. Anyway, you told me about living with Rose, that she was kind, finding orphans and those who’d been kicked out of their towns and all. We both decided it would be better to talk in private. We both decided to walk outside to talk. I accidentally stepped outside of Rose’s protective circle. I was immediately ambushed. You raced to my aid, hacking and slicing away at the attackers, you took the initial hit that was aimed at me. We fought side by side, eventually being joined by Rose, who had sensed the trouble and came to help. We beat them. We beat the attackers. Why doesn’t it feel like we won? Is it because you took poison that was meant for me? Probably. I’m not going to lie. I sobbed the whole time, while her medics told us you didn’t have a chance, while I was saying the final goodbye, and especially when you answered my final question. Why?

“Because I loved you too much.”

So now you’re gone. I gained an ally in Rose, but I don’t know if I could ever face her again. She is just so compassionate and I fear I will not be able to be strong around her. I told her I would ever call if I needed help again though, to make her feel better. I must attempt to sleep so I may travel home in the morning. I love you.

Love, Polo.

Brother,

I made it home. I believe traveling home is where I left off. Our little brother’s name is Marco. He is amazing. I will protect him. Mother is gone, dead from childbirth. After all the assassination attempts, having another child is what did her in. That is most humorous. She doesn’t want me to keep writing these. Sometimes she sounds just like mother. I fear I am losing myself to her. I must go, I have things to attend to as new head of family.

Love, Polo

Brother,

What have I done? Oh gods above what have I done. I’ve hurt him. Marco, my only brother, I’ve done to him what was done to me, the act that has utterly destroyed me. No, it was not me. It was my body, but I have not done this. It was her! SHE DID THIS TO MY PRECIOUS SIBLING!

I MUST GET RID OF H-

Brother,

I am almost gone. I don’t have much time to write this. Marco has taken everything She has thrown at him, but I think she has finally broken him. Cori, his beloved Cori. She’s had him killed. I cannot let this keep happening, but I cannot control it. He will obey Her now. Perhaps if he does, She will stop hurting him. I am so sorry Nero. I’m so sorry Marco. I’ve failed.

Love, Polo.

Dearest Marco,

I wanted you to have these. She would have you be a mindless soldier, but I promised I’d be better than him. You need to know what made me this way, a powerless puppet. Enclosed are the letters I wrote to him, starting when I was nine years old. Our older brother was truly wonderful, I wish you could have met him. He would have been much better of a brother than me. Perhaps enclosed you may find a way to reverse this. I’d much rather be filled with pain than be powerless to stop Her from hurting you. Good luck. I love you. I’m sorry.

Love, Polo

[elizabethemerald]

How about something with Toby and Jim?

You said Toby and Jim and my mind went to a scene I’ve wanted to write for the longest time. Toby asking Jim out After the Eternal Night. This is part of my Poly Trollhunters series that I’m calling Hammer, Sword and Staff. This one also got a llttle long. 

Also for some reason it keeps deleting my read more. Sorry everyone!

Jim sniffed while he stalked his way around the barn. The Eclipse Blade felt heavy in his hand as he sniffed again. For some reason his senses were even stronger than a normal troll's. He had keener hearing and a sharper sense of smell. 

Dawn was slowly approaching as he continued inspecting the perimeter. This was so far his least favorite place Trollmarket had stopped for shelter. The barn stank of humans, though it smelled like they hadn't been here in months. The last thing they needed was a human discovering an entire village of trolls without another scrap of shade around for miles.  

As Jim passed the open barn door he could see Claire, Blinky and Nomura working to cover the gaping hole in the roof. He desperately wanted to jump in and help them. He loved working with Claire, and would never turn away from helping Blinky. Even Ms. Nomura was always interesting to talk to, but he was the Trollhunter. He had other duties. 

Jim finished his patrol close to the barn and began making a wider circle. He kept sniffing at the ground and the air, his ears twitching this way and that, showing his annoyance. 

Trollmarket is moving so slowly. They've already been on the road for two weeks and they weren't even out of California yet. Only being able to travel at night at the start of summer stalled their progress. 

Making matters even worse Merlin had disappeared a few days ago. Just up and vanished during the day. Even his disappearance didn't stop him from haranguing Jim. Merlin appeared in what Claire called an astral form to hurry them on everytime they stopped. If he had been here he could easily use his magic to finish covering the hole so the trolls would be safe from the sun's touch. 

Jim's ear flicked as he heard Claire swear inside. Nomura had already been swearing for the past couple of minutes, getting increasingly creative with her swears as the large cloth they were trying to tie over the hole continued to defy them. He glanced at the silo that sat near the barn. The top had just been illuminated. They had maybe five minutes to get everyone inside and under cover before day break. 

He hurried his patrol into a jog, bounding around the area to check for any traps or other problems. As he ran he waved to the last few trolls still not inside the barn, hurrying them inside. Right before the light of day touched him Jim dashed inside. 

As the last trolls got settled inside the cloth slipped out of Nomura’s grasp and was about to fall to the ground. Claire swore explosively, Jim was certain he heard swears in at least three languages. Then she grabbed a handful of wooden staves, her eyes glowing purple, she threw them at the canvas. Each stave imbedded itself into the wooden beams of the roof, pinning the cloth over the hole. She flinched a little as one of the staves blasted clean through the wood and rocketed skyward. 

“Well done Lady Claire.” Blinky said, clapping his hands together. 

“You couldn’t have done that from the beginning?” Nomura said

“No I could not have done that from the beginning! I barely know what I can and can’t do with my magic. And the one person who could teach me disappeared for four days!” Claire snapped in return. Jim stepped up smartly to them. 

“I swept the perimeter. No threats detected, and every troll accounted for.” Jim reported to Blinky. The four armed troll smiled at Jim. 

“Thank goodness for that. With the cover in place we will be able to rest for the remainder of the day without too much worry.” Blinky replied, clapping Claire and Nomura on their shoulders. 

“Well done with that you three.” 

“Come on Jim.” Claire said, she was covered in sweat from trying to get the cover in place. 

“I mean it. Well done.”

“Well since Little Gynt approves then I guess we did a good job after all.” Nomura sneered. Then she walked away to be by herself. 

Jim decided against pushing his luck by following her. Claire walked slowly over to where she had dumped her pack when she had hurried to help Blinky. She unpacked slowly, her exhaustion weighing on her. 

Jim was about to help her get settled when his phone went off. He moved quickly away from the other trolls. The last thing he wanted was for any of them to get angry at him for disturbing their rest. He pulled his phone from the back of his armor. As close as he could tell the phone was stored in the armor somewhere. Toby was calling! Jim carefully hit the answer button on the now too small phone. 

“Heya Tobes!” Jim said excitedly. 

“H-hey Jimbo. Uh... how is the trek going?” Toby said. Jim didn’t need his trollish hearing to pick up how nervous Toby was. Now that he thought about it, it was the crack of dawn. During summer vacation. Toby was never awake at this hour. 

“The trek is fine.” Jim said shortly. “Is everything ok Toby?”

There was a long pause on the other end. Jim almost started worrying that the call had dropped. Finally Toby spoke again. 

“We’re pretty good friends right Jim?” Toby said. His voice was so quiet over the phone. 

“Toby we are the best of friends. You mean more to me than anything in the world. What is this about?”

“So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, really I’ve been thinking ever since you went into the Darklands. And I talked to Darci and she says she's ok with it as long as Claire is. And I really regret not bringing this up before you left for New Jersey. Now even if you say yes we won’t be able to actually do anything. I guess I could always call and talk to you but we couldn’t go on any real dates.”

Jim had been listening to his friend’s rambling as closely as he could. The last sentence brought everything into sharp focus. 

“Wait wait Toby. Are you asking me out? Are you saying you want to date me?” Jim asked. He could barely keep the excitement out of his voice. Toby was his best friend in the whole world. Had been his best and closest friend since they were children. Jim hadn’t told anyone before, but Toby was his first kiss. A kiss that helped sustain him during the long weeks in the Darklands. Sure dating Toby would mean a potentially awkward conversation with Claire, but Jim was pretty sure she would understand. 

“Uh, I… uh.” Toby hesitated. Then the line went dead. Jim shook his head, classic Tobes, he got nervous and hung up. Jim immediately called his friend back. Toby didn’t answer. Jim rolled his eyes. And dialed again. This time the call was canceled from Toby’s side. 

Jim wanted to pull his horns out in his frustration. If Toby had his way they won’t talk again for a week and he will pretend the conversation never happened. Jim called again. Toby hung up on him again. He wanted to scream his frustration. 

Jim shoved his phone in his mouth and bit down hard. He had chewed the phone and swallowed before he had a chance to think about what he was doing. He could only look at his empty hands in horror. He hadn’t felt this bad for eating something he shouldn’t have since his mom found him eating the blender. He groaned softly and grabbed his horns. After a few moments of sitting there stewing in his annoyance he stood up. 

He quietly made his way through the snoozing trolls till he came to where Claire had fallen asleep in her armor. After the all night march, followed by wrestling the covering, and the powerful magic she used, no wonder she was so quickly asleep. Jim hated the thought of waking her. But this wasn’t a conversation that could wait. 

Jim softly shook her awake. She looked up confused and disoriented, but relaxed when she saw her boyfriend’s smiling face. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. Toby just called me. I don’t think this is a conversation that can't wait till nightfall.”

Claire looked carefully at his face for a few a short moment, before nodding and getting up. Jim helped her out of her armor so she could actually sit comfortably then together they walked to the door of the barn. There was no where inside they could have a private conversation, and Jim didn’t quite want this to be a topic of gossip for all the trolls. Claire grabbed one of the emergency umbrellas and together they ventured out into the sun. They sat together in the shade of silo. 

“What’s up Jim?” Claire didn’t sound worried, only curious. Jim knew he rarely woke her up except for emergencies, but he hoped his tone and casual movements made it clear that everyone at home was still safe. 

"Toby just called. He wanted to ask me out. Like on a date." Jim tried to keep his voice calm. He didn't want to do the same thing Toby did and get nervous and back out.  

"Toby is aware you are already spoken for, and so is he?" Claire asked. She had her legs curled up to her chest as she sat on the ground. She looked so tired and had her head resting on her knees. 

"Uh, yes. He mentioned, kind of in passing that Darci was ok with the idea as long as you were." Jim suddenly felt way more nervous. He loved Claire and didn't want to ruin things with her, but he knew without a second thought that he also loved Toby.  

"This isn't because I'm not enough for you is it?" Claire asked. She seemed to shrink before Jim's eyes. She was so small, so vulnerable, so scared of losing him. He carefully wrapped her in a hug. 

"This has nothing to do with that. I love you. I will always love you. And I also love Toby.  I've loved him for years, now that I think about it. It was thinking of you two that kept me going in the Darklands. You and Toby." 

Jim held her close for several minutes, while she kept her face hidden. He was half afraid she had fallen asleep while he was talking. Finally she took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. She unfolded her legs and stretched them out. 

"So what did Toby say next?"

"Well he said he regretted not bringing this up before we left. I asked him if he was asking me out. Then he hung up." Claire snorted at that. "I called him back a few times but he didn't answer. And then I uh…" Jim looked away embarrassed. "I ate my phone."

"Jim!" Claire smacked his arm lightly. "How are we going to get you a new phone while we are on the road? And you have no idea what the battery acid could do to your stomach!"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Jim said, holding up his hands to ward off further smacks, though they didn't hurt at all with his stone skin. "I just...reacted on instinct. Then I woke you up and we had this conversation."

"Ok." Claire said. Jim looked at her in confusion, was she agreeing? "I'm going to have to call Darci and confirm that she's ok with this, you understand?"

Jim nodded and Claire kept speaking. "If we open our relationship are you going to let me date other people too?" Jim nodded again. "Are you going to get all territorial if I date another girl?" He shook his head. "What about if I date a boy? Even that dude from the Battle of the Bands?"

Jim hesitated. He distinctly remembered the way he acted around the band guy. What was his name? Anyways he could currently feel a twist in his gut at the thought of her with him. Claire sighed. 

"We can work on that. If you want us to open our relationship I want it to be on even terms. And I don't want you getting aggressive any time a boy comes up and talks to me."

Jim nodded, his eyes down and his ears laid back. Suddenly he perked up. "Wait does that mean you are willing to try?"

"Yes it does. But if you want me to accept that you have enough love for me and Toby you need to accept that I have enough love for you and...Toby, or Darci, or Mary or anyone else I want to date. Though as of right now that's the limit of who I'm interested in."

Jim smiled as Claire pulled out her own phone. "You and Toby too, huh?"

She smiled, a slight blush on her cheeks. Rather than answer she dialed her friend. 

"Do you mind if I listen in too?" Jim asked as the phone rang. Claire nodded and switched the call to speaker phone. 

"Hello Claire-bear!" Darci's voice sang as she answered. 

"Hey, Darci! I-" before Claire could say another word, Toby's voice came through the phone. He was talking so fast and so loud that Jim had to put his hand over the phone to keep him from waking the trolls. 

They couldn't tell exactly what he was saying considering Toby didn't seem to pause for even a breath, but as close as they could tell Toby apologized up and down for "ruining things" and was terrified that Jim had been hurt or had disappeared. When Jim was on the edge of shouting over Toby, even knowing it would wake all the trolls they heard the sound of someone wrestling the phone away from him. 

Darci's voice came back this time slightly echoey. "Claire? You're on speaker phone."

"So are you Darci. Jim and I are here." 

"Oh thank god!" Toby sounded like he wanted to ramp up into another apologetic ramble but his was voice was suddenly muffled. Jim assumed Darci had covered his mouth. 

"Let them speak or you'll never get your answer." Darci said to her boyfriend. "Go ahead Claire."

"Before I say anything else I want to make sure. Darci did you know Toby was wanting to open up your relationship?"

"Yes I knew. We've been talking about it for the past week. So if you two need more time you can call us again later."

"Jim and I will have our conversation about boundaries and expectations later, our decision is already made." Claire paused and looked at Jim. He smiled at her and she smiled right back. He could see her nervousness disappear. "We've decided to open our relationship too."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that!" Jim thought he could hear a strange tone in Darci's voice, but it was a little lost in Toby cheering in the background. Jim glanced at Claire to see if she had noticed the gone. She was blushing scarlet, her face red all the way up to the roots of her hair. Jim smiled, so that's what that tone meant. 

"I was wondering," Toby began. "Now, that's decided, if Jim and I could have some time for a call just the two of us?"

Jim blushed almost as hard as Claire had. Darci and Claire laughed. 

"Darci, I'll call you sometime this week! Let's let the boys have their call!" Claire laughed and kissed Jim on his cheek. Then she whispered to him. "I'm going back to bed. Don't wake me again today unless it's an emergency. We can talk more tonight."

Jim barely heard Darci say her own farewells. He felt like his long ears were burning. Claire got up stretching and walked back to the barn. 

"And don't eat my phone!" She called back softly over her shoulder. 

Jim could hear Toby walking up his stairs and getting comfortable on his bed. So Jim also stretched out getting more comfortable in the shade of the silo. He wouldn't be able to talk long but be could still talk. 

"That conversation went better than I expected." Toby said. Jim couldn't help but snort and laugh. 

"Toby you rambled for minutes, then hung up without actually asking me out. I ate my phone. Then when my girlfriend calls yours you take the phone and go right back to rambling! And you still haven't actually asked me out!"

Toby gave a nervous laugh. "Well Jim Lake Jr. Would you like to go out with me?"

"Tobias Domzalski, I would love to!" They both fell to laughing. 

When Toby could catch his breath again he asked, "Wait, did you say you ate your phone?"

They continued talking, long into the morning. Catching up on everything that had happened, and getting their feelings that had been hidden for far too long out into the open.

[johnchiarello]

Acts 8

ACTS 8 [News links at bottom] https://youtu.be/LNUN77mE05M Acts 8 https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2017/04/4-6-17-acts-8.zip https://ccoutreach87.com/4-6-17-acts-8/ Matthew 16:19 And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven. ON VIDEO- .Local- federal court .What was the persecution? .Saul makes arrests .Philip works miracles .Showdown with a witch .Simony [And Simony] .Santeria .Occult arts .Don’t put God in a box .1 God- 3 Persons .Spellbound .Did Simon levitate? . Did peter end the flight? .Magic? .Transported by the Spirit .Brother Roloff roloff.org/

PAST TEACHINGS- [below are links to my past teachings that relate to today’s post ACTS 8- all verses below] https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/04/06/city-of-man/ https://ccoutreach87.com/1st-2nd-corinthians/ https://ccoutreach87.com/romans-updated-2015/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/18/acts-1/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/26/acts-2/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/02/02/acts-3/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/02/09/acts-4/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/03/23/acts-5/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/03/31/acts-6/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/04/06/acts-7/ https://ccoutreach87.com/protestant-reformation-luther/

(739) ACTS 8- After the death of Stephen the church scatters thru out the region. We see Phillip being used and directed by God. An angel will speak to him, he will be supernaturally translated from one place to another. We see the simple reality of all believers having Gods legitimacy to function. This is important to see! Later on we see the first gentile church at Antioch being told ‘separate me Paul and Barnabus unto the work which I have called them to’[Acts 13]. Some will develop unbiblical restrictions from this verse. The strong ‘local church’ view [the view that sees local church thru the 501c3 Sunday building mindset!] will later teach ‘see, you can’t function on your own. If you are not under a ‘local church covering’ you are an independent rebel out of Gods authority’. Here we see the simple reality of God sending and communicating to Phillip on the basis of him being a child of God. In Acts 13 the Spirit communicated his purpose to an entire group, in this chapter he communicates to an individual. The legitimacy comes from the reality of God being the one who is giving the directions! Now, we see Phillip at Samaria preaching the Kingdom and doing miracles. The sorcerer Simon gets converted. The church at Jerusalem sends Peter and John to see what’s happening and they lay hands on the Samaritan believers and they ‘receive the Holy Ghost’. This is also described as the Holy Spirit falling on them. This chapter is used as a proof text for pro Pentecostal theology and anti! The Pentecostals say ‘see, believers don’t have the Holy Spirit until a separate Baptism takes place’. The anti Charismatics say ‘this is an anomaly. God did this because he didn’t want to have a competing church in Samaria that did not have the approval of the Jerusalem church’. I will agree and disagree with both of these propositions [yes, at the same time!] Paul will teach in his epistles that it is impossible to believe without having the Spirit. He will also teach a doctrine of being filled with the Spirit. The arguments over the terms used can be confusing. The fact is we see both the experiences of believers [who have the Spirit] still experiencing greater empowerments down the road. And we see believers ‘getting it all at once’ [Acts 10]. Theologically, you can’t be born again without having the Spirit. But you can call ‘the Spirit falling on you in a fresh way’ ‘getting the Spirit’. The different expressions people use do confuse the matter. The hard and fast Charismatics will not agree with me. And the old time Calvinists might disagree with me. I believe both sides have things to add to the debate. I want all of us to be open and daily expecting God to renew us with the Spirit on a daily basis. I know one thing for sure, Paul taught we can water and plant all day. But if the Spirit doesn’t do his work we will never see any real increase! Simon the sorcerer sees that thru the laying on of hands the Spirit is given. He asks ‘Hey, I will pay you money for the gift of being able to lay hands on people and have them receive the Spirit’. Peter responds ‘you wicked sinner! How dare you think you can purchase Gods gift with money! You and your filthy money will perish together! You better pray that God forgives you for this’. Simon says ‘can you pray for me’? He didn’t want to get struck down that instant! Peter will later teach in his letters ‘take oversight of Gods flock, not for filthy lucre. But of a ready mind’. James will write in his letter ‘woe to the rich, their day is coming’. John writes in 1st John ‘love not the world neither the things in the world’. Paul will pen ‘The love of money is the root of all evil. Some went coveting after it and have left the faith’. Where in the world did all these first century Apostles get this idea from? Was it the devil tricking them out of the truth of wealth? Were they under the spell of church tradition? Lets see, Jesus said ‘the rich man dies and goes to hell. The poor man to Abrahams bosom’ ‘it’s harder for a rich man to go to heaven than for a camel to go thru the eye of a needle’ ‘the rich man went away very sad because he had much riches’ [after Jesus said go sell all you have and give to the poor] ‘you can not serve God and mammon’ ‘the deceitfulness of riches choke Gods word’ ‘thou fool! This night thy soul shall be required of thee’ [to the rich man who was planning on building more storage for his stuff!] The simple fact is the early church had imbedded in their minds a non materialistic gospel. The modern church seems to read scripture thru the lens of the prosperity promises that you do find thru out scripture. The prosperity promises are true and should be understood, but we need to also see the reality of what I just showed you. The church will eventfully coin the phrase ‘Simony’. It will refer to those who use money to gain influence and official positions in the church. Simons name does becomes famous, but not in the way he wanted! [parts] I mentioned Gnosticism on today’s post- below are my past teachings on it-

PLATO

Plato was born in 427 BC- he was the most famous student of Socrates.

He is best known for his theory of Ideas/Forms.

He believed that the material world was an imperfect copy of the Idea world. That is he believed that Ideas exist apart from the construct of the human mind- that they were the perfect forms of the things we see in the material realm.

He could also be referred to as a Realist- because he believed these Ideas actually existed [for real]. Where did he get this from? As we study Philosophy- each one that comes down the line has been influenced in some way by those that preceded them.

There was a famous thinker- Pythagoras [his followers were the Pythagoreans] who taught a concept called the Transmigration of the Soul [a sort of Reincarnation]. They believed that the soul of man went thru various stages- and existed independently of the body.

In Greek thought the soul is immortal- it exists before the body. In Christian teaching the Soul [mind- Spirit] comes into existence when God creates man [the bible says ‘and man BECAME a living soul’- referring to the creation of Adam].

The Greeks saw the soul as preexisting before the natural life.

In the mind of Plato- the body was a receptacle- in this life we recollect the knowledge that comes from the Idea world.

He ascribed Ontological status to ideas themselves.

In Philosophy there are 2 basic ways knowledge comes [we study this in Epistemology- an offshoot of Philosophy- which deals with how we know things].

A Priori knowledge is knowledge obtained independent of experience. A Posteriori is knowledge obtained thru the senses- what we call Empirical evidence.

In Plato’s schema he believed that the knowledge that comes to us from the Formal world [ideas- forms] was A Priori knowledge- that the human mind recalls- and in the present material world- knowledge comes to us from the perfect idea world.

The Greeks believed that all matter was flawed- that the Body was an imperfect vessel- and after death we are released into the perfect world- and free from the material realm.

Christian Tradition does not hold to this view. The Church teaches that the created world is good- not evil. Among Christians there is some confusion about this- because the older versions of the bible [King James] seem to teach that matter [world, flesh] is evil.

Why?

Paul the apostle talks about no good thing being in The Flesh- he talks about the Carnal mind- the apostle John says ‘all that is in the World- the lust of the flesh- the pride of life- is not of the Father but is of the world’.

There are many references like this in the bible- but they are speaking about the sinful nature of man [the flesh] and not about the human body itself [For instance Paul says in Romans ‘present your BODIES as living sacrifices unto God- Holy and acceptable’ in Corinthians ‘your BODY is the temple of the Holy Spirit’- there are many references in scripture that speak of the Body as Holy.

When the bible says ‘satan is the god of this world’ it is not speaking of the earth- which God created- and calls GOOD- but it is speaking of the ‘world’ system- an age of wickedness.

So- at times Christians have confused this- and have held a sort of Dualistic view of matter- that is not the biblical view- but a Gnostic view- that all matter is evil.

Plato saw the unseen world of Ideas as the perfect- pure world.

He taught that in this life we obtain the knowledge of the pure- by reason of recollection- that these pure ideas come to us ‘are recalled’ in this life.

He is famous for founding the first Philosophical school- it was called The Academy- named after a man by the name of Academus.

The land was donated for the school- it was previously used as an Olive Grove- and in honor of the donation- Plato named the school after the donor.

This is why we use the phrase ‘The Groves of Academia’ today.

Plato was actually a nick name- he wrestled in Athens- in a sort of precursor to what would later become the Olympic games- and he was broad shouldered- that’s where his name comes from- Plato means broad shouldered.

So- to sum up- Plato believed that Forms [ideas] were eternal, the cause of all that is. He believed we are born with innate ideas- these are not learned thru sense experience- but exist independently of the mind- and in this bodily life we retrieve [the body is a receptacle] these ideas.

Does the bible teach anything along these lines?

Not exactly.

Christians believe that God himself is infinite- without beginning or end. That wisdom- ideas- ‘forms’ of things do indeed exist- prior to our own life.

But these ideas are not without a Mind- God is Spirit- and he is everywhere [Omnipresent] he knows all tings [Omniscient] – so- in a way- there are indeed ideas- forms- but they come from the ultimate Mind of God.

A good example would be the building of the Tabernacle- and later the Temple- under Moses and King David [his son Solomon actually built it].

God told Moses ‘see that you build it after the Pattern shown to thee in the mount’. In the book of Hebrews we read that the earthly Tabernacle [Temple] was simply an image- a symbol- of heavenly realities.

That God himself had the ‘form’ in his mind- indeed- like Plato taught- the heavenly form is perfect- the earthly expression imperfect.

But these patterns- forms- ideas- are from the Mind of God- they are not Innate in the soul of man- nor does the soul of man exist before his birth. In the past few months I have had several Christian friends tell me that they feel like they existed before this life- a type of reincarnation.

I explained to them that in the Christian faith we do not hold to this view.

But- the bible does tell us that God had a purpose for us- Predetermined- before the ‘foundation of the world’.

Meaning that yes- in the Mind of God- in a way- we did exist- but we did not have actual being [called Ontological status in the field of Philosophy] until we were created by God.

God’s purpose for us was already in the Mind of God before our birth.

The bible says that Christ is made unto us wisdom- we are not Receptacles in the sense that Plato taught.

But yes- in time God reveals to us this Hidden Wisdom- about his love and purpose for us.

And in this life we act out- we fulfil this eternal purpose.

Man [or woman] can never find true happiness- true meaning- until they tap into this purpose. We were created by the hand of God- to bring glory and honor to him- and we in this life can ever find true fulfilment- until we make it back to God. [parts] CHRISTIAN- MUSLIM DIALOGUE Exodus 20:3 Thou shalt have no other gods before me. Exodus 20:4 Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. https://youtu.be/-x4Bz60irJo Christian- Muslim dialogue https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/1-15-17-christian-muslim-dialogue.zip https://youtu.be/0i-V7qr7Kbg Corpus Christi- Questions [I posted the video yesterday- but wanted to tag it to a post- Because I talked about current world issues as well, things that I feel are relevant right now] ON VIDEO .Muslim encounter at Kingsville Fire Dept. .What makes Christianity unique? .Muslims shared some of the same concerns as many Protestants .Iconoclast controversy .Expressions of the Trinity .The development of the office of Bishop- 5 main cities .The ‘pre’ renaissance that took place within Islam .Aquinas responds to Islamic apologists [13the century] .Ad Fontes .Florence Italy- the Medici’s .Gnosticism .I bought him a Persian bible .Erasmus- Luther .Protestant Reformation .My Muslim friend [at Timons] .Who gave Bobby a ride? .Wycliffe- Huss- Coverdale .Guttenberg came just in time .Catholic church warned ‘you will have too many splits’. .They indeed were correct .I quote from the Quran at the end PAST TEACHING [Past teaching I did that relates to today’s video- verses below] https://ccoutreach87.com/islam/ https://ccoutreach87.com/protestant-reformation-luther/ JOHN 6 John 6:63 It is the spirit that quickeneth; the flesh profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life. https://youtu.be/–3fJK_dqiU John 6 https://ccoutreach87.files.wordpress.com/2016/07/7-3-16-john-6.zip GALATIANS [Links] https://ccoutreach87.com/2016/12/26/galatians-1/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2016/12/30/2nd-samuel-3-homeless-friends/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/02/galatians-2/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/10/galatians-3/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/12/the-seed/ https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/16/galatians-4/

ON VIDEO- .See the quads .it was a test . ‘We don’t have enough money for the ministry Jesus’? .What did Jesus do- multiply the money- or the bread? .Don’t leave the crumbs behind .Nungesser’s bowling alley .The acid trip .Manna a sign .A little Greek stuff .Zwingli .Lake Geneva .Renaissance .Florence- Italy .Medici family .Aquinas Aristotle .Greek lexicon .Proof texting a no no .Hocus Pocus? .Fundamentalism .Aldous Huxley MY LINKS [verses below] https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/protestant-reformation-luther/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/further-talks-on-church-and-ministry/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/house-of-prayer-or-den-of-thieves/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/overview-of-philosophy/ MY LINKS ON JOHN https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/14/amos-5/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/jesus-christ/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/17/father-abraham/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/21/the-flood/ John 3 https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/25/the-well-john-4/ https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/2016/06/30/john-5/ [parts] The renaissance was the 13-14th century revival of culture and learning that was lost for centuries- It began in Florence Italy. The catch phrase for it was ‘Ad Fontes’ meaning ‘back to the sources’- both in philosophy- as well as in Christian learning. This began a revival of studying the Greek New testament again from its original language. The Catholic Humanist- Desiderius Erasmus [15-16th century] – re introduced the New Testament in the Greek version [He was referred to as a Dutch renaissance Humanist- as well as a Catholic Priest and scholar] Now- Erasmus was a critic of the Church- like Luther- but chose a ‘middle road’- he did not join the breakaway Protestant Reformers- but chose to stay within the fold of Rome- while speaking out against the abuses he saw. But his first Greek translation of the New Testament did indeed set a spark- because it allowed the Priests to see the bible in its original language. And Luther was actually teaching this book of Romans to his students in Germany when the Reformation began. Today the Catholic Church [as you can see in the official Catechism that I have been posting] does indeed teach the bible as God’s Word. The divisions between Protestants and Catholics are many- but they did agree that the bible was the Word of God. Some Protestants do not know this- they think the church holds Tradition higher than the bible. No- the church does believe that God speaks both thru tradition- and scripture. They see the tradition of the church as simply another means by which God uses the church [Magisterium] to explain scripture- but the Catholic Church does not elevate tradition over the bible. And indeed- it was a catholic scholar- Erasmus- who introduced the first Geek version of the New Testament. NOTE- Erasmus disagreed with Luther on the doctrine of Predestination- which I covered in the last video. Luther was for it- Erasmus was what we would call ‘Free Will’. In his writings- which were very influential- he wrote in Greek and Latin- the language of the elites. He did this on purpose- for his target was the influential leaders of the Church. He rejected offers of money- because he did not want to align himself with any particular movement- so he could be an independent writer with no strings attached. He had many criticisms of the Catholic Church- and was very influential for the later reforms- those we see at the Council of Trent [Though the church criticized him- they said he ‘Laid the egg that hatched the Reformation’]. He taught that the church/priests/popes should be the servants of the people- He rejected the idea that the Priests/leaders made up the ‘whole of the church’- but he believed all believers made up the true church. Erasmus was a firebrand in his own way- rejecting the language that Luther and some of the reformers used [they were vulgar at times]- Luther respected the works of Erasmus- he thanked Erasmus for debating with him on the nature of Justification by Faith- He disagreed in the end- but said this debate was at the heart of the gospel- and was glad that Erasmus was willing to engage.

RENAISSANCE ARTISTS- The famous renaissance artists- DaVinci- Michelangelo- Raphael- used their artwork as a form of knowledge- the images taught things- they were not just paintings. DaVinci’s most famous work was his painting on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel in the Vatican. It took him 4 years to complete. The renaissance period- from about the 13/14th century to the 17th- [though there was a sort of Renaissance that took place- yes- in the Islamic world before the European Renaissance] was marked by what we term Humanism. Today we associate this term with ‘secular Humanism’ which often has a bad connotation- especially among Christians. But it meant something different back then. It was a new focus on breaking the limits off of man- and for man to excel in knowledge and skill- and to see man as having value. There was somewhat of a break away from the church in a sense- in that the church and its teachings were not the only source of wisdom for man. But- Jesus himself taught that ‘the Sabbath was made for man- not man for the Sabbath’- so- the Humanist spirit- elevating the value of man- does have a Christian basis in my view. Leonardo daVinci [15/16th century] was what we refer to as a true Renaissance man- meaning his knowledge was in many fields- not just art. He actually considered himself a sculptor first- then an artist- though he is most famous for his Fresco mentioned above. Here’s my study on The Reformation- https://ccoutreach87.com/protestant-reformation-luther/ And my past teaching on the Western intellectual tradition- https://ccoutreach87.com/western-intellectual-tradition/

VERSES- Isaiah 42:19 Who is blind, but my servant? or deaf, as my messenger that I sent? who is blind as he that is perfect, and blindas the LORD’s servant? Hebrews 11:3 Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear. 2 Corinthians 5:7 [Full Chapter] (For we walk by faith, not by sight:) 13 Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him. 14 But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me? 15 And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it

[parts]

GW BRIDGE- https://youtu.be/70CVdZxFIMg GW bridge ON VIDEO- .Foundation stones .Why Bishops? .Gnostics and Docetism .Dads boat .GOV Christie and hot dogs .Restore the paths .Isaiah and John .Memories of a kid- train tunnel .Robert Moses to blame? .Mayor LaGuardia .The argument for Rome .Church fathers .Mystics .Suicide signs .Apostolic succession .What church is the ‘true church’? .Most amazing intellectual discourse ever? Only if you don’t hear [have to watch to get it- sorry] .Bedrock .I am homeless- can you spare a 5? VERSES- Galatians 2:1 Then fourteen years after I went up again to Jerusalem with Barnabas, and took Titus with me also. Galatians 2:2 And I went up by revelation, and communicated unto them that gospel which I preach among the Gentiles, but privately to them which were of reputation, lest by any means I should run, or had run, in vain. [parts] Here’s some stuff I wrote before on Simon- Simony- [parts] SIMONY AND CHEAP TRICK- ON VIDEO- .A.P. article review .Simony .Peter/Simon- showdown PAST POSTS- Simony (pron. [ˈsaɪ.mə.ni] or [ˈsɪ.mə.ni]) is the act of selling church offices and roles. The practice is named after Simon Magus,[1] who is described in the Acts of the Apostles 8:9–24 as having offered two disciples of Jesus, Peter and John, payment in exchange for their empowering him to impart the power of the Holy Spirit to anyone on whom he would place his hands. The term also extends to other forms of trafficking for money in “spiritual things”.[2][3] Simony was also one of the important issues during the Investiture Controversy. Wikipedia . [1770] TREASURY OF MERIT

Let’s pick up where we left off 2 posts back. We were talking about Martin Luther and the events that led up to the Protestant Reformation.

In order to understand the key act that caused the protest- we will have to teach some Catholic history/doctrine.

In the 16th century Pope Julius began the effort to build St. Peters basilica in Rome. He got as far as laying the foundation and died. Pope Leo the 10th would pick up after him.

The church needed to raise money for the project- and the German prince- Albert- would play a major role.

It should be noted that both Catholic and Protestant scholars agree that the Popes of the day were pretty corrupt. They came from what we call the Medici line of Popes.

If you remember last month I wrote a post on the Renaissance- I talked about the Medici family and how they played a major role in supporting the Renaissance that took place in the 13th century in Florence Italy that would spread to the region.

Well this very influential family also played a big role in who would get top positions in the church.

At the time of Luther and prince Albert- if you had the right connections and the money- you could literally buy a position in the church.

Albert already held 2 Bishop seats- and there was an opening for an Archbishops seat in Mainz [Germany] and he wanted that one too. [overblog- see the rest here- https://ccoutreach87.com/2017/01/24/galatians-5/ ]

It should be noted that official Canon law [church law] said you could only hold one seat at a time- Albert was bidding on his 3rd one! And he was too young for all of them.

So even the Pope and the officials held little respect for what the church actually taught at the time.

So Albert opens up negotiations with Leo- and the bidding starts AT 12,000 Duckets [money] Albert counters with 7,000- and they agree on 10,000. How did they justify the numbers? 12- The number of Apostles. 7- The 7 deadly sins. 10- The 10 commandments.

Yes- the church was pretty corrupt at the time.

So Albert works out a plan with Leo- he will borrow the money from the German banks- and pay the banks off by the Pope giving Albert the right to sell Indulgences.

What’s an Indulgence?

Okay- this is where it gets tricky.

The ancient church taught a system called The Treasury of Merit. This was a sort of spiritual bank account that ‘stored up’ the good deeds of others over the years.

You had the good deeds of Jesus at the top- but you also had Mary and Joseph- the 12 Apostles- and other various saints thru out time.

The way the ‘bank’ worked was you could tap into the account by getting a Papal indulgence- a sort of I.O.U. that had the Popes guarantee that it would get so much time out of Purgatory for a loved one.

The actual sacrament that accesses the account is called Penance [confession].

When a penitent does penance- he confesses his sin to the priest- and he is absolved by the authority of the church that the priest has. The priest usually tells the person ‘say so many Hail Mary’s- Our Father’s’ and that’s a form of penance.

One of the other things the church practiced was called Alms Deeds. This term is found in the bible and it means giving your money to the poor- it is a noble act that Jesus himself taught.

In theory- part of the sacrament of penance was tied into Alms Deeds- you can access the account thru the practice of giving to the poor- which also meant giving to the church that helps the poor- and in the hands of the Medici line of Popes- meant outright giving money to the Pope.

So now you see how the abuse worked its way into the pockets of the faithful.

Albert now had the permission from Leo to sell these indulgences in Germany- and he would pick a certain corrupt priest to sell them in a place called Saxony- the region where Luther operated out of.

It should be noted that the Catholic Church never taught the crass act of ‘buying your way out of Purgatory’. The practice of including giving money as a part of the sacrament of penance was tied into the biblical principle of giving to the poor- a good thing.

But Tetzel and others abused the official meaning of the indulgence- and did make it sound like you could by your way out of Purgatory [in theory- a loved one might be in Purgatory for so many years- and through the indulgence you are actually getting time off for them- because the good deeds of others are now applied to the account].

The money Albert would raise- half would go to Rome for the building of St. peters- and half would go to pay off the banks in Germany- it was a sad system- and a sad time for the church as a whole.

It would be wrong to judge the entire church at the time as being corrupt- you did have many sincere Priests and Catholic men and women who saw the abuses and did not take part in them.

But there was corruption at the top- and this would eventually lead to the breakup of the church- and the launching of what we now call the Protestant Movement.

As a side note- it should be said that many Catholics and Protestants are not aware of the whole treasury of merit system- and the church never officially changed her position on the doctrine.

There were 3 Church councils since the time [Trent- 1500’s, Vatican 1- 1800’s and Vatican 2- 1962-65]. The Treasury of Merit never came up for change.

Obviously Protestants don’t believe in Purgatory- and it’s not my purpose in these posts to change Catholics into Protestants or vice versa- but to give all sides a clear view of the issues that divided us- and to try and be honest- and respectful during the process.

Does the bible teach anything like a Treasury of Merit? Well actually it does. The bible teaches that the righteousness of Christ is the treasury that people can access- by faith- and become righteous in the sight if God.

The idea- applied to Christ- is good.

But in the hands of the Medici Popes- and the ambitious prince of Germany- it would lead to disaster.

[parts] The writings of Aristotle would be discovered again during the time of Thomas Aquinas [13th century Catholic genius/scholar] and this would lead to Scholasticism [a peculiar school of thought developed/revived under Aquinas] and give rise to the Renaissance.

Okay- before the birth of Christ- the Jewish people resisted the imposing of Greek culture upon them- you had the very famous resistance under the Jewish Maccabean revolt- where the Jews rose up and fought the wicked ruler Antiochus Epiphanies- and till this day the Jewish people celebrate this victory at Hanukah.

Eventually Rome would conquer the Greek kingdom and the Jewish people were allowed to keep their culture and temple- yet they were still a people oppressed. Hassidism [getting back to the beginning] [parts]

VERSES- 2 Timothy 3:12 Yea, and all that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution. In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations Romans 8:9 But ye are not in the flesh, but in the Spirit, if so be that the Spirit of God dwell in you. Now if any manhave not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of his. In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Acts 8:1 And Saul was consenting unto his death. And at that time there was a great persecution against the church which was at Jerusalem; and they were all scattered abroad throughout the regions of Judaea and Samaria, except the apostles. Acts 8:2 And devout men carried Stephen to his burial, and made great lamentation over him. Acts 8:3 As for Saul, he made havock of the church, entering into every house, and haling men and women committed them to prison. Acts 8:4 Therefore they that were scattered abroad went every where preaching the word. Acts 8:5 Then Philip went down to the city of Samaria, and preached Christ unto them. Acts 8:6 And the people with one accord gave heed unto those things which Philip spake, hearing and seeing the miracles which he did. Acts 8:7 For unclean spirits, crying with loud voice, came out of many that were possessed with them: and many taken with palsies, and that were lame, were healed. Acts 8:8 And there was great joy in that city. Acts 8:9 But there was a certain man, called Simon, which beforetime in the same city used sorcery, and bewitched the people of Samaria, giving out that himself was some great one: Acts 8:10 To whom they all gave heed, from the least to the greatest, saying, This man is the great power of God. Acts 8:11 And to him they had regard, because that of long time he had bewitched them with sorceries. Acts 8:12 But when they believed Philip preaching the things concerning the kingdom of God, and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized, both men and women. Acts 8:13 Then Simon himself believed also: and when he was baptized, he continued with Philip, and wondered, beholding the miracles and signs which were done. Acts 8:14 Now when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent unto them Peter and John: Acts 8:15 Who, when they were come down, prayed for them, that they might receive the Holy Ghost: Acts 8:16 (For as yet he was fallen upon none of them: only they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus.) Acts 8:17 Then laid they their hands on them, and they received the Holy Ghost. Acts 8:18 And when Simon saw that through laying on of the apostles’ hands the Holy Ghost was given, he offered them money, Acts 8:19 Saying, Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost. Acts 8:20 But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money. Acts 8:21 Thou hast neither part nor lot in this matter: for thy heart is not right in the sight of God. Acts 8:22 Repent therefore of this thy wickedness, and pray God, if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee. Acts 8:23 For I perceive that thou art in the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity. Acts 8:24 Then answered Simon, and said, Pray ye to the LORD for me, that none of these things which ye have spoken come upon me. Acts 8:25 And they, when they had testified and preached the word of the Lord, returned to Jerusalem, and preached the gospel in many villages of the Samaritans. Acts 8:26 And the angel of the Lord spake unto Philip, saying, Arise, and go toward the south unto the way that goeth down from Jerusalem unto Gaza, which is desert. Acts 8:27 And he arose and went: and, behold, a man of Ethiopia, an eunuch of great authority under Candace queen of the Ethiopians, who had the charge of all her treasure, and had come to Jerusalem for to worship, Acts 8:28 Was returning, and sitting in his chariot read Esaias the prophet. Acts 8:29 Then the Spirit said unto Philip, Go near, and join thyself to this chariot. Acts 8:30 And Philip ran thither to him, and heard him read the prophet Esaias, and said, Understandest thou what thou readest? Acts 8:31 And he said, How can I, except some man should guide me? And he desired Philip that he would come up and sit with him. Acts 8:32 The place of the scripture which he read was this, He was led as a sheep to the slaughter; and like a lamb dumb before his shearer, so opened he not his mouth: Acts 8:33 In his humiliation his judgment was taken away: and who shall declare his generation? for his life is taken from the earth. Acts 8:34 And the eunuch answered Philip, and said, I pray thee, of whom speaketh the prophet this? of himself, or of some other man? Acts 8:35 Then Philip opened his mouth, and began at the same scripture, and preached unto him Jesus. Acts 8:36 And as they went on their way, they came unto a certain water: and the eunuch said, See, here is water; what doth hinder me to be baptized? Acts 8:37 And Philip said, If thou believest with all thine heart, thou mayest. And he answered and said, I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. Acts 8:38 And he commanded the chariot to stand still: and they went down both into the water, both Philip and the eunuch; and he baptized him. Acts 8:39 And when they were come up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord caught away Philip, that the eunuch saw him no more: and he went on his way rejoicing. Acts 8:40 But Philip was found at Azotus: and passing through he preached in all the cities, till he came to Caesarea. Isaiah 53:1 Who hath believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the LORD revealed? Isaiah 53:2 For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. Isaiah 53:3 He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Isaiah 53:4 Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. Isaiah 53:5 But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. Isaiah 53:6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:7 He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth: he is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so he openeth not his mouth. Isaiah 53:8 He was taken from prison and from judgment: and who shall declare his generation? for he was cut off out of the land of the living: for the transgression of my people was he stricken. Isaiah 53:9 And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death; because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth. Isaiah 53:10 Yet it pleased the LORD to bruise him; he hath put him to grief: when thou shalt make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of the LORD shall prosper in his hand. Isaiah 53:11 He shall see of the travail of his soul, and shall be satisfied: by his knowledge shall my righteous servant justify many; for he shall bear their iniquities. Isaiah 53:12 Therefore will I divide him a portion with the great, and he shall divide the spoil with the strong; because he hath poured out his soul unto death: and he was numbered with the transgressors; and he bare the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

NEWS- http://www.cnn.com/2017/04/12/politics/russia-syria-tillerson/index.html http://www.foxnews.com/world/2017/04/12/russian-nuclear-capable-bombers-fly-near-japan-us-officials-say.html https://www.infowars.com/google-searches-for-world-war-3-hit-highest-ever-peak/

http://www.corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com https://www.facebook.com/john.chiarello.5?ref=bookmarks https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/ https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZ4GsqTEVWRm0HxQTLsifvg

https://plus.google.com/108013627259688810902/posts https://vimeo.com/user37400385 john chiarelloFollow On https://www.linkedin.com/home?trk=hb_logo http://johnchiarello.tumblr.com/ http://ccoutreach.over-blog.com/ Note- Please do me a favor, those who read/like the posts- re-post them on other sites as well as the site you read them on- Thanks- John.#

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Acts 7

Sunday sermon [Text]

Acts 3

[brokeassperson-blog]

First

This is my first post. My first time writing about this part of my life. At this point I figure I might as well try anything and everything.

I fucked up again. I lied again. I failed you and moreso failed myself. My weakness is deeply imbedded in something truly dark. I know what it is but I can’t tell you because it is painful and selfish at the same time.

This time I placed rules on myself to see if I could follow them. I gave you tools to keep me in line. I went the wrong direction. I should’ve believed in myself even when I knew you didn’t and I should’ve put all my focus on fixing my issue.

My problem is that I have been focusing on the symptoms of the problem and not the problem itself. I have to change. I have to break the cycle I’ve been stuck in. How can I have such an amazing life and still not find true happiness? Where is this sadness coming from? Where is this drive to act out and do stupid shit coming from?

It came from you. Hear me out. You opened a door in our lives I never knew was possible. It was new and absolutely amazing! We pushed boundaries! It was beautiful and scary and helped us grow as a couple and as individuals. There were times we pushed those boundaries a little too much and we had to take some time and recover. There were mistakes along the way as well. We both aren’t angels in that aspect. But everything was good.

Something changed after the assault. This is to be expected. You and I both went through a Great War and it lasted a really long time. You needed to put yourself back together. I needed to help you and be by your side to support you in every way I could. You questioned things. Why didn’t we leave when you first asked me to? How could I have let that happen? Where was I? There were plenty of what if items to file through but in the end, it was his choice and his evil that made the act happen. But that wasn’t the totality of that night.

What I didn’t think about at the time was how I would feel after all the chips hit the floor... I didn’t properly process the situation in its entirety. I went to counseling for my anger and it was justified. I went to counseling to help our relationship and the therapist couldn’t find anything wrong other than we had a history of pushing boundaries and sometimes some stuff gets pushed further than expected. I’m different than you. I process things differently. I don’t hold onto memories with the same grip you do. I don’t apply as much emotion into the decisions of others as you do. I think I learned a long time ago that to do those things only brings on pain that I don’t want to deal with. I think this lets me move through life a little lighter in the end with a more optimistic outlook in general. It is this same style of processing that has hidden something from me below the surface. Just deep enough to not be seen but shallow enough to be felt and to affect my life. With most people this is relatively easy to figure out but for me it is an unknown variable. I think it’s the reason that no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get things with Laura to work.

We were letting ourselves be free and the night at Eli’s was really no different. Nothing too crazy I assumed because it was our friends house and we have to put the persona out that we can be relatively normalish. The evening was still a bit early and I took Carissa to go get more ice. Eli’s mom was still at the house with everyone else. I figured you were in good hands. I didn’t ever think that it was your hands and thoughts and desires that would be my first enemy that night. When I got back I had no idea what had happened. What you said and what you did. I was completely clueless to it all. Then you told me what happened when he assaulted you the next day. That’s where my story of the assault started. I had my memories of what I saw the night before but I was quite in the dark about what happened before that moment when it came to your interactions. You left that part out of your story to me. You left that part out of your story to the cops. And you tried your best to leave that part of the story out completely. Eventually I received hints from you about “other” things that might have happened earlier in the evening. Then I read the statements from the others involved taken by the detective. All I could think of is hell no! There is no way that happened because 1. She would never disrespect me and do that. With my friends. 2. She would’ve told me. This was huge and she would’ve told me if it was true.

It was true. It was all true. Even the part where you wanted both of them to take you upstairs and have their way with you. This broke me... This broke who I was. Who I thought I was to you. Who I thought I was to myself. It not only broke me, it broke my self image. Then I still had to face the person you broke me with every day at work. Even when he wasn’t there physically he was all around me. I can only imagine that he told the truth of it to anyone and everyone on his side. What he did was the worst thing you can do to someone but what happened between you and those guys that night cut me just as deep. And I had to live with that every day. Being reminded of it every time I came to work.

You say I lie like I breathe. It’s pathetic but you love me anyway. That I don’t know how to love or what true love is. That I don’t know how to love deeply even though I’m the one that taught you how to love in the first place. These things aren’t true. Some are absurd and others are extremely exaggerated. I have failed. Myself and you. But I wake up and fight every day. I lie because I am embarrassed for failing and I don’t want you to know. I don’t want you to be hurt by my failings because I know how it feels. You’re right, I’m not an addict. I’m just trying to find a happiness in all of it anyway. I’m making poor decisions because they feel good for a short time. I look to others because I don’t see that night in them. I’m not your alpha. That night I wasn’t even your beta. I was third string at best. I’m still here though. I’m still waking up and fighting everyday. I’m still searching for a way to fix it all. I can’t forget about that night but I can forgive and I can work past it.

First I have to stop letting it control me and my choices. The choices I make don’t give me the happiness I’m looking for and they only hurt you which is not what I want at all. I need to be truthful with you but I don’t know how to bring such a horrendous thing up. It is painful and I can’t pull away from the fact that it is selfish of me to be so mad after such a terrible thing happened to the person I love more than anything. I was hoping that it would subside over time but it’s not and I’m not keeping it from guiding my decisions. I am currently sabatoging everything good in my life.

I don’t have the answer. I have to accept it to move in. I can’t seem to accept it without knowing every detail. All I have is a horrible summary of events with lots of stuff left out. Trying to process that has been impossible and here I sit. Unable to process it to the level I need to and therefore letting it control me without the information to fight it. Without the tools to win. This is why I don’t have the answer. I haven’t been able to find a tool that will get me to where I need to be.

[notveryglittery]

ssps prompt #9

summary: “And where was the last place you saw the object in question?” “I already told you, Lo– er, Detective Holmes.” words: 2,500 / ships: platonic logince, if you squint warnings: mentions of a previous injury/burn, illness, deceit, daggers/a sword, fighting, potion use, blood. notes: read prompts: #6, #7, and #8 or else you’ll be really confused! we’re almost there, guys!! shout out to nick for helping me figure out virgil’s deal with the dragon-witch! @sanderssidespromptsummer / read on ao3

Twenty hours later and Virgil was still bedridden.

He’d woken briefly twice, moaning about being too hot or too cold, before slipping back into a fever-induced and restless sleep. Logan couldn’t understand it. They weren’t supposed to be able to get sick, unless Thomas himself was ill, and wasn’t taking care of himself. Generally, the sides weren’t effected by such things, seeing as they weren’t technically physical. Virgil, however, was showing signs of… Well, that was the other thing. No matter how much research Logan had done in the last twelve hours (and only because Patton had forced him to get some rest), he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what Virgil had come down with.

There was no hiding the wound on his neck from Patton and Roman once they’d come to help. Logan had explained as quickly as he could to the others what Virgil had told him before falling unconscious. As such, they had him created a new room entirely next to Patton’s. It was easy to do something like this and they did so frequently, for group activities or planning in pairs, when they didn’t want to be effected by each other’s rooms, or didn’t feel like using the Commons. It was a simple guest bedroom but it was protected by the same rules: the Dragon-Witch could not enter it. Patton moved frequently in and out of it, forgoing using the door just in case, and Roman had to remind him to not sink in and out so quickly, as he kept getting dizzy afterwards.

Remy had stepped in eventually to help Patton lay down for a nap because Patton (the hypocrite) hadn’t slept a wink since finding out what happened to Virgil. He’d helped Roman to calm down as well when the former flipped his lid over finding out about the deal Virgil had made with the Dragon-Witch. Or… as much as he could find out, seeing as how Virgil hadn’t actually gotten around to telling Logan. He’d very nearly gone into the Fantasy Realm on his own to take care of this before Logan had stopped him. He had insisted on Roman not going alone, on there being strength in numbers, and really, Logan was quite sure the only reason Roman had agreed to wait, was because Patton was giving him a very stern look from behind his back.

“I’ll come with you,” Remy offered, sipping from his Starbucks tumbler. He’d been at it far more often than usual and Logan was beginning to wonder whether he was drinking coffee or tea. Remy hadn’t slept, either, but seeing as he was the Figment for sleep, it might not have been necessary. Logan added it to his list of things to look into.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave Patton alone.” Logan glanced upstairs, where Patton was currently taking care of Virgil. “We both know how he gets when Virgil is unwell.”

“Understatement,” Remy scoffed. “Alright, I’ll stay with pops, then.” He brandished his phone, eyebrows raising from behind his sunglasses. “Text if you need me.”

Logan promised.

Two hours later, with the sun midway through its journey in the sky, Roman and Logan headed into the Fantasy Realm. Roman was armed to the teeth, with his trusty sword, and a number of daggers hidden on his person. Logan carried with him a satchel, filled with potions Roman had retrieved from an apothecary in the nearest village. There was also a spell book and Roman had insisted Logan read from it while they traveled to the Dragon-Witch’s lair on horseback.

“I don’t know a thing about magic, Roman,” Logan countered. “I’m not sure I’m the best person for this.” Still, he thumbed through the pages. Anything was better than nothing.

“I know that, Specs,” Roman answered and his tone was hard. He’d been on edge for so long, Logan was surprised he hadn’t ground his teeth to dust. “Just look through it to try and find one that might help us. I can cast it if necessary.” Logan added that to his list of things he didn’t know about Roman.

“You’re capable of casting spells?” Logan asked.

Roman huffed, shooting him an amused glance. “Don’t sound so shocked. I’m capable of lots of things.” For a moment there, he sounded like himself again. “It’s only in my Realm, anyway.” He shifted in his saddle. “And a lot of good it does me when I can’t use it to simply teleport us to our destination.”

“I don’t understand,” Logan began, carefully. “This is your Realm. The Dragon-Witch is a creation of your own. Shouldn't you have full control over… all of this?”

Roman’s eyes narrowed and he scowled. “After today, I will. I allowed her too much free reign. It was…” He sighed and Logan was startled at how suddenly his mood shifted. It was as if the guilt on his shoulders was suddenly physical, weighing the prince down. “It was to challenge myself. If she had more… free will, then she might have proved a mightier foe. I am a presumptuous imbecile. I’ve learned my lesson, do not worry.”

It was silent for awhile longer. Eventually, Logan spoke, “you were being proactive. There’s nothing wrong with testing oneself in order to come out stronger in the end.”

They rode on. They made camp as the sun set. They woke as the sun rose. They rode on.

The mountain towering above them was intimidating but Logan was as far from frightened as possible. He had priorities and he trusted Roman. Leaving the horses tied to a nearby tree, they continued on foot. The path was treacherous but they kept an eye on each other. Roman’s anger kept his energy up and his senses were on high alert; that it had been so quiet on their entire trip was slightly unsettling and completely suspicious. Eventually, they came to the mouth of a cave. The entrance was lit with torches.

“This is it.” Roman muttered. He took his phone from one of his pockets (it was strange, seeing the device in such a medieval setting) and sent a text to Remy, letting him know their whereabouts. Logan took one of the torches and stepped closer. “Shall we?”

Roman took another torch and led the way. Logan followed close behind, keeping a tight grip on his bag. The potions were wrapped in cloth so as not to clang together noisily, but he kept them as still as possible, regardless. It grew cooler the further they ventured and Logan was glad to have worn a scarf instead of his usual necktie. Soon, the sound of bubbling liquid and wood crackling in a fire reached them. The tunnel opened into a wide cavern. In the very center sat a cauldron. Shelves stood against the walls, some hosting books, the others filled with bottled ingredients. A figure stood over a desk with their back turned to Roman and Logan.

“What are you doing here?!” Roman shouted and Logan startled at the volume.

They dropped the papers they’d been shuffling through and spun to face the pair.

“Deceit?” Logan asked in disbelief.

“I couldn’t ask the same of you,” Deceit snapped, gaze darting nervously around the space.

“It’s my Fantasy Realm!” Roman retorted, tossing his torch away and storming towards Deceit. Logan stood still, thoroughly confused. “How’d you even get in here!” He was pulling a dagger from his belt and Logan decided then that maybe Roman’s fury was misplaced.

“Roman!” He called, stepping carefully further into the lair. “He’s not our enemy.”

Deceit seemed to be holding it together but the smirk he sent towards Logan was not earning him any favors. “On my side, Logan? That’s not surprising at all.”

Roman came to a staggering halt, just an arms reach from Deceit. His grip tightened on the hilt of his weapon. “Have you seen the Dragon-Witch?”

“That delightful creature?” Deceit grinned but Logan saw no joy behind it. “She left only minutes ago. You just missed her.”

Roman released a frustrated cry and flung the dagger he’d been holding so tightly into a shelf. The book it imbedded itself into fell to the ground. “Would you stop talking like… like that! I… We need to help Virgil! So for once in your damn life, just give us an honest answer!”

Logan gestured impatiently in Deceit’s direction. “I suggest you listen to him.”

“She’s been out for half an hour,” Deceit responded after a moment. He bent to pick the notes up. “And I know why you’re here. It’s…” He hesitated, shuffling through the pages. “It’s what I’m here for as well.”

Roman growled, fed up by now with Deceit’s manner of speaking. He instead took to exploring the cavern, tearing through the shelves, looking for a solution. Any solution. Logan approached Deceit and looked over what remained still on the wooden surface. “Have you found anything helpful?” He asked, willing to accept what ever assistance they could get at this point.

“No,” Deceit told him softly. “There was a handheld mirror here but the moment I got near it, it disappeared.”

“And where was the last place you saw the object in question?” Logan asked, grouping more papers together, as if he would find the mirror underneath them.

“I already told you, Lo–,” Deceit paused, finally getting a good look at Logan. He smirked, “er, Detective Holmes.”

“What—” Logan began to ask before Deceit pointed to his scarf. It was the same one he used when dressing up as Sherlock Holmes. Logan frowned at him. “Very funny.”

“It was here.” He motioned to the table. “I don’t know if it just went invisible or if she could see me through it and teleported it to herself before I could take it.”

“… Do you mean to say, she might know that you’re here?” Logan asked slowly, turning on the spot to face the entrance of the lair.

“I suppose,” Deceit said without care, right up until Logan tugged on the end of his capelet. Deceit pivoted as well.

“Well, well, well,” the Dragon-Witch purred, “what a pleasant surprise.”

“You!” Roman bellowed. He yanked another dagger from his belt and flung it at her without hesitation. A wave of her hand had the projectile tossed away but Roman was already running towards her, sword drawn. She conjured a staff from thin air and parried Roman’s attack as he swung at her. “What have you done to Virgil!”

Logan dropped his torch and rifled through his satchel. Handing the spell book to Deceit, he sorted through the potions, trying to read their labels in the low light. “See if you can find anything useful in there, won’t you?” Logan requested. Deceit muttered something about what good it would do if he couldn’t cast magic but did as asked. The clanging of metal on metal rang throughout the cavern as Roman and the Dragon-Witch traded blows.

“How is the little storm cloud doing?” The Dragon-Witch queried sweetly. “I do hope he’s feeling alright. He hasn’t completed his end of our bargain yet.”

“And he never will!” Roman spat, “not so long as I am breathing!” Taking the last small knife from on his person, Roman aimed it for the Dragon-Witch’s side. She couldn’t block all of his attacks and the blade sunk into her skin. Roman twisted it as she gasped, faltering in her defenses. Roman pushed harder against her staff.

Quite suddenly, Logan appeared. Grabbing a fistful of the Dragon-Witch’s hair, he tugged her head back and, with her mouth open in agony and surprise, forced a potion down her throat. He backed away just as quickly, pulling Roman along with him as he did. When Roman began to protest, Logan held the bottle up for Roman to see. It was labeled Weakening. Sure enough, the Dragon-Witch fell to her knees. Holding her side as she gasped, a laugh trickled from her lips. “Aren’t you a brave little thing,” she sneered at Logan.

“How’s this?” Deceit asked, shoving the spell book in Roman’s face. Roman elbowed Deceit in surprise and the trait backed away, grumbling. The title on the page was in bold lettering: Teller of Truths.

“How’d someone like you find something like this,” Roman snarked.

“Roman.” Logan said, in his best scolding Patton tone.

“Apologies,” Roman amended, though he sounded like he only half meant it. He wasted no time in chanting the spell. Logan made yet another note to ask Roman what language it was in and when he had learned it. Sparks gathered at his fingertips before he held his hand out towards the Dragon-Witch.

“What was the deal you made with Virgil?” His voice echoed throughout the lair. Logan watched as the Dragon-Witch struggled to keep her mouth clamped shut, to resist answering the question. Eventually, the magic took hold, and though she spoke haltingly, she spoke true.

“To break your curse, his own would drain him of energy until every last drop of it was mine.” She hissed, narrowing her eyes. “He’d have been volatile because of it, negatively impacting your host, so that I could easier take over.”

Logan wondered how much of that Virgil had actually agreed to and how much of it had been fine print.

“Is there a way to lift his curse without creating another?”

“No.” A layer of tension fell over the Sides.

“Do you have anything in here that can do it?”

“…” It looked like she was going to bite her own tongue off.

“Do you. Have anything. In here. That can do it?”

“Yes.”

For the next ten minutes, Logan and Deceit brought various books and ingredients and potions over while Roman asked if any of them were what would break the curse. Eventually, Deceit returned, carrying a bottle with a viscous, blue liquid inside. The label on it was of a padlock.

Still bleeding from her side and growing weary from the effects of magic, the Dragon-Witch lowered her head when she saw it in Deceit’s hands.

“Will this lift Virgil’s curse?” Roman demanded.

“Yes.”

Roman’s eyes flashed red as he suddenly let the spell drop. He slammed the book shut. The Dragon-Witch tipped over, falling to her uninjured side. Her eyelids fluttered. “This won’t be the last time, my prince,” she promised, smiling sickeningly up at him.

“I know,” he told her, resigned. Gesturing for Logan and Deceit to leave before him, Roman followed out after them, walking out backwards and keeping his eyes on the Dragon-Witch until she was no longer visible. He ran the rest of the way out to find Logan preparing for the trip back down the path. Deceit stood awkwardly to the side, potion still held tight in his grasp.

“Forget the horses,” Roman said, waving a hand. Though they were all the way at the bottom of the mountain and not currently visible, Logan could only assume Roman had sent them back to their stables. “Put that,” he pointed to the antidote, “in your bag.” Logan carefully took it from Deceit, who was looking more uncomfortable by the second.

“Until next time, then,” Deceit began before Roman was taking one of his hands in his own.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Roman snapped, though there was no heat behind it. He took Logan’s hand in his other. “Hold tight.”

[ebonyphotographs]

Hello. Could you do Ignoct and 38 please? :)

Anon, I have delivered. 

The ask was for the 50 Kisses prompts, and 38? A Kiss… Because They’re Running Out of Time

You can read this jazz beneath the cut, or you could click here to see it on my AO3. This was so nice to make so thank you for giving me the chance to create it. I’m glad it has a place in the fandom. Yes it was nice. Nice and sad :’) *spoiler alert* angst at the end

“Nowthen,” the Advisor cleared his throat. “Again. From the top.”

Ignis readjustedhis arms for his Highness’ ease of reach. The pouty Prince hadn’t seemed soexcited to try again though. This had to be the tenth time they had started‘from the top’ this session. Arguing the matter did very little to reassureNoctis that there was a chance for improvement.

“I can’tdance,” he tried telling the determined Chamberlain. Seems he was notgoing to take ‘no’ for an answer - at least not until he could be sure HisRoyal Highness had memorized something from today’s practices. Anything woulddo. He knew Noctis was stubborn. But he could be persistent, too.

Again the stringquartet raised their fingers to the correct notes of their instruments. Theymust have been so sickeningly familiar with this piece that they didn’t want toplay it anymore. Noctis didn’t blame them. He was starting to hate it too,mockingly anticipating each note, strum and chord. Though he picked up theband’s perfection of synchronicity - it’s timing in all its rehearsal - he justcouldn’t get himself to match that rhythm. And he knew it would happen again.Even still he laced his hand with Ignis’, pausing ever so slightly to stare,and came close. He glanced down to be certain he aligned their feet togetherproperly. The same each time; if only he could just stand still in thatposition then he’d be good at something. Oh, if only.

Then the motionscame. Before the third step, the Prince felt he’d already failed.

“It doesn’tmatter how many times you demonstrate this, Specs. That left foot is alwaysgonna be clumsy.”

Calm and collectedthe duration of their waltz, Ignis upkept his pace in the lead. “Nevermind that,” he instructed. His flow failed to skip a beat. “One step at atime.”

“You make thisseem so perfect,” Noctis growled. He lifted his leg and dipped down intoIgnis’ forward bend. Being led like this pissed him off for some reason. It wastoo intimate. Too premeditated. Schedules were a drag enough as it was but thiswas just ridiculous. Ignis knew right where to go without faulter or flaw witheverything he did anyway. This occasion was no exception. He was courteous and(to his own degree) he was nearly seductive. There was charm in his everygesture. His lovely dancing did more than just discourage his partner. He wasdownright embarrassed.

The motions gotaway from Noctis here and there, and Ignis had to pull him in by his waist. “Don’tstray too far,” he’d say. “Stay close.”

“Yeah,right,” Noctis shakily replied. Though he was about as angry as could be,he couldn’t help but obviously gawk at Ignis. He truly was good at these poshinteractions. The routine must have been imbedded in him since he had studiedthese dances for long hours with his father, the King. From the way his lipslightly parted for air in-between spins and the freed look in his soft greeneyes as he twirled, Noctis believed he was actually enjoying this.

Great, well at least one of us is, he thought.

“Oh no. I don’tlike this part.” Noctis dread the chorus. How was he going to get thisdown if he could barely make it a fourth of the way through?

“It’salright,” Ignis stated. “Just focus on the steps. You can strengthenyour technique after committing the steps to memory first.”

“Specs, youknow I can’t do this part. I suck at it.”

“Mind yourlanguage if you would, Highness.” Ignis was sharp to remind him of hismanners though he seamlessly returned to his generous etiquette an instantlater. “Push onward.”

“Ignis comeon-”

“You needn’tuse fear as an excuse to quit. ‘Come on’ yourself, Noct. I believe inyou.”

Where had thischeer come from? Utterly upsetting.

The anxietypressured Noctis’ footwork. And just as he’d foreseen (not at all forced by hisown doubts - by sheer accident) his shoe lifted early above Ignis’ and when itcame down with all its force, the weight of his leg smashed the top of hisoxfords.

“Dammit,”Noctis grunted. He hadn’t wanted the band to hear his vulgar outburst, but thisrepetitive error was just unacceptable. He watched his Advisor give off visualpain. It spread across his face as he cringed his nose and arched his thineyebrows into a frown. “I can’t keep this up,” he winced. “Let’s just faceit. Can we please just stop?”

“No time to stop,”Ignis returned. “That’s what practice is for. You’re doing fine. Justmatch me like you’ve been shown. There’s endless room to grow.”

Noctis made hisbest effort to calm down and adapt. This couldn’t go on much longer. He hadn’tmade it this far into the song before, had he? He didn’t know. His head wasgetting foggy. Relax. What the hell comesnext? A series of agitated sounds escaped the Prince’s mouth in slurs. Themethod vanished. There was no next step; he’d stomped Ignis’ foot but he hadn’tacted offended or slowed at all. Not in the slightest. This was just too much.He didn’t want to think - he just wanted to stop moving.

Ignis laughed atthe noises his Highness made. “You’re falling behind. Does this melody notinspire you? Does it not make you feel beautiful?”

Suddenly, Noctisjerked his body away from their link. “I feel stupid!”

The music skippedand began to fade. Finally, as the silence crept over, Ignis showed hisdisappointment. Noctis turned his head away from everything and folded his armsover his chest in frustration.

After some time ofstanding frozen peering at him in a vex, Ignis sighed out. Seemed pleasantrywas not the way to address this issue. He faced the quartet at the corner ofthe wide-open ballroom knowing all too well that they would hear him in thepitched quiet. “If you wouldn’t mind giving some privacy?” he askedof them. “I’ll send for you…”

Noctis ignored theservants as they bowed their heads in respect and escorted themselves out in anorganized line. Once the heavy double doors creaked closed, Ignis fixed hisglasses and took a breath. Before he could speak anything other than his namein the serious tone he used to get him to mind, Noctis cut him quickly down tosize.

“Being alonewith you isn’t going to change my mind.”

Another sigh cameaggressively from the Chamberlain’s lungs. “Do you really see no purposein growth?” Ignis pinched his brows together and rested his other handagainst his hip. “Mistakes aren’t proof of failure. Rather, theydemonstrate your better ability to learn.”

Noctis peeked athim from the corners of his eyes. His disposition remained protected beneathhis angry guise.

“If you trulyfeel ‘stupid’ as you’d said, then I would like to know why. Can you explain itto me?”

Noctis fidgeted.“…I stepped on you.”

“This is noreason to lose your temper.”

“I stepped onyou each time.”

“Though thatmay be,” Ignis went on, “I still wish to see you try again, your Highness.”

Noctis shook hishead, groaning loudly and unfolded his arms. “No, no not again. I’m notdoing this a hundred more times.”

Ignis managed a chuckle.��The exaggeration is a little unnecessary-”

Two stern eyespointed fiercely in his direction. “After the end of this month, I knowfor a fact we’ll have done this over a hundred miserable times!”

Ignis snapped backinto his professional disposition. He poised himself with certitude as here-approached the royal heir. “I know you’re striving for an end to thepractice. I can guarantee despite your attitude that you are improving.Vividly. Can’t you see that? …Can’t you see what I see?”

“No. I don’tbelieve you.”

Ignis extended ahand out to him. Patiently his fingers intertwined with his. This was no timefor him to lose his temper either. This was just the right time to show love.This was a calling for compassion, not belligerence.

“Do you remembersome years ago when you were small and you had tripped in front of your father?The King and I were standing right there looking at you when it happened. HisMajesty had wanted to coddle you, you know - he forced himself to refrain fromrunning right to you that day. Did you know that? You were fresh from yourwheelchair, walking on your own for the first time since the unfortunatehappening. You had feared our reactions when you sat up and looked to us afterthe fall.”

Noctis recalled theinstance and found himself easing from his tension just a bit. His father wasworried about that?

Ignis raised Noct’shands and massaged his nervous, sweaty palms. “You scrapped your tinyhands. Skid and landed square on your nose. I went to cover my mouth as Igasped, but then I looked to King Regis. I discovered then that he wastranquilly smiling. Your father pat my shoulder and he explained that I shouldnot be afraid, and that I should convince you the same.”

He bat his eyes atIgnis. A personal tale of his father was as rare to hear as it was important.For Ignis himself, the memory of the fall was still clear as ever. So clear infact that it took him away from the ballroom to the day itself when the shadowsof rainwater pelting the windows washed over the Prince as he was inches fromcrying out.

“Yourexpression is still like a photograph in my mind. Our eyes met. I knelt down,arms open, and I encouraged you to get back up and make your way to me. I triedto encourage you that you were going to be okay; that there… was no need to weep.”

Yes, that was whathappened wasn’t it? Ignis was there. He hadn’t left, he was the face he turnedto. The arms he reached towards. Suddenly, Noctis was feeling silly. He feltguilt taking over. Sighing out, his Highness shamefully took a seat on one ofthe cushioned chairs alongside the cello where it had been left behind by itsplayer.

Now he really didfeel stupid.

“Augh… Dad.He cared, huh? Wish he’d said so.”

Ignis bent over infront of Noctis’ lap. He used his fingers to fix his lenses one more timebefore he took his both his hands in his own and lowered his tone to a tenderhush. “He tried to, Noctis. The one he wanted you to care about wasyourself. He left the role of parenting with someone… who,” he started to struggleexplaining the concept, “…could be more present for you in your time of need.”

Noctis grasped forwords to respond. “I don’t know if I believe that. I couldn’t just… Imean, I don’t…”

“I believed inyou, Noct. Just as he did. Don’t you understand? You had all the strength youneeded within you to get to your feet and walk again. And you did. You were sorelieved once you came into my arms. Just as you did then, you can do now. WhatI saw that day was a young man who was learning from the bottom up. It’s notyour fault that you feel at the bottom in this case. You learned from yourprevious handicap and have all you need to do well with this dance, have younot?”

“I guess,”Noctis showed his teeth through a grin. “I expect all the right answers tocome out of you anyway. You might not be holding my hand, but…” Hesoftened. “You still take care of me.”

Ignis giggled.“I’ve seen you trip many times. I’ve seen you get hurt and hurt again Ihave. Even with bruises on your skin you keep moving onward.”

“That doesn’tmean it doesn’t hurt on the inside. What it doesmean though is that, well, I guess I’ve grown kinda… dependent on you. Y-youknow, kn-knowing you’re there and stuff. I don’t know…”

Bashful. How sweet.Ignis beamed with good energy.

“So then,”he lifted Noct’s hands to clench them close to his face. “Know that justas I always have, I understand your struggles. As a part of you, I grow whereyou grow and where you feel pain or anger, I am there alongside you the verysame.”

He took a breathand hesitated a moment. Sometimes he doubted whether he was saying all theright things. Had his advice turned more affectionate than educational? Wasthat really alright? It was almost coming off in a cheesy way.

“Continue todepend on me then,” he nodded. He wasn’t sure he should be saying it, buthe wasn’t stopping himself either. It was impossible to just put it all back inhis mouth like he could pretend it never happened. “I promised to be here.No matter if you’re dancing or falling, my purpose is to guide you. Joy orsorrow, sun or rain, I am here for you.” Ignis lifted his hands up to hislips where he pressed a loving kiss against his fingers. “Could we tryjust a few more times to get the rhythm? Please?”

Noctis’ cheeks hadflushed by the Advisor’s kiss. His pupils trailed upward following Ignis’ bodyas he stood. He lifted Noctis up along with him. It was unfortunate to have toforce him like this - he didn’t exactly want to. For the sake of their timetogether, it had to be done. If it had felt one hundred percent right to teachhis liege to depend on his lead in such ways, he might not have felt soculpable for the inevitable repercussions. There was still plenty of time forhim to grown on his own: to be independent without his hand to hold. But therewas sadly less and less time every second for them to live it out.

Second by bloodysecond…

A prayer to thegods alone would not be enough to save Ignis from the fear of his own handslowing the Prince down. What an awful thought that was. It was as if he couldalready hear the Shield telling him 'you can’t baby him forever’. It was true,and yet…

What if Noctis wasthe one to tell him those things instead? Someday he may very well do so, solong as he had a good reason. Even if he didn’t, Ignis would never want that tohappen. Ignis had to be strict. His elements hadn’t fully prepared him tosustain a proper balance of emotion. Hopefully he had spurred some kind of confidence in his Highness.

“It seems nowthat we are running out of time…”

“Yeah. Iknow.” Noct straightened himself and huffed his cheeks.

“Please tellme that’s not false confidence.”

“…what?”

“I-It’snothing. Please.” Ignis offered him his hand again.

“From thetop?” he asked. He rolled his eyes at first when Ignis said nothing else,but upon placing his arms along the outline of his body, he found himselffeeling safer.

“Can we try itwithout the music? Maybe I can do better if I just… not get the hang of thesong, but, maybe you?”

“Noct?”

“Well I mean,I just wanna dance with you. No instruments and maybe no steps for a while. Youknow, free-style it. If I’m gonna have any comfortability, because I know thegala’s gonna blow no matter what, I wanna be comfortable with at least you. Ican hide how sucky I feel around others but I can’t really hide much of that fromyou, huh?”

Ignis stretched hisneck and re-positioned himself. “Maybe this was the wrong direction afterall.” His raised smile suggestedhe wasn’t so upset anymore.

“What do youmean?” Noctis stressed. He was turning red again from having Ignis’ handson him, one around the waste and one still locked with a hand of his own.Touching Ignis’ neck, looking straight into his eyes. Still just as intimate asbefore. Did nothing really change?

“The playerscan wait. They’ll be disband accordingly once our time is through. For now, Ican honor your request. But do you really think you can dance withoutmusic?”

“Nope. But Idon’t need to. It’ll make me uneasy no matter what I do. But it’s whatever.Besides, I can still hear the damn song in my head without hearing it out loud.”

“Right then. Andafter I curve your waltz, your language is next.”

~

A tapping soundreached Ignis’ ears, slamming him up from his dreams. The absence of rest was afamiliar sensation, even after setting duties as Retainer on the backburner toput survival to top priority.

The world wasblack. There was no difference between the world of unconsciousness and the remnantsof their darkened star. The reduction of Eos - along with all its life andlight - had cast everything into blindness. None knew such struggles as Ignis’actual blindness. Though it hadn’t been a crutch he leant on, those who aidedhim had seen for themselves first-hand the sheer strength he possessed. Heendured this loss of direction, the uncertainty and all its burdens,shouldering perseverance all the way through for ten years.

Ten long years.

Ignis was on hisfeet instantly when he heard the knocking. His ears were always listeningclosely. His lack of vision didn’t give him the need to open his eyelids. Hewouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was still so exhausted from the night before.He could fake it. The effort to do so was there. He hadn’t needed any sensesother than trust to know who was at his tiny motel door.

“Prompto,”Ignis tried to sound wide awake. Maybe it sounded a little too labored. It musthave been obvious that it was fake.

“HeyIggy,” Prompto’s voice came from the other side of the door. From wherethe blonde stood, he heard Ignis practically collide with the door in a rush,unlocking the latches and opening it fast.

A brief burst ofcool air swung from the corners of the door, but Prompto wasn’t hoping to beconvinced of anything. He knew better. By the way of his knock, the situationwas already evident. Even still the scarred man held the breath in his chestuntil it stung him.

“He’s readyfor you.”

And that was all heneeded to hear.

Within minutes,Ignis was dressed as well as he could be. He straightened out what he could anddidn’t bother to make himself look flawless, if he could even truly judge thatanymore. He was sure the one who summoned him would understand. He knew hecouldn’t get himself down to the same key as he once had before. His best wouldhave to be good enough even if it wasn’t the best he’d wanted to present.

Once he was sure hehadn’t foolishly overlooked anything basic (socks, shoes, jacket… yes, he wasindeed wearing clothes) he left behind his room and used the mental map of theLeville he’d memorized - through hours he spent wandered its halls, touchingits frame and tracing its outlines - to make haste for the streets and venturedown to the outlook.

Hurriedly hemarched until the vibrations of the open viewing area made its graveled scrapeson the underneath of his shoes. Grass was starting to grow through the cracksthere. There was a presence awaiting him that he detected immediately, and itmade itself known once he had come close. Ignis could swear his heart wasstopping at the sound.

“Ignis.”It was Noctis. His voice was solemn, Ignis could tell, but then the grownPrince – now a King – laughed. “Slow down. You’re gonna break aheel.”

“You’re hereafterall,” Ignis remarked, pulling a look. He’d so obviously been shakenat the knowledge of being asked for a private moment with him.

“I wasn’tgonna stand you up,” he said soothingly.

Noctis must havebeen fidgeting. He would do that sometimes when he was shy about something, andit wasn’t as if Ignis hadn’t taught his senses to sharpen. Now of all times,his senses were interrupted by the pounding of his veins. His shoulders sankand he tried to make himself relax. He knew there was something sensitive aboutto be unveil.

“As if youhadn’t done so before,” he casually teased. “Your Majesty, if youwouldn’t mind-”

“I’d like tojust say first what I came here to say, before I lose my moxie.”

Ignis heard Noctput his hands into his pockets. He was facing him. Staring directly at him; ifhe wasn’t mistaken. “Even I don’t use that lingo much anymore.”

“Heh, that’sprobably true. Ignis…”

The man swallowed.“Yes?”

Harsh air pooledthrough his teeth as he inhaled deeply. “Tonight, would you uh, please, um…”

The stalling wasdestroying Ignis. He wondered if it was destroying them both. It had been solong since Noctis initiated a serious topic or any sort of emotionalconversation. And since he’d given his word to discuss what was on his mind thenight earlier – not to mention the fact that he sent Prompto as a messenger forthe very sake of the circumstance – he’d been anticipating the outcome. Itstung. It burnt. It brought back feelings in places Ignis had believed to beshut down. Parts of himself he had abandoned. Noctis brought those sensationsback.

He called his nameagain, slowly, with meaning. “Ignis.”

He remainedgrounded and attempted with his best effort to maintain composure as Noctiscame inches closer. “I’m here.”

“I know youare,” Noctis said. “You always have been here for me, even when Icouldn’t be for you.” There was silence. Blind or not, he knew Noct musthave been gazing at the scars painted along his brow beneath the lenses of hisvisors. “Now that we have time, and we’re alone…” the Kingoutstretched a hand towards his Advisor. “I want you to dance withme.”

Ignis blanked. Washe in shock? He knew he’d heard correctly; why in gods’ names was hequestioning it. “A-A dance?” he tilted his head forward.“Now?”

“It’s now ornever. You know I can’t dance, so just say yes. Make this easy for me.”

“Hah, I don’tbelieve this… a dance. Now.”

“Yes. Please?I’m only asking. You don’t have to. And… if you do,” he added kindly,“I’d like you to dance with your Prince, not with the King.”

“So, this iswhat you called me for. To dance.” Ignis grinned softly at first. Itwasn’t long before it blossomed into a blissful smile, wide and honest. He toostretched out his hand and found Noct’s. It was bare and so warm it must havebeen sweaty. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

“What?” Asmidge of fear peeked through his tone. “Why would you-”

“It’s alright,your-… your, Highness… Take my hands. I would be honored to have my feetstepped on again.”

“You are taking this seriously aren’tyou?”

“How could Inot? I’ve longed you in my arms ever since you’d left them.”

So naturally as itwould happen to be, the two had conversed the offer. And just as before, somany many times before, Noctis came close. Perhaps even closer than Ignis had expected.Their chests touched, and soon he felt Noctis’ nose against his. Their fingerslocked, twirling considerately with a delicate hold. Their feet matchedposition. And when Noctis moved, Ignis recognized the steps.

A laugh came out.Really, he’d wanted to cry. Not now. He couldn’t. This was their routinepractice. And the song… even here a million miles away from peaceful galasand royal engagements Ignis could still hear the strings. Every note that had enthusedhim to move and sway.

It all came back.

By the texture ofNoct’s chest, Ignis could feel the fabric of a sleek suit. Had he dressed upjust for this? Noctis was so near, smelling so finely. It was home again. As ifthe endless hell they had suffered never came between them. Noctis spun withgrace and returned promptly. He dipped down as Ignis bent forward over him. Thesame delightful flow. Impressively enough, the lessons had stuck. So he coulddance afterall-

“Ouch!”

“Dammit,sorry! That was an accident I swear!”

“Foot up, your Highness.” Ignis was sofast on scolding him, he hadn’t even grasped that he had until he felt Noctislean his head far backwards to belt out in laughter. His cheer was socontagious suddenly. So suddenly, the world was fading from its infinite shadesof black, and worlds of color began to return. Here: where they danced with oneanother unafraid. The golds of the ballroom pillars bled into view. The tileson the floor shone and glittered by the light of the tall windows as they movedhand in hand, their shadows whirling through their brilliant rays. All thatmattered was that they were together where they felt timeless. They felt safe.

They feltbeautiful.

As their patternsbegan to slow, repeating one final time before the dreaded end, the dream ofthe Prince started disappearing. It was getting dark again. Everything was beingswallowed by blackness once more. Facts reformed: Ignis was blind and there wasno youth before him. This was the present. The world was in ruin, the Citadelhad been stolen, and their lives were permanently changed. And though he wishedhe could treat this moment as a gift, it was ending. Just as the world was ending.Fate had its place among them and it was closing in over their every lastsecond. Yet again they were running out of time.

He felt Noctis’hand start to slip. It was time for the bow. They’d practically never made itto a proper bow in those years of the past when their anxious Prince forged hisway through dances. The bow was significant, a sign that the experience wasworthwhile for both involved. And it was. But…

This would be thepart where everything would be over and he would have to let go of his hand forthe final time. He couldn’t hold onto it forever. Forever was no longer anoption.

Ignis gripped it.His dearly beloved must have felt the tug. But he pulled away, and pulled likehe meant it. In a cruel way, Noctis was doing him a favor. Had his handsspoken, they might have been begging him to let go. Ignis’ heart was no longerin a state of threatening to cease beating, but it may have been ready tocrumble and break. The hand was gone. It wasn’t coming back.

The two faced oneanother at a distance and lowered their torsos to close their dance. A prayeralone could not hide Ignis’ choked up cries no matter how he may have forcedthem down. What would it take not to hide his face in his hands and wail? Whatwould it take not to embarrass himself now?

This was it. It wasthe end. It was over.

“Anotherkiss?” Noctis whispered. “Would you let me?”

Ignis straightenedhimself out. Upon standing upright, the tears flowed out the corners of hiseyes and dripped down his cheeks. He cursed them all the way for revealingeverything he hadn’t wanted them to. Without answering, his King, his Highness,his friend returned and wrapped his arms around him. He held Ignis close enoughthat he could be rocked by the throbbing of his heart. They held onto oneanother tightly for a long, long while.

It couldn’t erasethe future, but when he kissed him, it was all it took to preserve their past.A kiss upon his lips to remind him of the taste of life and love and all thelessons they’d learned from it. To the last bitter touch, his kiss stainedIgnis’ mouth, and it remained there, somewhere it would be protected by the fulfillmentof a single promise.

[darknesstodawnuniverse]

Whumptober Day 5 - Explosion

This one got away from me a little bit and is like 1800 words instead of just 1000 lol. But I didn’t think you’d mind. Unbeta’d and just for fun.

You can find this on ff.net and Ao3 for your reading convenience as well.

Read the rest of my Whumptober 2017 prompt fills here.

Aramis nudged aside the curtain with his pistol, warily making his way into the next part of the room.

“Nothing here!” Porthos shouted from another room in the small house. “You?”

Aramis didn’t reply right away as he moved further into the space, eyes searching. He didn’t see anything immediately amiss but the back of his neck was tingling in warning and his instincts were clamoring that something was very wrong.

Loud footsteps echoed out in the hallway and then Porthos spoke from the doorway.

“Aramis?”

“I’m here,” he replied distractedly as his gaze continued to roam restlessly.

There were more footsteps and then Porthos ducked through the curtain.

“Anything?” Porthos asked.

“I don’t know.”

Porthos eyed him curiously.

“Got that tingly feeling, do you?” he asked knowingly.

Aramis hummed a confirmation, still wandering the room. He noticed a small half sized door tucked in the corner and moved over to it. He clipped his pistol back to his belt and felt around the edges of the door, finding a space to curl his fingers around. He glanced at Porthos, who shrugged. Aramis looked back at the door and then pulled it open.

Sparks ignited at his feet, lighting up a line leading into the small closet.

Aramis stared blankly for a moment and the small barrel tucked deep inside the small space. Then his eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at. He took a startled step back.

“Porthos?” he called calmly.

“Yeah?”

Aramis turned and started urgently towards him.

“RUN!”

It spoke to Porthos trust in him that the larger man didn’t hesitate to turn and rush for the door. Aramis was only a few steps behind him.

Neither of them made it before the world exploded around them.

 Porthos returned to consciousness with a groan. He blinked blearily, eyes watering as the settling dust stung them.

“Bloody hell…” he mumbled as he tried to get his bearings.

Something was pressing heavily against his back, but an experimental push off the ground offered little resistance. He wriggled himself free a moment later and squinted around the dark space, trying vainly to see through the heavy layer of dust in the air.

“Aramis?” he called experimentally. When there was no immediate response, he tried again. “Aramis!” When eerie silence was all that followed, Porthos felt a stirring of panicked worry. He stumbled to his feet, heading back towards the source of the explosion. Aramis had been between him and it.

He nearly missed him. Might have walked right past him if he hadn’t tripped over Aramis’ boot. He stared in momentary horror at the piling of debris hiding his brother from view. Then he shook off his shock and dropped to his knees, pulling at pieces of the wooden wall that had collapsed across Aramis’ back.

“Aramis!” he called worriedly. “Come on, ‘Mis, answer me!” He shoved aside more debris. “Aramis!” Another piece of wood thrown aside and he could see an arm. “Aramis!” he called again, voice desperate and growing more panicked the longer he went without a response.

He heaved the largest piece of debris aside and finally had a clear view of his brother.

Aramis was sprawled on his stomach, head turned to the side, but appearing in one piece. Porthos reached out, cupping the side of his brother’s neck with his hand.

“Aramis?” he called again, giving him a gentle shake. He leaned closer, spying a small pool of blood collecting under Aramis’ mouth. His hair was wet with it as well, but Porthos couldn’t tell where it was coming from. “Aramis, wake up!” He demanded, giving him another careful shake.

But Aramis didn’t move. The only assurance Porthos had that he wasn’t dead was the slight rise and fall of his back that proved he was breathing. Swallowing with a dry throat, Porthos looked Aramis over more thoroughly.

He saw it then.

The shard of wood imbedded in Aramis’ back, a bit left of his spine.

Porthos let out a sharp breath, shaking hands hovering over the wound.

“I don’t…” he shook his head, desperate eyes glance back at Aramis’ lax face. “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. He closed his eyes. “Think, Porthos… Think.”

Every time one of them was stabbed and the object was still inside them, Aramis always wrapped something cloth around the wound to stabilize the weapon until he was in a place where he could adequately treat the wound.

“Right then,” Porthos muttered, pulling out the hem of his shirt and ripping off a large chunk. He carefully wrapped the fabric around the shard of wood and then sat back on his haunches.

Now what?

Porthos looked around, squinting through the dust to see if he could find a way out. The building hadn’t collapsed on them, which was the only reason they were still alive. But walls had blown out and the structure seemed one wrong move away from falling in on itself. He had to get Aramis out of here.

“Okay…okay…I’ll get you up and get us out of here,” he assured to his unconscious friend.

First, he carefully took hold of Aramis shoulder, slowly rolling him onto his side, carefully conscious of the debris in his back. He had to swallow down his worry when Aramis’ head lolled lifelessly.

Porthos leaned over, pulling Aramis up and resting the marksman across his shoulders. Then Porthos pushed up on unsteady legs and started searching for a way out. He thought he saw a bit of sunlight cutting through the dust and made for it.

He was still a few steps away when he heard shouting - a familiar, if not a little uncharacteristically panicked, voice.

“Aramis?! Porthos?!”

“Athos!” he shouted back, nearly overcome with relief. He took the last few steps to the hole in the wall and peered through it. Athos appeared suddenly on the other side. The swordsman’s eyes widened when he saw Aramis hanging limply across Porthos’ shoulders.

“He’s alive,” Porthos assured. “But he hit his head and he’s got a shard in his back.”

Athos’ nodded grimly.

“Step back,” he instructed. “When we get the opening large enough, be prepared to move quickly. The whole house is ready to collapse.”

Porthos nodded and retreated a few steps. He glanced sideways to where Aramis’ head hung limply next to his and watched in heightening concern as blood dripped from Aramis’ face to the ground.

“Athos! Hurry!” he shouted without taking his eyes off his brother’s lax face.

“Alright! Be ready!” Athos shouted back from outside.

There was a thud then a creaking sound. Then the sunlight suddenly spilled in over a larger area as some of the wall was torn away.

“Now, Porthos!”

Porthos ran for the light.

Hands caught him as he careened out of the building and he was hustled away as the house groaned behind them. They all paused and looked back when the building finally collapsed in on itself.

For several moments, Porthos could only stare at the place that could have easily been his grave and that of his dearest friend.

A groan from Aramis drew Porthos back to himself and he glanced at the marksman’s face, but his features were still lax.

“Here, let us take him,” a familiar voice spoke from Porthos’ side. Even though he recognized it as d’Artagnan’s, Porthos still jerked away, denying the younger man access to Aramis. It was instinctive, and protective, and entirely irrational but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Easy,” Athos spoke up, appearing in front of him. He held up a calming hand. “It’s just us. We wouldn’t hurt him, you know that. Let us help.”

Porthos shook his head to clear it, taking in ragged breaths.

“Sorry,” he offered, allowing them to come closer and help him ease Aramis to the ground. Athos caught his head and gently rested it in his own lap while Porthos carefully made sure the wound on his back was stable and d’Artagnan worked to arrange Aramis’ limbs comfortably.

“Try to rouse him,” Athos instructed. “He’ll hear you before he’d hear either of us.”

Porthos swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his dry throat and then leaned over Aramis, lightly cupping his neck and giving him a careful shake.

“Aramis,” he called firmly. “Come on, brother, stop being so dramatic. You’re scaring the pup.”

D’Artagnan rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Aramis remained unresponsive.

Porthos licked his lips and lowered his voice.

“For what it’s worth you’re scaring me ‘n Athos too. And you know how much we hate that.”

For a long moment, it didn’t seem to work. Aramis didn’t move or even twitch.

“Come on, ‘Mis…wake up,” Porthos pleaded quietly.

Finally, Aramis’ eyes fluttered.

“That’s it,” Porthos praised the progress, relief coloring his tone.

Aramis’ eye opened more fully and his gaze rolled around drunkenly before finally settling on Porthos.

“There you are,” Porthos greeted, feeling weak with relief.

Aramis blinked at him and then raised a shaking hand to point at Porthos’ head.

“Estas sangrado,” (You’re bleeding,) the marksman pointed out a bit dazedly, though dark eyes full of concern.

Porthos stared at him, momentarily dumfounded. Then he glanced at d’Artagnan. It had been established some time ago, much to their surprise, that d’Artagnan knew enough Spanish from growing up in Southern France that he could often be counted on to translate Aramis’ mumblings.

The young Gascon cleared his throat.

“He said, ‘You’re bleeding.’”

Porthos dramatically rolled his eyes and looked back at Aramis.

“You’re one to talk,” he accused lightly, grinning and shaking his head in exasperation. “I’m not the one doing an expert impersonation of a swooning damsel.”

Aramis’ lips quirked and when he blinked, his eyes were clearer.

“Well Athos makes such a fine…” he frowned, waving his hand in frustration, “almohada?” He looked to d’Artagnan.

“Pillow,” the younger man supplied with a smug grin at Athos.

Aramis snapped his fingers and pointed at d’Artagnan’s chest.

“Yes that…bloody headwounds… Anyway, I wouldn’t want to waste the opportunity.”

Said ‘pillow’ rolled his eyes, only to grimace when Aramis clamped his mouth and eyes shut, suddenly looking green.

“Ah, here it comes,” d’Artagnan announced as if he’d been anticipating this moment.

Between the three of them, they carefully supported Aramis while his breakfast made an unsightly reappearance. When he was done, Aramis eased more fully onto Athos’ lap.

“Why does my back hurt?” he wondered with a scowl.

“Well, you’ve got a shard of wood sticking out of it,” Porthos explained bluntly.

Aramis’ eyes widened fractionally in surprise.

“Yes, I suppose that would explain it,” he replied simply.

He arched an irritated brow when all three of them shook their heads in exasperation.

“That was impressively synchronized. Did the three of you plan that?” he asked sourly.

“Well we’ve had enough practice when it comes to you,” d’Artagnan quipped.

Aramis fixed him with a look of aghast disbelief.

“You wound me.”

“Look at that! Aramis admitting to a wound. I’m shocked!” d’Artagnan teased further.

Aramis scowled at him.

“I’m not that bad,” he defended.

“Yes, you are!” It was hard to say which of them offered the firm reply more loudly, since all three of them said it in perfect harmony.