#he was no longer there went off to heaven drinking from his silver cup whatever those death worshipping (pos) lyrics were

[robindrake93]

Is anyone going to talk about how this is the second time Branch has brought someone back from the dead?

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

🕯Anon said: hi sweetheart 🕊 can you write about armin having a quiet night with the reader? something like wearing comfy pajamas, fairy lights, cute little candles, incense, soft songs and maybe some reading? and they just cuddling? 🥺 i think about that whenever i go to sleep and do all of the above, but i'm just by myself lmao anyways, thank you so much 🌸 (btw i'm the anon who asked you about the armin x painter!reader 🥺 hello 🥺 i just love how you write can we be friends please) 🕯

Quiet night with Armin

{ Armin x Reader | tw:none | sleep help, comfort, fluff | modern }

{ "Twilight, Valley of the Genesee" 1865 by Samuel Colman 1832 - 1920 }

Shimmering golden hues weaved across pastel blue walls in the form of strings, crossing the bookshelf before making a turn at the plants corner, illuminating the room with a soft warm glow.

Your head rested against the satin pillow, just right above Armin's shoulder, close enough that you can see the rise and fall of his chest with every breath. The ends of his hair ghosting over your cheek whenever he leaned to tell a particular clever line of the book he's been reading to you.

You can't exactly remember the name of it, but you can clearly recall his excited smile this morning when showing it to you.

"It's one of my favourites" he said, "the last time i got to reread it was in high-school, has it really been that long?" And that's all you can remember from the conversation before it got sidetracked by him asking if you had lunch yet.

There's definitely something to be said about rereading a book over and over again, a sense of familiarity, an attachment to the characters, plot and world setting. It's almost magic how quickly your comfort book, show or movie can turn a horrible day into a nice one, making it the silver lining.

Looking at the way Armin would pause for a second after some lines, or chuckle at random scenes, like it's an inside joke between him and his mind, you can tell he's definitely recalling some good memories.

Just like how he's adding to his list of comfort memories by sharing this experience with you, he wants you to be a part of this silly book he once picked up as a child and continued to revisit every few years.

You glance at the remaining pages, just as he flips another one to start anew. You've already finished a third of the book, only a quarter remaining.

It's not that you're getting impatient, but it's more that the soft blanket draped over you, the warmth of Armin's body pressed next to yours and the sound of his voice, are all luring you into a hazy cloudy state where your eyelids feel too heavy and turning your head to check the clock seems too exhausting.

How long has it been? since you curled up against him right after you went to put your empty hot chocolate mugs in the sink.

You don't have the heart to tell him that your brain stopped registering the words he's saying and instead listens to the tone of his soft-spoken voice and reacts accordingly. Stealing another glance at the remaining pages, you notice a few missing, okay good, just a few more. You can hold on right?

Right?

Forcing your eyes open, you suppress a yawn threatening to rise before curling even closer to his shoulder, face against his neck, hand over his chest.

Instead of focusing on his calming heartbeat, you try to focus your attention on different things, like the smell of snowdrops flowers filling the room from the scented incense sitting on the nightstand. 

Snowdrops, the milky bell-like flowers who befriended the cold harsh snow herself.

An ancient German tale that Armin told you, on one early spring morning. When the universe was just in bloom, as the earth shaped its form and the plants dressed themselves, when the god in the heavens above just created snow, she was told to go seek her colours from the flowers below.

She came with her request, but the flowers turned their heads, refusing to acknowledge her for she is the reason for the harsh weather, deeming their life spans short, overzealous and jealous, protecting their colours from the merciless lady snow. 

She was left all alone, friendliness, colourless with no love or sympathy from a soul.

Except for one, came knocking on her door, head bowed down and humbly offered to share. Snowdrops were the flowers that warmed the snow's heart, and so white was the colour in which snow was known.

Snow made a vow, to always protect her one and only friend, even from her own self. Under her watchful gaze, snowdrops were gifted with warmth that let them be the first flowers to bloom when winter bid her goodbyes as spring was arriving soon.

You've never seen snowdrops the same since, their delicate and shy nature standing out between all the proud flowers, you even suggested planting some to Armin.

"...but sweetheart" you remember him saying with a frown, " snowdrops are poisonous."

…

Yeah, and so getting their scented incense was the second best option available.

You hear the sound of another page being turned, fewer left to go, just hold on a bit longer.

Wondering the room with your eyes, your gaze fell on the straw sunhat hanging from the on the back of a chair. It's Armin's favourite, he'd always wear it when the sun was particularly bright that day.

you remember him saying it was a gift from his grandpa when he was a child.

His grandpa...didn't you visit his farm a few months ago?

...yeah you did, you can recall clearly, how you were:

Squinting your eyes to avoid the bright sun, you wiped the sweat collecting on your forehead before leaning your head back against the wooden wall. The occasional passing cool breeze distracting you from the dryness in your throat, even after moving to sit in the shade your skin still felt too hot.

The grassy fields in front stretched wide before ending in white pained fences, where the crops patches for vegetables started.

The sudden gentle waves of cool air against your skin made you glance to the side, where Armin was fanning you with his hat, while holding a tray with two ice filled lemonades in his other hand.

"Are you sure you don't want to go inside?" He said, sitting next to you before handing you the cold drink, "you've already done a lot, I'll do take care of the rest."

You've been helping Armin with the farm work since sunrise, feeding the animals together and watering the crops, saying you're exhausted from the scorching hot sun was an underestimation.

And yet, somehow Armin seems unaffected. Not a sign of being bothered as he sat there next to you with his rolled up sleeves and cuffed pants, the slight flushing to his face was the only thing he got from the sun.

"Yeah, I need to lay down a bit." You remember saying, after emptying your drink in one go.

"If that's the case then-" setting the tray aside, Armin patted his lap while looking at you, "Come here."

Too tired to protest, you layed your head on his thigh, feeling your back stretching and the cool air from his fanning was already making you feel better.

"You know, there's a story my grandpa used to tell me about the sun."

An Australian folklore, about a time when the earth was merged in absolute Darkness, when even the stars refused to light up the sky.

Eternal darkness was the fate of humanity, as people were spent their lives carrying torches to light up their way.

Gnowee was an alone mother in a forsaken world, left to fend for her little son. Each day while he slept safely, she'd venture into the the fields in search for plants or seeds. Knowing very well that's it's a matter of life and death if she couldn't come back with something edible.

Each day she'd come with whatever she could find, feeding it to her son even if it meant sleeping on an empty stomach.

But with food scarce and the abyss looming at every corner, things were harder each day.

One day after rocking her child to sleep, she quietly left with her torch to dig for yams she saw on her way last time. Retracting her footsteps, it was a long journey but she knew it'd be worth it.

And so she walked and walked till she reached the place, began digging the ground but dirt and mud was all that she could find. But she couldn't just go back to her son empty handed, and so she wandered far.

She wandered so far in fact that she reached the end, not the end of her journey but the end of the earth itself.

Somehow, in someway she managed to pass from under it, her will for her son to live another day far greater that anything, and so she emerged from the other side.

The void.

Where nothingness lived.

Looking at the vast empty space, she didn't know where she was, the line between the ground and walls was so blurred that she thought she's floating.

Panic and dread filled her mind as she raised her torch higher and higher, attempting to clear a path for her to see. For she had to go back to her son, all alone sleeping by himself.

Climbing the sky was her only solution, as she wondered the world, unknowingly lighting up a path with her as she went.

"And so the Sun Goddess wonders the sky above, in search for her son." Armin told you that day, before offering you his own lemonade to drink because he was still worried about you.

...

You can't recall how that day ended, you think you might have fell asleep on his lap right after.

The fairylights on the wall reminded you of the clear stars sky you've seen while on the farm, his grandfather was a really sweet guy too.

With your mind still coulded in drowsiness, your hearing was also delayed apparently, since you just noticed the book in Armin's hold was closed with him staring at you with a smile instead.

Moving so he could set the book on the nightstand, Armin turned towards you before pulling you closer to him, making sure the covers don't slip off of you. He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with love in his eyes.

"I'm sorry baby, did I take too long?" He said, glancing at the clock behind you answered his question. 

You shook your head, murmuring a slurred "it's alright." 

Posture visibly relaxing, he gave your cheek a small kiss before resting too on the pillow next to you, a yawn escaping him.

With half closed eyes, you saw him cuddling close to your chest, features softening as he bid you goodnight. Your hand moved to stroke his hair just like he always liked, lacing your fingers through the soft strands you closed your eyes too. 

Warmth took over you, the feeling of his soft breath near your neck, the comfortable weight of his arms around you, the slow ticking of the clock, it all rocked you to sleep as you happily gave in.

[levis-hazelnut]

Summary: when you and your best friend, Hanji, were younger, you had made up stories about your dream guys - what they would look like and how you would meet. What happens when the one you had made up appears to be real?

Warning(s): suggestions of sex. please do tell me if there are anymore.

Taglist (closed): @castellandiangelo @fandom-addict19​ @20coldhearts​

Status: completed

part 10 > part 11 > part 12 (final)

series masterlist

(a/n: sorry this is me just being thirsty for levi, it’s completely self indulgent and barely has a plot)

I think what I’m about to tell you right now is probably one of the biggest surprises.

So, you know how both of my relationships never lasted longer than five months? Well, my relationship with Levi has been going on for eleven months now. Almost a whole year. Which means I’ve been living in heaven for the past eleven months.

This man is just amazing in every way possible (but please don’t tell him I said this because he’s going to piss me off). He can pretend that he doesn’t care about anything all he wants because I know how much of a sweetheart he actually is, and I hate him for making me fall even more in love with him.

And another reason why I hate him is because--

That god awful sound of my ringtone screamed into my ear and I knew who it was, seeing as how there was only one person who would call me at eight a.m. on a Saturday.

With a few grumbled curses, I blindly reached for my phone and answered it, “What?”

“Good morning to you, too, darlin’.”

“For god’s sake, just tell me what you want. I’m trying to sleep.”

“I’d like for you to get your ass out of bed since our exam starts in less than twenty minutes.”

... Wasn’t it the weekend?

“... Excuse me? Exam? Since when?”

“Look at your calendar, please, you idiot.”

“I may or may not have put it into my calendar because I relied on you,” I muttered, jumping out of bed and scrambling to find some clothes before quickly brushing my teeth and trying to fix my bed head.

“Also, stop by at the café before you come. I want tea.”

“Are you fucking dumb? I’m not stopping to get you tea when I’ll already be late.”

“It’s on the way. It’ll only add a couple of minutes to your journey.”

“If I’m late, I swear I’m going to--”

“It won’t be my fault if you’re late. Thank you for getting me tea. Love you. Bye.”

He cut the phone before I could even reply and I rolled my eyes, slamming the apartment door behind me as I rushed down the stairs and made my way to the café to get Levi his precious tea since I’m such a loving girlfriend.

With a shrill ring of the bell above the door, my arrival was announced as I looked to the counter to see Eren talking to Levi, with a cup of tea in his hands.

I frowned, marching towards them to slap the back of the raven’s head.

“What the hell?” he spat, flicking my forehead in retaliation.

“What happened to getting you tea, so I can be late to the exam?”

“There is no exam, darlin’.”

“What do you mean? Why did you tell me that there was an exam? Why would you make me lose precious hours of sleep?”

“Seeing as how you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. Last night you asked me to help you study. For the exams. But I didn’t think you’d get out of bed for our study session.”

“Stop knowing me so well and let me sleep. Now, you have to buy me a cof--” I cut myself off when he presented a hot cup to me and the aroma of coffee wafted around my nose, calming me down after I took a sip. “Thank you, babe.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied before turning to the male with turquoise orbs. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“No problem. I also cleared a table in the corner for you guys, so that you wouldn’t get too distracted.”

“Aw, thank you, Eren,” I grinned. “Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” I huffed, dragging the raven towards the table, where we both sat down, and he took things out of his bag before tucking it under the table.

“What do you want to focus on?” he asked, and then glancing at me when I didn’t respond because I was too busy focusing on the black t-shirt he was wearing. Perfectly fitted around his arms, tight around his torso and pecs, exposing the ripples that I love to run my fingers over. And he was wearing a couple of silver rings on his hands, and I didn’t think he’d be able to look more attractive.

“... You,” I replied to his question with a smirk, causing him to roll his eyes.

“I will walk out of this café if you don’t stop staring at me like a freaking weirdo and if you don’t pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“But I’m tired,” I whined, facepalming the table.

“That’s not my fault.”

“I will fucking kill you, Levi. You were the one that decided to call me for five hours last night. And the one who thought it’d be a wonderful idea to wake me up at eight in the morning.”

“... Fine. We don’t have to start straight away,” he told me, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, causing his biceps to bulge even more.

“Don’t sit like that.”

“Why?” he questioned, raising a single brow.

“Because I’m sure you don’t want to get fucked in a café.”

“Why are you always so horny, you freak?”

“You’re asking me that question while looking like that?” I scoffed with the roll of my eyes. “The audacity.”

“Just drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

“I will. By the way, do we have to stay in here? Can we go to the library or somewhere quieter?”

“Why? So you can fuck me?”

“No, you idiot. I just won’t be able to concentrate with all these people.”

“But you’ll get too sleepy if it’s quiet.”

“True,” I mumbled. “Okay, then. Just give me like half an hour and I should be ready to study.”

“What am I going to do for thirty minutes?”

“Maybe talk to your girlfriend, smartass,” I retorted, laying my head on the table again, squishing my cheek against it. There was no response, so the only sounds were the chatter of customers, glass clinking, and air conditioning because of the sweltering weather. I glanced at my boyfriend, wondering why he was silent, only to find that he was gazing at me. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” was his reply, which was unusual, before he took a sip of his tea.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About how we ended up here. Together. In a relationship.”

A tender smile conquered my lips as I reached my hand out for his, interlocking our fingers. “Thank you, Levi. For loving me like no one else did. And no matter how much you get on my nerves, I’m always going to appreciate you being here for me.”

“I’m not good with this shit, so yeah, same thing goes to you,” he said awkwardly, causing me to laugh.

“Can’t believe it’s going to be our one-year anniversary in about two weeks.”

“Going to be a year since I entered hell.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, kicking his shin, despite knowing he was joking.

“... You know what, let’s just go,” the raven-haired male randomly stated, standing up and gently tugging on my hand as our fingers were still intertwined. To my one-word question of: “Where?” he replied, “I don’t know, but I don’t feel like it’s day that we should study. We have plenty of time for that, so let’s do something.”

My hues shone brightly as I grinned and gladly accepted his offer, getting out of my seat and grabbing my coffee as he packed his things away prior to leading me out of the stuffy building, bidding farewell to Eren.

“Let’s go to your place. We’ll make breakfast, have it on the balcony, and do whatever after.”

“'Kay, then. But can we slip in a nap after breakfast because I’m still tired?” I requested.

“Of course.”

So, we made way to mine and Hanji’s apartment, relieved that I didn’t have to study all day today and could simply relax with the raven. That fact made me smile a little as I unlocked the door to the apartment, stepping inside and kicking my shoes off as Levi did the same, following you to your bedroom.

“Ten minutes, please. Then, we begin our date,” I sighed, plopping down onto my bed and he made himself comfortable, shifting my head onto his lap. Then, his slender digits began to soothingly drift through my tresses that were completely tangled, so he had gently unknotted my hair to make it easier to run his fingers through it.

“Remind me to never wake you up this early on a weekend again.”

“I always tell you, asshole. And you never listen to me.”

“Well, I’ve finally learnt my lesson. So, hush.”

After my ten-minute rest, I went to splash my face with water to wake me up a little, while Levi was in the kitchen, preparing everything for breakfast, seeing as how the only thing he ate for breakfast was tea and toast, and I only had coffee.

“Hey, darlin’, what do you want to eat?”

“Mmm, maybe crepes... Let me help.”

So, in the next forty minutes, I ended up with flour on my face and clothes, while that idiot was just smirking at me, and I had slipped because there was water on the floor. And all of it was amusing to my boyfriend, who seemed to be in a great mood since he kept chuckling (not that I was complaining because it was a beautiful sound). The annoying thing, though, was that I was too irritated to mock him wearing my floral apron that made him lose his debonair flair.

“You’re an idiot with her own comedy show,” he teased.

“I don’t know if that is a compliment or not.”

“It isn’t. I’m calling you an idiot.”

“Shut up. You’re the reason I’m covered in flour.”

“Just go sit down and eat. I’ll clean everything up.”

“You better, you clean-freak,” I mumbled, doing as he said, taking a seat at the table on the balcony as he placed down the plates and mugs before sitting opposite me. The sun grinned down on him, giving him an ethereal appearance and making him even more gorgeous. 

There was idle chatter as we ate because I was too exhausted and agitated to carry a proper conversation that had too much information for my brain to register.

Once we were done, the raven stood up to take the dishes to the kitchen and wash them (husband material right there) as Hanji approached me with a yawn, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes.

“How come you’re awake so e-- Oh,” she said when she noticed Levi.

“Yeah, he made me get out of bed early for no reason,” I complained as I stood up to help him. “There’s leftover batter for crepes, by the way.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Also, why is there flour everywhere?”

“Because of that idiot.” I rolled my eyes.

“You’re the idiot, darlin’,” he called from the kitchen before appearing before us, shooting an annoying and teasing look my way, and shot him a glare in return.

 From someone else’s perspective that don’t know us, we’d probably look like we hate each other, when in reality, this was basically our love language - annoying each other and glaring.

“I will punch you, Ackerman. However, I need to clean up, so you’re lucky.”

“Not like you would’ve, anyway. And before you say anything else, just go shower.”

Once again, I rolled my eyes but left the room to do as he said, grabbing some clothes and a towel before going into the bathroom. Just as I was about to close the door, however, it opened slightly and Levi stepped inside, shutting and locking the door.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“I said I’ll clean everything up, didn’t I? That includes you,” he whispered with a smirk, leaning in to latch his lips onto mine, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

~/~

Soft kisses were pressed along my hairline and my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, down to my jaw and further down to my shoulders. Lips continued to migrate, travelling to my neck where there were soft nibbles and flicks of a tongue against the flesh of my neck.

My fingers were tangled in ebony locks, damp and fragrant from our recent shower, and my nails gently scratched against Levi’s scalp as I drifted my hand through his hair. His touches were light and almost careful, like he didn’t want to hurt me, even though his teeth contrasted that when he sunk his teeth into my skin a couple of times before kissing the spot he bit as a wordless apology.

We were simply lying down in my bed, relaxing in a comfortable silence. I laid on my back with my eyes lidded, while Levi laid on his side, resting his head on my chest as he continued to pepper my skin in soft kisses and gentle nips.

These would always be my favourite moments. Just moments filled with adoration, silent declarations of love, and serenity. No teasing, annoying, or glaring. No retorts, no eye rolling, no grumbles. Only warmth, tenderness, affection.

“Darlin’?” he uttered in a hushed voice, but when I didn’t respond, he lifted his head to gaze at me, finding that I had fallen asleep. His ashen hues were full of fondness, admiring my relaxed visage before he pecked my lips and assumed his original position - his head on my chest and an arm slung over my torso.

While I was asleep, he was on his phone, scrolling through social media, occasionally sighing because he was bored. But he wouldn’t wake me up because I deserved to sleep.

It wasn’t until about twelve o’clock when I woke up with Levi’s head still laying on my chest, however, his grey orbs were hidden. So, with little movement, I attempted to reach for my phone, only to find that his fingers were entangled with mine, which made me smile softly because I hadn’t been holding his hand before I fell asleep.

And when I pressed my lips against his knuckles, his eyes fluttered open to meet mine, and there was a smile shimmering in his beautiful eyes.

“Finally awake, sleepyhead,” he hummed placing a single kiss on my jaw.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” I murmured, unhinging my jaw and letting out a yawn.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, putting up an act to support his lie. “No.”

I giggled softly, kissing his forehead. “Whatever you say, babe. Anyway, what are we doing for the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking something outside because the weather’s nice.”

“Oh, I know! There’s a funfair at the park just ten minutes away. Let’s go there.”

“Sure. We’ll leave in about an hour?” he suggested, and I hummed in agreement, tugging my boyfriend closer so I could nuzzle my face into his chest before we got out of bed. “Then, we can come back later and make dinner together.”

“That sounds nice,” I said in a hushed voice, feeling sleep taking over me once again. However, Levi attempted to save me before I completely gave in.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Shhh.”

For the umpteenth time that day, the raven rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the smile that edged onto his lips every time.

He doesn’t know what it was. But every time I would do or say something, even if it was the most stupid and idiotic thing he’s seen, he feels something warm flutter inside. And he realises how much he’s fallen for me, which has changed him. In a good way.

And all this time I thought I was a bad influence.

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

The Truth At Last (1981)

*A One In A Million AU fic*

Summary: After 40 years together the truth of Rose's identity comes out at last.

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: Thank you to the lovely reader who asked about if/ when Rose tells the guys she's actually from the future. I know I gave a mini head canon in my answer but the more I thought about it the more the plot bunnies hopped around and this little fic was born.

The Truth At Last (1981)

“Come on lazy bones, let’s go!” Bucky shouts up the stairs. You place a hand on your husband's arm, settling him in his excitement. Even at the ripe old age of sixty-three, Bucky still gets overly excited at new things like a child. He gives your youngest grandchild a run for her money at times and she’s only four. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Steve grumbles as he descends the stairs to join you in the foyer. He’s fumbling with the buttons of his favorite blue shirt, unable to get the buttons through the holes as quickly as he’d like. His arthritis is flaring up again, it’s been doing that more and more lately. 

You push past the pang of sadness at seeing your husband struggle and pull him close when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, “Come here, love. I’ve got it.” you tell him, fixing the buttons of his shirt with quick efficiency. 

Steve checks his hair in the mirror by the door; the blonde is shot through with white and silver, though the cut is the same as when you met him. Even at sixty-two he’s quite striking. Bucky and you make sure to remind him of that regularly too. “You look great, Stevie.” Bucky assures him, pressing a quick kiss to the other man’s cheek before you head out the door. 

The walk to the new cafe is only four blocks from your old brownstone but the three of you take your time. There’s no need to hurry anymore. Now that you’re all retired, you can spend your days together doing whatever piques your interest at your own pace. Bucky had retired at fifty-five after an accident at the docks; his foot healed quickly but he realized he was getting too old for that type of work. Steve had been doing commissions only since the kids were born, taking jobs here and there as needed. It had helped tremendously when the kids were young. The last two years though, his arthritis had worsened and he’d stopped taking jobs. He claimed he wanted to create for himself while he still could. You were the last to retire, finally giving your notice the year before, and leaving your beloved library after almost forty years of service. You still go in once a week to lead story time for the children but you left the heavy mantle of Library Director behind. 

The cafe is a little brick shop with a lavender awning and wide glass windows. It’s cheery looking and definitely fits in with newer shops that have come into the neighborhood in recent years. Bucky holds the door open causing a little bell to chime up above and the scent of coffee hits your nose. It smells like heaven. 

Bucky insists on ordering for all three of you, so you and Steve take a table by the window while Bucky hurries over to the counter. You sit quietly looking around, letting a gentle melancholy sink into your bones. You miss the days of setting up shop in a Starbucks to work on your college papers, sipping an endless stream of lattes and staying right up until they closed for the night. Being back in a cafe like this dredges up those fond memories and you wish you could share them with the guys. You’d always meant to tell them, but even after forty years together, the timing never seemed quite right. And the longer it went, the more impossible it seemed.

“Here we go!” Bucky interrupts your reverie, placing a tray with three steaming cups and a plate of treats on your table. He slides into his seat and snatches a lemon scone with a wide grin, his sweet tooth just as wild as ever. 

You reach for the cup immediately after recognizing it as a latte; eager to devour it despite the steam flowing freely from the foam. The first sip is overwhelming, the taste of espresso and steamed milk hitting your tongue for the first time in four decades.

“It’s called a cafe au lait.” Bucky explains, “This is the only place in the city that serves them and they’re just the best.” 

You’re lost in your own little world, practically on the verge of tears as your taste buds welcome the familiar flavor. “God,” you murmur to yourself, “I missed this.” 

“What, doll?” Bucky asks, his nose wrinkling in confusion. 

You look up to see two pairs of blue eyes staring at you in confusion. 

“Nothing,” you assure them quickly, “It’s nothing.” 

“You said you missed this? Did you come here without us? They just opened last week.” Steve chimes in. He’s like a damned dog with a bone. 

You’re overwhelmed by the memories the latte has drug up and the guys are pestering you in unison with increasingly teasing questions as to what you meant and how you could have had one before in order to miss it. 

Steve is chuckling at Bucky’s last guess, “If she’s able to climb out a window at 2am-”

“Because I have had them before! Okay?!” you snap, cutting him off. “Hundreds of them. I practically lived off them while I was studying for my masters!” You huff out an exasperated breath, your pulse racing with frustration. 

“Your what?” Steve chokes out in confusion. 

“Oh hell.” You mutter, now you’ve done it. The conversation you’ve been avoiding for two thirds of your life is upon you and somehow you’re still not ready. 

“I think this is an at home type of conversation.” Bucky suggests. “Let’s just finish this up and we can head home.” 

The three of you drink your lattes quickly and Bucky asks for a paper sack to take your treats home in. None of you are willing to eat anything with the nervous energy buzzing around. You feel like you’re going to vibrate out of your bones between the caffeine and the terror of what you’re about to reveal to your husbands. You can’t even imagine what this will do to your marriage. To your family. The happy plans you had for your retired lives together are turning to ashes in your mind. 

You and Bucky take your usual seats on opposite ends of the sofa leaving Steve to opt for the middle seat opposed to his favored recliner. You barely know where to start but the guys are waiting patiently for you to begin. “I know things are going to change after this, but please, please know how much I love you. How much I’ve always loved you.” You choke back a sob before continuing, “I didn’t move to New York in 1941. I’d lived there since college in 2028….” Slowly, and through a sea of tears, the whole truth comes out. It takes almost an hour and you feel like your insides have been scraped raw between your memories and the quiet tears freely flowing from all three of you. By the time you’ve finished you’re convinced they’ll ask you to leave. They haven’t said a word, just gripped each other’s hands desperately and sniffled at the occasional stray tear. 

“We always suspected you had an interesting past.” Steve chuckles wetly, “But I never saw that coming.” 

Bucky huffs a teary laugh which brings one of your own up and just like that the tension that’s been brewing for the past hour spills. Steve scoots forward to take you in his arms, peppering you with kisses while Bucky moves in to hug you overtop Steve. 

They have questions, lots of them, but you expected they would. The guys take turns; Steve asking about your life growing up and Bucky mostly wanting to know about more “cool future shit” as he’s calling it. You’re discussing the challenges you faced trying to adjust to life in their time after knowing how much better it was for women in the future when Steve gets himself so worked up in self righteous fury that he has an asthma attack. You hold the inhaler patiently to his lips, pressing the cylinder to release his medication for him since his hands still ache. When his breathing evens out enough that you and Bucky are no longer concerned, Bucky starts teasing Steve about trying to be the center of attention despite this being about you. 

You spend the full day on that old olive green sofa together. Things you haven’t thought of in ages coming to mind, and you happily share the memories with them. You’re all stiff-muscled and sore by dinner time when you finally get up to rummage through your kitchen for food. The heaviness in the air is gone now, a subdued feeling of relief in its place. You all agree the children won’t be told. It’s better just keeping it between you three. The guys seem to truly understand your reasoning in not telling them and aren’t holding it against you. All in all, they took the news remarkably well. You should have known though. The love you share is the love of a lifetime and something that strong doesn’t just flicker out. 

You’re putting three little frozen chicken pot pies in the oven when you hear the guys shouting in outrage over the sound of the television in the living room. You head towards the sound of their discontent.

“Rose!” Steve calls to you, “The MLB just went on strike! Can you believe it?! They’re cancelling 23 games!” 

“Oh my god.” you gasp, surprised that the league took such drastic action. Baseball was the only sport watched in your house, both of the guys completely obsessed from July through October every year. It’s going to be odd seeing how this strike plays out and you’re sure the guys will be complaining about it well past when the season ends.

“But you probably already knew that, right?” Bucky teases you lightly. 

You stare at him in shock for a moment before swatting him with your dish towel. “Jerk.” 

Steve snorts in his effort not to laugh, but Bucky laughs with his whole body, amused by his own self. 

“Funny.” you chastise him, “Really funny, guys.” 

They settle but are still wearing twin grins of amusement. Throwing an eye roll their way, you head back to the kitchen to start on the salad. After everything, a little teasing is a small price for years of hiding, and one you’re more than willing to pay. 

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - part 6

Steve Rogers x Reader [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,623

Warnings: Drinking and stuff

A/N: Again, read it and you’ll understand why it took so long. It’s confrontation time! Some questions are answered yay! That said, I’m sorry it took so long. Also spot the quotes from the movie ;) 

The following Saturday, Steve woke up at dawn and started cleaning up everything in sight. It was new to him. From a young age, he had to help with chores in any way he could.

Chores became a daily part of his life; setting the table, doing the dishes, throwing out the trash and cleaning his own bedroom, but he had never scrubbed the toilet before.

Once he was done, he took a step back and smiled. The sight of the spotless apartment gave him a deep sense of satisfaction. Then he went grocery shopping and bought all kinds of candy, drinks, chips and salsas.

At home, he tore open the bags of candy and emptied their contents into the large porcelain bowls he had found in the cupboard. The candy bars were laid out on a long silver platter while the crystal wine pitchers were filled with orange juice or soda.

It was nearly seven when F.R.I.D.A.Y. told him that his guests were in the elevator. Steve rushed over to the front door and glanced through the peephole. He smiled when he saw you exit the elevator, Bucky following closely behind.

You were arguing; you because Bucky had refused to wear a tie and Bucky because he didn’t want to be here.

Steve still had mixed feelings about your upcoming wedding. He was still in love with you, nothing had changed. He was just a thirteen-year-old boy trapped in the body of a thirty-year-old man. And it hurt to know you had chosen Bucky.

Steve was furious because Bucky knew how much Steve loved you. He knew, and yet he asked you to marry him. Betrayal wasn't a big enough word.

Revenge, on the other hand, sounded just about right and Steve started thinking of ways to hurt Bucky. Obviously, he could have tried to seduce you, but Steve doubted he could pull it off. He was good-looking, sure, but he lacked the skills to carry it off.

But he reminded himself that you had never loved him, that you had run away from his birthday party when Brock told you that Steve wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with you.

No, he couldn’t do that to Bucky. He knew first-hand how cruel and painful was. His own father had abandoned his family for a pretty twentysomething. And even though he had promised himself that he wouldn’t end up like his father, he slowly did.

Like father, like son.

But it wasn’t too late to make things right. Somehow you had agreed to come to his apartment, and Bucky was there, too.  

A knock at the door pulled him out of his reverie. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Welcome,” he said with a big smile before he nodded towards Bucky’s old Henley. “Thanks for dressing up, by the way.”

He was happy to see he still was pretty decent at making passive-aggressive comments. That was more his thing than adultery anyway.

Bucky didn’t reply. He turned his head in your direction and cast an exasperated look at you that spoke volumes. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“C’mon in, I’ll give you a tour of the apartment,” Steve continued, undeterred.

Steve gave you and Bucky the grand tour of the house which included the four guest rooms, the pool, the training room, the library, his own walk-in closet and finally his bedroom. Each time you walked into a room, it felt like you were rediscovering the meaning of the word sophisticated.

Everything was either beige, white or taupe, which didn’t give off a very friendly vibe. It was gorgeous, but it lacked a homey feeling.

“It’s beautiful, Steve,” you said as you entered his bedroom.

Bucky dug his elbow into your side and when you met his eyes, he nodded toward the ceiling. You both held back a snicker, but it still caught Steve’s attention. You pulled yourself together and cleared your throat before you gestured toward the mirror above the bed.

“Nice mirror,” you said with a knowing grin.

Steve sat on the bed and looked up at the mirror with a puppy-like confused look on his face. “Yeah, that’s unusual.”

You shared an amused look with Bucky, knowing full well a mirror on the ceiling meant sex and narcissism. Steve seemed oblivious to your little teasing and, instead, ushered you into the living room. The view was breath-taking and he couldn’t wait to see your reaction.

You faltered in your steps as you looked around the living room. It was set up in a huge open floor plan with minimalist décor and neutral colour scheme. It was all about comfort and convenience.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but what really caught your attention were the window seats that ran all around the room. You could see yourself sitting there with a good book and a cup of something warm, enjoying the impressive view.

Even Bucky who had done his best to look nonchalant was looking around with wide eyes.

“Pretty good, uh?” Steve asked with a large smile. He then moved closer to the sofas and gestured at the food on the coffee table. “I took your favorite.”

You turned around and saw the plethora of food Steve had bought for the party. A giggle escaped your lips when you saw that he had poured what looked like soda in a crystal wine pitcher.

“You didn’t have to buy all this,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Oh, razzles! I haven’t had razzles in years.”

Steve’s face lit up as he sat next to you. “Remember, they're both a candy and a gum.”

“That’s incredible,” you said, your voice teasing.

Bucky watched as you and Steve laughed together as if the last 17 years never happened. When he saw you lay your hand on Steve’s arm, he grew more agitated and quickly tried to create a diversion.

He took one of the glasses on the table and waved it under Steve’s nose. Steve froze mid-laugh and looked up at him. “I’ll take some wine,” Bucky said with a faux friendly smile. “If you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Steve replied. He wiped his hands on his jeans and got to his feet. “We’re adults now, we can drink alcohol.”

There was a trap door in the kitchen that led to a wine cellar. Not knowing how many bottles he’d need, he grabbed the first four and an electric corkscrew before he headed back to the living room.

Bucky was now sitting next to you, forcing Steve to take a seat on the opposite sofa. He took the bottle Steve handed him and audibly gasped as he read the label. It was a ’90 Romanée-Conti, and the sommelier at his restaurant would later confirm that it was a $15,000 bottle of wine.

Bucky opened the bottle hoping Steve wouldn’t realize what he’d given him. You shook your head when Bucky asked if you wanted a glass, but he insisted that you should try it. Steve didn’t want wine, said it smelled like rotten fruit and that he’d rather drink soda.

After that, a long silence stretched between the three of you. Knowing the evening would be awkward and long, you had prepared beforehand, choosing a few topics to talk about but Steve broke the silence first.

“How long have you guys been engaged?” he asked, popping a few M&Ms into his mouth.

“Three years,” you replied.

Steve’s eyes widened for a second. He didn’t know anything about marriage or relationships, but it seemed a little long.

“We were trying to save money,” you explained, “but New York’s expensive.”

Steve nodded in agreement even though he only had a vague idea of what it was like.

“We’re selling your mom’s house,” Bucky chimed in. He drained the last of his wine and reached for the bottle before he spoke again. “It could have helped us financially, but no one’s interested.”

Steve had that kicked puppy look on his face again. “You’re selling my house?”

You knew that after what Steve had done to his mom he didn’t deserve your sympathy, but that look on his face made your heart soft. You sent Bucky a glare for bringing it up, but he was too busy finishing his second glass of wine to notice you.

“When your mom died, she gave us her house. She put in her will that we should sell it and buy our own place. That’s what we’ve been trying to do, but the house is in pretty bad shape.”

Your explanation eased Steve somewhat. He looked down at his hands in his lap and nodded his head distractedly. You mentally patted yourself on the back for defusing the situation when Bucky opened his mouth.

“But then again, you never cared about your mom.”

“Bucky!”

He turned to you, his eyes a little glassy. “What? It’s true. He never visited her when she was sick, he never sent flowers, or called. Hell, he didn’t even show up at the funeral. He was partying in St Barts with his side chick.”

“Bucky, STOP!” you shouted.

Bucky poured himself another glass of wine, his hands shaking with rage. “Whatever.”

Steve blanched at Bucky’s words. He had abandoned his mother when she needed him most. Besides, Peggy must have been pregnant with Carol when his mother died. He had cheated on his pregnant wife. He hated himself so much.

He turned to look at you, his heart breaking when he saw the anger and sadness on your face. You just wanted to make peace with your friend.

Steve cleared his throat. “I know I wasn’t the best son, or friend. I hurt you both and I’ll never apologize enough. I wish I had done things differently, I wish my mom was still here. She’d send me to bed without dessert for the rest of my life,” he said with a watery smile. “I’m going to change.”

He looked up to meet your eyes and relief washed over him when you smiled at him. Bucky rolled his eyes. This was just another empty promise made by a junkie, a cheater, a jerk. Empty words, just like last time.

“Cheers,” he said with a snarl, downing his third or fourth glass of wine.

You turned the conversation away from his mom, hoping to clear the air of the obvious tension. You asked Steve what it was like to live in a gigantic apartment and you both laughed quietly as he answered.

From there, the conversation flowed easily. Steve asked you why you had chosen to work as an editor and you asked about his job. He tried his best not to look clueless.

After a moment, you turned back to Bucky, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, and realized he had fallen asleep on the sofa. He was still clutching his empty glass.

“How much wine did you have?” you asked Steve as you looked over at the two empty bottles of wine sitting on the floor.

“Um, none,” he cocked a brow at you, “why?”

You took the glass from Bucky’s hand and placed it on the table. “I haven’t touched my glass.”

“He drank two bottles?!” Steve gasped. “Is he gonna be okay? Should we take him to the hospital?”

He watched you run your fingers through Bucky’s long hair, combing the locks away from his face with a pained, yet tender, look in your eyes.

“He’s going to have a killer headache in the morning, but he’ll be all right.” Bucky looked peaceful, his chest rising and falling to the rhythm of his breathing. You took a deep breath. “It’s my fault. He was nervous, he didn’t want to come here, but I told him it was time to make peace with you.”

“That’s what I want too,” Steve replied quietly.

The room fell silent, the two of you were lost in your own thoughts. You both knew the party was over.

“I think we should go home,” you said.

Sighing forcefully, you buried your face in your hands and remained motionless for a couple of seconds. You had no idea how you were going to carry a semi-conscious Bucky down to the lobby, into an Uber and up the stairs to your apartment.

“You can stay here tonight,” Steve told you, seemingly reading your thoughts. “You can stay in the guest room. To be honest, I was kinda hoping you guys would stay.”

You knew you should have refused, but it seemed like the best thing to do. Steve had four guest rooms and they all looked incredibly comfortable.

“Yeah, okay,” you said with a small smile. “Thank you, I promise we’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

“It’s no trouble.” Steve shrugged.

He snaked his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, holding him in place as he hoisted him against his side. Bucky walked like a puppet, blindly following Steve into the guest room. You had to admit that it was a bit embarrassing to watch your drunk fiancé stagger across the living room.

Once Steve placed Bucky on the bed, you removed his shoes and decided to let him keep his jeans on. Bucky grunted in protest and curled himself up in the foetal position. You picked up a blanket and draped it over him.

Steve walked into the master bathroom and came back with a glass of water and two pills. He left the glass and the pills on the nightstand and followed you out of the room.

“Thanks, Steve,” you whispered. “I don’t think I could have carried him myself.”

He smiled at you. “It’s usually the other way around. It’s nice to know I can help my best friend for a change.”

His words made you think. Steve used to pick up fights with pretty much anyone, but as a sickly, skinny kid, he got his ass handed to him more than once. Bucky finished Steve’s fights, though he wasn’t much of a fighter, he did it to help his best friend.

It wasn’t unusual to see them walking home from school with a black eye or a busted lip.

But his words surprised you because he made it sound like they were still friends, like the last seventeen years had never happened. It put a smile on your face. Maybe Steve wasn’t so bad after all.

You sat on the sofa and poured yourself a glass of orange juice in a wine glass. Steve sat next to you and took his glass of orange soda.

“Thanks for letting us stay, Steve. And thanks for the invite. All these snacks and drinks, they would have made 13-year-old us scream like lunatics.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile. “Remember when we used to have sleepovers? We pretended we were roommates. To be honest, I’m disappointed. I thought things would be different. Being an adult isn’t that great.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and raised your glass in a silent toast. He lifted his glass and you both slowly sipped your drinks.

“How’s the wedding planning coming along?” Steve asked. He wasn’t even sure why he’d asked.

The question caught you by surprise and your fingers started fiddling with the stem of your wine glass. “Oh, uh, fine. We agreed on a non-religious ceremony and Natasha’s pretty excited because it means we’ll have to come up with our own wedding script. She’s a little too excited about this, but I guess it’s a good thing.”

“She’s basically your wedding planner.”

“Yeah, and she can be a real pain in the ass. She knows someone who works at the Plaza, says there’s an opening for us in November, but we want to do this in George and Winnie’s backyard.” Upon seeing Steve’s wide-eyed reaction you let out an embarrassed laugh. “I know we’re all going to freeze to death but I don’t care. Our first kiss was on that old wooden table they keep in their backyard.”

It dawned on Steve that he had no idea how you two became more than friends. He wasn't sure if he was ready to hear your answer, but he had to know.

“How did you become a couple?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It came pretty naturally.”

Steve listened carefully while you told him your story.

After college, Bucky spent a year abroad in Switzerland. He was the second roast cook at some popular restaurant. You, on the other hand, had decided to move to Manhattan where you found a job as a waitress until you finally landed that job at Honeysuckle.

Bucky and his girlfriend, Dot, didn’t believe in long distance relationships but she had been Bucky’s first real girlfriend and their breakup had affected him deeply. Eventually, he returned home. He loved Switzerland but he missed his friends and family.

The year he came back, he invited you over for Thanksgiving along with Sarah who had not heard from her son since he graduated high school. You and Bucky kissed for the first time that night, it was shy and awkward but it felt like the beginning of something great.

Steve nodded slowly, processing what you were telling him. “And we never saw each other? Not even once?”

You shook your head. “Not after Jack Rollins’ graduation party.”

“I don’t even know him,” he mumbled to himself.

“What? You don’t remember Rollins?” you let out a startled laugh. “Tall dude, kinda looked like Brock, followed you like your shadow,” you pressed, trying to jog his memory.

“Wait, why was he following me around?”

“Because you were the most popular guy in school,” you said with a frown. How could he not remember this? “He was an ass. Actually, all your friends were jerks but, at least you got your wish: you were Brock Rumlow’s best friend. Still are, apparently.”

Steve wasn’t sure what to think. If his friends were jerks then why did he hang out with them? Sure he wanted to be cool and loved, but he wouldn’t have sacrificed his best friends to join Brock’s crew. Right?

“I really don’t understand why you’re still friends with him. Do you remember the promise you made me that night?” you continued, your laugh full of amused bitterness. “No, of course you don’t.”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh, please.” A puff of air escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes.

“What happened that night?”

“Never mind.”

“No, I want to know.”

“Just drop it.”

“C’mon, tell me,” he whined.

Then he started poking your shoulder repeatedly. He used to do that when you were kids and it always made your teeth grind. You swatted his hand away and turned to him.

“WE KISSED,” you barked. “There, you happy?”

The look on Steve’s face might have been comical in some other circumstances. He was staring at you wide-eyed, his mouth partially open.

He looked genuinely surprised and it didn’t make any sense to you. Granted, you had both had a couple of beers and that kiss happened over a decade ago, but still...how could he have forgotten about this?

“We kissed,” he repeated, needing confirmation.

“Yeah.”

“Tongue?”

“Steve!” You glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said with a little grin. But then it dawned on him he couldn’t remember that kiss at all and his smile fell.

“It wasn’t just the kiss, Steve. That night I told you what happened the day of your thirteenth birthday party. When Brock and his friends crashed your party and you went downstairs with a pack of beer, remember that?”

“I remember it like it was-” last month “-yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, while you were all downstairs, Brock came back and cornered me in the kitchen. He asked if I was still a virgin and if I wanted him to take care of it. I was 13, I was terrified. I didn’t feel safe at your house so I left. And then you started ignoring me.”

All colour drained from his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I thought – I mean I assumed-”

“Yeah, I know,” you cut him off. “You already told me. You were waiting for me in the closet. You were playing that game, Seven Minutes in Heaven, and when I left, Brock told you I didn’t like you back. And that’s fine, it’s just a misunderstanding, but you let things escalate. You just stopped being my friend and you never spoke to me again after that.”

“And what did I say?” Steve asked. “When you told me all this, what did I do?”

“You said you were going to ruin Brock’s life, make him pay.” You paused, then heaved a sad sigh before you continued, “But he’s part-owner of your brand, he makes millions of dollars,” you shrugged. “You did nothing. He has a pretty good life.”

Steve hesitated before he took your hand in his. “There’s a lot of things I don’t remember. It’d take too long to explain and you might not even believe me, but I swear I wish I could remember that night. I’ll make things right. I promise.”

You had heard that exact same promise before, but this time you weren’t a naïve high schooler. People rarely keep their promises. C’est la vie.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shrugged, “it was a long time ago.”

“It matters to me.”

You looked up at him and gave him a small smile. “I should go check on Bucky.”

Steve let go of your hand. He had been so stunned he had almost forgotten Bucky. He needed time to process what he was feeling, what he should do.

“Thanks again for tonight,” you said as you pushed yourself off the sofa. “Goodnight, Steve.”

I’ll add the tags soon, I haven’t dealt with them yet.

[writingfromkitchenator]

Crowley ~ Forever

700 Followers Challenge!

Requested by @gettinjoyful

Words: 2334

Warnings:  This is angst, pure, pure angst.  Reader death if that explains it.

I would love feedback on this one, I’m seriously so happy with it, despite the angst.  XD

The day was meant to have been won, everyone was safe and fine and, for once, uninjured.  It all felt so normal and Crowley had actually been stunned when they thanked him for his help.  You’d beamed at him so brightly that Crowley would have done anything in that moment if you’d asked him too, pride swelling in his chest.

Then, in just a heartbeat, the world shattered.

There wasn’t even a cry, just a small blinking moment and you were staring at the silver blade jutting from out of your chest.

Chaos instantly erupted as further fighting ensued, and it wasn’t until it was over, truly over this time, that all attention turned back to you.

Castiel was there was first, but even as he reached for you, his hand was hesitant and Crowley’s world seemed to stop.

Castiel’s hand rested over your eyes and he swallowed heavily, looking at each of them in turn and telling them what they already knew.  “She’s gone.”

Crowley shut down, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t face your death, not like this, not with these three here, and without even a second thought, he vanished.  There would be no deal made for you, no coming back, you’d made him promise that.

It felt so long ago now, the words so meaningless at the time, but Crowley had promised you and he’d sworn long before you both properly committed to each other that you would be the one that he would never break a promise.

Back in Hell, the demons knew instantly that something was wrong and left him alone.  Crowley went straight for his whiskey and poured himself a larger glass than normal, let the burn affect him as it went down his throat, anything to feel something else besides what he was.

His chest was constricting, his lungs struggling to take in air, and even though he didn’t need it, it scared him.  It scared him because it meant what he already knew, was true.

He loved you.

The glass shattered in his hand and he lent heavily on his desk, fighting for air, fighting to keep himself in control.

He loved you and now he was never going to see you again.

Crowley glared furiously at his hands as hot tears dripped down onto them.  The more he tried to blink them away, the worse they seemed to get, and with a roar, he jammed his eyes shut and let go.

No one dared ask the King about the scream that filled Hell that day, that was powerful enough to make the Hell Hounds cower in their cages.  They all knew that if that something had upset the King that much, it would mean instant death for them.

For a long time, Crowley refused any contact with the Winchester’s or Castiel, the thought of seeing them was too much of a painful reminder of you, of what he lost, of what he’d been so close to having.

To what he thought a demon was never capable of doing.

It had been so long in fact that he was actually stunned when he came into his office to find Castiel sitting there, waiting for him.

“And here I was thinking that it was just me avoiding pleasantries,” He said.  “Get out.”

“No,” Castiel said rather firmly.  “You’ve been avoiding us.”

Crowley shrugged. “So?  It’s not like we were all best of pals or anything.”

“We all felt Y/N’s loss Crowley-”

“Don’t.”  Crowley snapped sharply.  “You don’t get to speak her name, not to me.”

“Because it hurts, I know.” Castiel’s gaze was sympathetic. “We all knew what the two of you had. I was the one that convinced Sam and Dean to not say anything, no matter how much they didn’t approve-”

“I don’t care Castiel. Get out.”

Castiel holds up his hands. “I will, but not until I do what I came here for.”

“Well, if annoying me is in included in that, you’re succeeding.”  Crowley growls, a drink appearing in his hand as he sits heavily in his chair.

But Castiel’s gaze remains sad.  “I just wanted to ask you something first, if you don’t mind.”

Crowley shoots him a dark look, but remains silent.

Castiel takes a breath. “Did you know that Y/N would go to Heaven when she died?”

Crowley blanched, quickly looking away.  “What of it?”

“Why didn’t you try and bring her back?”

He stares at the drink in his hand.  “I promised her I wouldn’t.”

“And you kept that promise?” Castiel’s tone was surprised.

“Of course I bloody did!” Crowley snapped.  “This is Y/N we are talking about!”

Castiel shrugs. “It just doesn’t seem your nature Crowley.”

“It was Y/N.”  He said quietly and left it at that.

“Fair enough,” Castiel said. “Now, if you’ll let me, I want to show you something.”

“There is nothing that you can show me that I want to see.”

“Even if it’s Y/N?”

Crowley’s drink paused halfway to his lips as he stares at the angel.  Slowly, he lowers the glass.  “And why would you do this for me?”

“Because, even if I don’t think you deserved Y/N, I still want her to be happy.”  Castiel said carefully.  “And I know she’ll be happier in the knowledge that you are happy.”

“How could she possibly know that now?”  Crowley asked slowly.  “She is where I can never see her again.”

“I’m giving you the option to do just that,” Castiel said.  “I want to show you what her Heaven is like.”

Crowley stared at him, unsure, his heart racing as his mind worked and worried over the possibilities.

“You need this Crowley,” Castiel said slowly.  “Even if you won’t admit that to yourself.”

He sighed, resigning himself to whatever he was about to see.  “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Castiel steps cautiously forward and then rests his hand against Crowley’s forehead.

The scene swam before him for a moment before he was stunned to find himself in his own bedroom, one that the two of your had shared on many occasion.  His heart leapt to his throat as he saw you there, curled up against what he guessed was a memory of him.

You sighed contently. “Why are you always so warm?”

The fake Crowley chuckled.  “It’s the demon side of me, born in hellfire and all that.”

You looked at him in a way that made Crowley’s heart ache.  He missed you, he missed you so much and there wasn’t a damn thing that he could do about it.

You laughed and playfully poked fake Crowley’s side. “Come on, I’m being serious!”

“So am I,” Fake Crowley laughed, quickly capturing your hands as you go to poke him again.  “We can’t just go around and pretend we’re dead now, can we?”

“You are unbelievable,” You shake your head, smiling, unsuccessfully trying to pull your hands away.  “You can’t even give me a simple-ah!”

Fake Crowley pinned you beneath him, instantly setting you into giggles.

“What was that love?”  Fake Crowley asked sweetly.  “I didn’t quite get that?”

“You’re an-”

He stopped you with a kiss and Crowley had to force himself to look away, he could feel himself shaking, wanting it to stop, wanting to be him, the real him, there and now.  Every part of him was cursing Sam and Dean and Castiel and himself; everything and anything else he could think of.

This just wasn’t fair.

He heard you sigh.  “I wish this was real Crowley.”

“What do you mean love?”

“You know what I mean.”

Crowley looked up and saw the fake him vanish, you remaining still for a moment on the bed before sitting up, clothes reappearing around you.

“What are you doing here Cas?”  You asked softly.

Castiel was standing awkwardly in the corner of the room. “I’m sorry Y/N.  I just…I wanted to see if you were happy.”

Your smile was sad.  “I am at peace, yes, but am I happy?  No, and you know that, just as they’ve clearly told you that.”

“We could bring you back?”  Crowley glared at the memory of Castiel, a foul taste sitting in his mouth.

“You know you can’t,” You said.  “You know that there’s no way back for me, not unless by some miracle, and even then…” You trailed off for a moment and Crowley knew what was coming. “You’ve seen what’s done to Sam and Dean.  I don’t want that Cas. I can’t.”

Castiel looks at her sadly.  “Is there anything that I can do then?”

You licked your lips nervously and Crowley fidgeted, worried about what you would say.

“I want you to apologise to Crowley for me,” You said quietly, making Crowley raise his eyebrows.  “It shouldn’t have…it shouldn’t have ended so soon and not in the way it did, so caught off guard as we were.”  You give a bitter laugh.  “Makes me still feel so foolish.”

“It could’ve happened to any of us Y/N,” Castiel said. “But I will tell him.”

You nod, but still look like there’s more you want to say.

“Y/N, I-I’m afraid I can’t stay too much longer.”

Sighing, you nod.  “Yeah…this isn’t easy.”  You bury your hands in your pockets and rock on your heels and Crowley realises that you are holding back tears.  “Just tell him that I love him, okay?  That…as much as this sucks…I can live with it.”  You give a choked laugh.  “Poor choice of words, but you know what I mean, he may actually find it funny too.”

Crowley found himself smiling, something that he hadn’t done in what felt like a very long time.

“He’s better than what everyone thinks,” You continued softly. “So you and those two boys go easy on him.  For me.”

Castiel nods, causing Crowley to swallow.  You had always been vocal when the boys made their dislike clear; he knew that it probably wouldn’t change anything, but as always, he was grateful that you said something.

“And Cas,” You caught Castiel’s attention as he goes to leave. “He won’t want to hear it, but you tell him to keep going.  I don’t want him to keep…keep pining over me.  He deserves to be happy.”

“Y/N…”

You wave a hand at him, wiping the other quickly over your eyes to stop any tears.  “I can cope with this, it’s not perfect, but then nothing ever has been.  Just…tell him those things, okay?”

Castiel nods.  “I promise Y/N.”

“Thank you.”  You said quietly.  “You take care Cas.  Say…say hi to everyone for me.”

Castiel leaves and Crowley steps closer to you, his chest aching, reaching out for to cup your cheek as you remained watching the door.

Just as he swears that he can feel you again, the memory crumbles and he’s left back in Hell, Castiel stepping back away from him.  

Crowley’s chest heaves as he fights to keep control of himself, not wanting the angel to see, although he knew that Castiel already knew.

“For what it’s worth,” Castiel spoke eventually.  “I am sorry.”

With a flutter of wings, Castiel vanished, leaving Crowley alone again with his grief, it rushing up again in waves to the surface, feeling like he lost you again.

For a long time after that, Crowley thought heavily.  He finally allowed contact again with the Winchester’s and Castiel, but he kept it to a minimum, memories still too painful, and he couldn’t stand the occasional pity that he caught in their gazes.

He was the King of Hell dammit, he wasn’t meant to be like this. He was meant to be ruthless and fierce and powerful, he certainly wasn’t meant to be in league with hunters and angels, not unless it benefited him, and he certainly wasn’t meant to have fallen in love with a human, that wasn’t meant to be something that the King of Hell did.

It hit him then, even though it had been mulling away in the back of his mind for ages, the weight of it all hit him and he suddenly felt very tired.

He hated this.  He hated being the King of Hell, hated always having to watch his back as other demons fought for the position, fought to always be that bit closer to the top.  He hated always being seen as the bad guy, and while, for a long time there, he most certainly was, Crowley knew that he had changed, knew that there was more to his life than just black and white.

The sudden urge to fix things washed over him and memories that he thought he had pushed well away returned, making him swallow, making him wonder whether he could do it, making him wonder if he could be redeemed in such a way.

Crowley frowned to himself.

When had he ever not done something that he put his mind to? Even if this took him centuries upon centuries, whether he had to go through Hell many times to get there, he was going to do it.

Without a second thought, he snapped into the bunker, making Sam and Dean jump and curse at him.

But Crowley shakes his head at them, not in the mood for the usual banter, his mind made up.  “Boys, I want you to do something for me, no questions asked, you may even find it preferable.”

“What Crowley?”  Dean asked, his tone exasperated as he sat back down heavily in his chair.  “You always want something.”

“Like you are one to talk.”  Crowley snapped briefly, but shakes his head with a sigh.  “Trust me when I say I have thought long and hard about it and that I am indeed serious about my decision and well aware of the consequences.”

Sam and Dean share a look, if Crowley wasn’t mistaken, worry flashed across their expressions, but Sam cleared his throat.

“What is it?”

Crowley took a deep breath, finally letting himself relax. Finally let himself hope again. “I want you to make me human.”

[magmasliveblogs]

1.10

a bit early compared to recently! this is the 11th chapter! to recap: last chapter erin met pisces, a mage who has been using illusion magic to scam people out of their money and food! we learned that the seed cores are poisonous and that humans tend to be racist, at least in this area. we also heard of some sort of academy and that this mage dabbles with necromancy! 

At some point Erin slept. At some point Erin woke up. These were minor details. What mattered was the sound.

Knock. Knock.

She tried hard to ignore it. But it kept going and going, waking her up from her peaceful oblivion.

After a while, the knocking was too hard to ignore. Erin opened her eyes and sat up. It was far too bright in the world. And noisy.

Someone was knocking at the door. Erin thought about going back to sleep, but the knocking hadn’t ceased for the last few minutes. So she reluctantly got up and opened the door.

“What do you want?”

Pisces the friendly mage gave her a brilliant smile.

“Greetings Good Mistress. I was wondering if I could impose upon you—”

Erin shut the door. After a few seconds she opened it.

“Less words. Get to the point.”

“Um. Very well. Are you open today?”

Erin looked around.

“Who?”

“You. This establishment.”

“Here?”

Pisces blinked a few times. He spoke very carefully.

“Is this place open? Do you provide sustenan—food? I pay, I eat?”

Erin glared at him.

“It’s early. Yes, I guess I am open. Come in.”

quick note, some parts of the text are in italics, that doesnt seem to carry over. also this is quite funny 

She stomped inside. After a moment Pisces followed.

“I would like to peruse your menu if I m—”

Erin tossed a plate on the table and left. She came back with four blue fruits and tossed them on the table too. Pisces stared at the fruit and opened his mouth. He looked at Erin’s expression and amended whatever he was going to say.

“If I might trouble you for a knife and fork—”

She slapped them down on the table and walked away. She would have liked to go back to sleep, but the sounds of Pisces shifting and the clink of silverware on pottery was too distracting. Instead, she got her own blue fruit and started a fire to warm up her pasta. She munched on the sweet fruit in dour silence.

Outside, it began to rain.

—-

you can practically hear erin internally saying “its too early for this!”

Rain. Rain fell down from the heavens like hail. Well, actually it fell like rain, but these were bigger drops that fell a lot faster and harder than normal. The hammering of rain against the rooftop was nearly deafening.

Nearly. Behind her Pisces set down his knife and fork and sighed loudly. Erin wished he wasn’t here. It wasn’t that she disliked company; she was starved for it. She just wished her company wasn’t him.

“That’s a lot of rain.”

She was talking to herself, but he seemed to take it as an invitation to speak.

“It happens quite often. A natural weather phenomenon, you know.”

Erin turned and glared at Pisces. He raised both eyebrows and held up his cup.

“Another drink if you would. My cup has run dry.”

“Where did you find—stay out of my kitchen.”

“I would be only too happy to. But I fear I was quite parched and if you would be so good…?”

Erin’s eye twitched. But she went and got a cup for herself as well. She didn’t pour his drink, but rather set the pitcher of juice on the other end of the table so he had to reach for it.

its the little victories 

“Does it rain like this a lot?”

“Seldom. It’s a seasonal weather pattern. Actually, this is an aberration. Normally it rains for far longer, but someone’s been messing around with the weather. So we’ll have a brief storm, that’s all.”

She glanced at him.

“Messing with the weather? How?”

He smirked at her. She noted with displeasure that he was already on his second cup of blue juice.

“With magic, how else? Some shortsighted fool must have cast a localized weather control spell. Impressive I suppose, but clumsy in execution.”

Erin looked outside.

“Seems impressive to me. I mean, it’s raining hard. Wouldn’t you have to be a pretty powerful sorcerer to do that?”

“The term is mage, Good Mistress.”

“The name is Erin, idiot.”

ooo weather mages are a thing! 

“Aha. Accept my apologies. But if you are referring to one of my exalted brethren, mage is the best term to use.”

Erin stared at him. He didn’t appear abashed in any way.

“You don’t have wizards or sorcerers or…warlocks? Witches? You’re all just mages?”

“Rather, shall we say that those are titles for mages who meet certain requirements? A wizard is an arcane researcher and true student of the arcane arts. Such individuals are similar to myself, but prefer to study the mainstream branches of magic. Sorcerers on the other hand are quite simplistic and refer to those who educate themselves and have little formal education. Warlocks obtain their powers from other sources such as summoning, while witches practice alchemy along with specialized schools of magic. Thus, mage remains the generally accepted title to refer to all those who practice magic…”

He trailed off. Erin was staring at him.

“Okay. I didn’t need to know all that.”

Pisces shrugged.

“You asked. I was merely fulfilling my role as a guest.”

“Good. For you. So what, a—mage did this?”

“Yes. And it’s not as if this is a particularly difficult task. I realize it may look so to the uninitiated, but a spell like this could easily be cast by a level 30 mage. Less I suppose, if the individual were specialized.”

ah yes a rant from a scholar, good way to get info. plus level 30 seems a bit high considering how slow erin is leveling 

“So…?”

“As I said, not that impressive. Many mages could cast a spell like this.”

“Can you?”

Pisces paused.

“My specialization lies in other areas.”

“Like dead bodies.”

He avoided her gaze and drained his cup.

“Merely another branch of magic, good mistress Erin.”

Erin stared at him. She opened her mouth, but then the door slammed. Both Erin and Pisces turned as a wet, dark figure sauntered into the inn and threw his arms wide.

“Good morning cold folk, warm-blooded Human and—oh.”

Relc paused and stared at Pisces. Klbkch closed the door and bowed slightly at Erin.

irony! also it seems this mage would want to avoid guards 

“Please pardon our intrusion. Is this establishment open for business?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

Erin scrambled for words. Relc was still staring at Pisces who studiously ignored him as he refilled his cup.

“It’s been a while. I guess. But come in. Or come in more. Have a seat. Want something to eat?”

“If you would be so kind.”

Klbkch wiped his feet and stepped over to a table. Relc was still staring.

“You multiplied. Can Humans do that?”

“What? Oh no, that’s just Pisces. He’s annoying so ignore him.”

Erin waved Relc over to a seat as she went to the kitchen for plates.

Relc kept staring until Klbkch kicked him and motioned him to a seat.

“I believe staring is considered rude in most cultures. Sit down and cease your rudeness.”

Relc glared and sat. Klbkch turned and nodded to Pisces.

“Please excuse my companion’s rudeness.”

relc is becoming suspicious! this isnt good for pisces 

Turning her back on him, Erin smiled at Relc and Klbkch.

“So um, hi again. It’s been a while. Klbkch and…?”

Klbkch nodded while Relc looked expectant.

“Um. Uh…”

“Relc.”

Klbkch murmured softly.

“Relc! Right, right.”

“What? How come you remembered this idiot’s name and not mine?”

Relc looked aggrieved. Erin blushed.

“Um, sorry.”

“Aren’t I the better looking one here? What gives?”

“Sorry. It’s just—uh, you know. I’ve got a bad memory.”

“Really?”

“…No. Sorry. It’s just been a busy two days.”

“Oh.”

He looked deflated. Erin tried to cheer him up.

i mean it has been busy 

“I’ve got more pasta. Well, it’s old pasta but it still tastes good! And more blue juice. And blue fruit! It’s uh, not poisonous if you only eat the outer bit.”

“Ooh, pasta!”

Relc perked up instantly. Erin went to fetch the pasta and placed two steaming plates in front of the two.

“My thanks.”

Klbkch nodded at Erin and both began eating. Around mouthfuls, Relc eyed Erin and then Pisces.

“So, how’re you doing? Level up again?”

“Actually, I did. Right after you two left.”

“Ooh, congratulations! Did you get a new skill?”

“[Basic Crafting]. It helped me make a basket out of grass.”

“That’s quite useful! Most craftsman and artisan classes get that early on. I guess innkeepers are sorta like that, right? Got to take care of the inn, repair windows, fix tables, and all that.”

“I guess. I haven’t ever tried that and besides, I don’t have a hammer. Actually, I’ve never swung a hammer in my life.”

“Well, you’ve got the skill for it, so it’ll be a breeze. And you can buy a hammer no problem. Just head down to the city and you can get a good one for only a silver coin or two. Tell you what, if you’re ever in the area I’ll help you get one at a discount.”

“Really? That’s really generous. Thank you.”

Erin smiled hesitatingly at Relc who grinned back at her as he slurped down a noodle. Klbkch set down his fork and nodded at his companion.

“Not entirely. I do believe my companion would earn a small fee for directing any business to his associates.”

Relc glared at Klbkch.

“Shut up. Do you have to ruin everything I say?”

“I am merely pointing out the truth.”

“Well…stop it.”

Erin had to smile as the two began bickering. However, she was the only one amused. Across the inn Pisces drained his mug and plonked it down on the table.

“If we’re done with the lovely chatting, my glass is empty. Isn’t attending to one’s customers part of my service?”

Erin glared. Relc glared too. Klbkch—well, she still couldn’t read the ant man’s expression, but he definitely gave off a silent air of disapproval.

“Nice customer you’ve got here.”

“Yeah. Hey—shut up!”

Pisces raised his brows.

“How discourteous. I believe I shall bring my business elsewhere next time.”

“I don’t want it anyways. Besides, you tried to rob me last time. You’re here on sufferance, and because I feel bad for you.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. Erin sniffed and debated whether she should refill his glass anyways, but felt a sharp poke at her side. She screamed and jumped.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t do that!”

Erin rubbed at where Relc’s claw had poked her.

ooooookkaaaaaaaay it seems drakes can be just as racist as humans. good to know klb is polite 

“Sorry. Again. But…you said rob? As in, that guy over there tried to rob you?”

Relc’s voice was a low hissing whisper as he glanced over as Pisces. He needn’t have bothered, though. Pisces was still engrossed in his cup. Erin grinned maliciously and whispered back.

“Yeah. Last night I was visited by a scary monster. But when I hit it with a pa—pot, it turned out just to be him.  So I got him to pay up for scaring me and the food.”

“Extorted.”

“Shut up! You’re lucky I didn’t just toss you in the stream and let the fish eat you!”

“And…you let him come back for breakfast?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s dangerous. Just annoying.”

“And you didn’t think to report him to anyone?”

“Like who?”

Erin stared blankly at Relc. He stared at her. Klbkch finished his plate of noodles and set down his fork. Then he stared at Erin too.

“Oh. Oh. I forgot. And besides, you weren’t here yesterday.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Very true. Our absence was most lamentable. But allow us to perform our duty now. Incidentally Mistress Solstice, the pasta was delicious.”

“Yeah, it’s great! Hold on.”

Relc grabbed the fork and started shoveling the pasta in his mouth. He was able to cram nearly half the plate down his throat in one huge gulp, and munched down the rest in seconds. Erin stared with fascinated horror and a tiny bit of envy as he gobbled.

That done, Relc exchanged a glance with Klbkch. Then he turned to Pisces.

“Hey you!”

Pisces looked up with a scowl. He glared at Relc and made an irritable harrumph.

“Do you want something? I don’t do magic upon request. If you seek a certain spell, I would be happy to discuss my remunerations…later.”

“Really?”

Relc grinned in his seat.

“How about you do the magic spell where you turn into a monster? I’d love to see that. Or better yet, do you have a spell to get out of trouble? Because you’re going to need one now.”

Pisces’s face went blank. His eyes flicked to Erin, and then back to Relc and Klbkch.

“Ah. I see the good innkeeper holds a grudge. Well, I’m not sure what she told you two, but I assure you, I have compensated her more than adequately for my…mistake. It’s nothing two soldiers need concern themselves with.”

“Oh, but it is, it is! And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?”

Relc exchanged a glance with Klbkch. He grinned. Or rather, his mouth opened and she showed Pisces his teeth.

“We’re no soldiers. We’re guardsmen.”

“Ah.”

For a second Pisces was very still. Then with a surprising burst of speed he leapt out of his chair and ran for the door.

Relc’s arm moved. Erin was only aware of a blur of movement and then his arm shot forward. She screamed and his spear blew past her ear, but the spear didn’t strike Pisces. It flew between his legs as he tried to run and tripped him up. He sprawled to the ground as Relc pushed his chair back. Klbkch was already on his feet.

“Do not move. You are under arrest for intimidation and attempted theft. Remain still. Any sudden moves will result in bodily harm.”

the jig is up pisces! also im skipping a bit because the guards start beating pisces up and erin protests, along with a bit of pisces trying to use his academy connections to get out of this 

“Humans. You’re so arrogant and crazy. It’s almost funny. If you’re so full of powerful magic, dodge this.”

He swung his spear forward, the butt of the spear first. But where the spear should have cracked Pisces over the head, Relc’s swing met nothing but air. Pisces was suddenly gone.

“What the—”

Relc blinked. Erin gaped. Klbkch instantly swung his swords in an arc, slashing the air around the chair. But he touched nothing.

“Gone.”

Relc swiped the air where Pisces had been with his spear and growled deep in his throat. Erin stared.

“He’s not invisible? He did that once.”

Relc shook his head angrily. “No. I’d be able to sense if he were in a few feet of me. No, this was an illusion spell. A damn clever one, too. He pretended he was here and walked off while we were busy chatting.”

Klbkch looked to the door.

“I am unsure of when he left. He may have escaped only a few minutes ago. We may still catch him if we hurry.”

“Right, right.”

Relc cursed and swung his spear angrily. It made a terrific whooshing sound as it cut the air. Erin held her breath, afraid he’d let go and accidentally cut her.

Klbkch turned and bowed his head to her.

“Thank you for informing us of his class, Mistress Erin. Although he posed no threat to either Relc nor I, he is far more dangerous than we had believed.”

“Really? I thought—he didn’t seem dangerous. I mean, I hit him with a pot and that knocked him out.”

“Oh, he’s probably as dangerous as a frog in a fight. That’s not the problem.”

Relc shook his head.

“We thought he was just an illusionist. That’s annoying, but really all he can do is scare folks into giving him things. But a necromancer’s worse. Far worse. We could let him go if he was just a normal mage, but we’ve got to find him now and he knows it.”

“Why?”

Relc muttered to himself. He was still looking around and his tongue was flicking out of his mouth, as if tasting the air. It was the first time he’d really reminded Erin of a lizard from her world.

“A rogue necromancer on the loose does nasty things. Even a low-level one can bring down villages if you give him enough dead bodies, and they level fast when that happens. We’re gonna have to hunt this guy down. If we can’t catch him today, I’ll have the Captain send out multiple patrols once we get back to the city.”

yep, necromancy is glared upon in this world 

“We should be able to cover the distance in approximately ten minutes if we run.”

Relc nodded in agreement.

“So we’ve gotta go. Why? Are you worried he’ll attack you?”

“No, not that. It’s just—the city.”

“The city? What about it?”

“Um, where is it?”

Relc and Klbkch stared at her silently and then exchanged a glance.

“…You mean, you don’t know?”

“No. Should I? It’s not like there’s a sign or anything around here.”

Relc looked amused.

“Don’t be snippy. But it’s easy to spot. Look, you can even see it out the window here.”

He walked over to a window and pointed. Erin squinted out it.

“…Is it that black spot there?”

“Well, yeah. Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s really not. It could be a rock.”

“It’s not a rock. Why are you having a hard time believing me? Can’t you see the buildings?”

“No, I can’t.”

“I do not believe she can, in point of fact.”

Relc and Erin turned to look at Klbkch. He studied her and then brought his face close to hers. Erin flinched as his face came close to hers.

“Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm.”

“Sorry—sorry. It’s just the pinchers. And the eyes. It’s just—sorry.”

Relc laughed.

“Don’t mind Klbkch. He’s ugly even for an ant. But you really can’t see the city from here?”

Klbkch nodded. He seemed focused on Erin’s own eyes.

“I believe Humans have more limited eyesight than you or I.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

Relc huffed to himself. He pointed out the window at the black dot.

“Look, the city’s that way. It’s only a twenty minute walk and there aren’t many monsters along the way. Besides, once you get within a few miles the area is regularly patrolled so you won’t have any problems. And if those idiots at the gate stop you – which they won’t – just tell them you know me.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Or me. However, you should encounter no problems. Only those with past records of crime are unwelcome in Liscor.”

welp it seems erin completely forgot the settlement in the distance, which turns out to be liscor!

“And speaking of which…we’ve gotta go. It’s my day off, but we’ll report that annoying human maggot-mage back at the barracks. If we move fast, we might get him before he runs too far.”

Relc was on his feet. He moved so quickly that Erin was left gaping. One second he was sitting down, the next he was at the door.

“Hey Klbkch, coming?”

And then Klbkch was there too. If Erin hadn’t seen the black blur that swept past her and felt the rush of air, she would have sworn he’d teleported.

“Indeed. It is unfortunate we must leave so soon. Our apologies, Mistress Solstice.”

“No—no problem.”

“Well then.”

Klbkch nodded to her. Relc waved and was out the door in a flash. Erin was left sitting with a table full of dirty plates and a state of mild shock.

She had just picked up the first plate when the door slammed back open. She jumped, but Relc waved at her.

“Oh, sorry we forgot to pay. We’re in a hurry so—put it on our tab!”

The door closed. Erin stared at it hopefully, but it didn’t open again.

“…What tab?”

it seems erin needs to learn innkeeper customs 

also thats the end of the chapter! will pisces return? will he be caught? will erin remember this tab? will erin go to liscor soon? 

see you tomorrow! 

[golden-pickaxe]

Odal - Part 4

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Viking Times

Word Count: 1498

Warnings: drinking

[All Parts Here]

A/N: This is a short one, I’m sorry for that. I wanted to make it longer, but then could not find a good ending point for the chapter that was not weird or something.

Also, I usually 100% avoid being descriptive of the readers appearance & clothing (except when it is necessary), but I slightly assumed the reader to have long hair, so if that does not apply to you, just ignore that (or think about yourself with long viking hair, whatever you like)

I made a playlist, and I think it fits amazingly to this story, so here!

Summary: When you were just a child, you had been adopted by two shieldmaidens, as one of six sisters. Now, all grown up, the lot of you join king Harald to avenge the death of Ragnar in England. A journey, that is going to change the life you’ve known before.

Tags:   @lightningwitcher @lovelynerdytraveler @everlasting9 @cbouvier23

The month you spent in Kattegat, waiting to depart for England, went by way quicker than you had expected. With your days filled mostly with training three times a day, and exploring the large city, they went by far too fast. Every time when you found yourself lying down to sleep, the glow of the barely setting sun telling you that another day was already over, you could not quite believe it.

 Each day more and more warriors arrived in the city, and more and more ships sailed into the fjord, displaying sails from almost every place in the known world. At one point it started to feel to you more like a dream than reality, as never had you ever seen so many people in one place before.

 From time to time you spotted Boneless near the training grounds, watching the warriors there, but never joining you. You had heard that, despite whatever was wrong with his legs, he was apparently a great fighter. He and the other sons of Ragnar had their own training grounds though, somewhere in the woods, away from prying eyes.

 You had to admit, you could not wait to see him fight, to see him in battle. His face was usually a mixture of supressed anger and cruel glee, and you longed to see those pinned up emotions come out when faced with the enemy. The more you saw him, the more he started to fascinate you. He was strong, yet crippled. Handsome, yet feared. Even his brothers seemed to be afraid of him. Nevertheless, he was treated with much respect, a daily reminder that he was one of the princes of Kattegat.

 Two days before you were to depart for England, there was a great sacrifice in the city, to please the gods. With nine goats, nine cows, nine chickens and two slaves, it was certainly the biggest sacrifice you had ever attended, and you guessed that it was close to what would await you in Uppsala.

 The sky above you looked as if it was burning, the never truly setting sun even at this late hour just barely below the horizon, tinting the heavens in the colours of fire. Loud music was around you, inside of you. You did not know if it was the mead, the drying blood on your face, or the whole atmosphere around you, but you were in ecstasy.

 You sat cross legged on a table, a bit to the side of the main celebration, swaying to the music, you heart pounding in rhythm with the heavy drums, the low voices of the singing men positively enchanting your mind.

There was a cup of sweet mead in your hands, recently refilled by a slave, and you lazily watched the people around you with hooded eyes, the flames of the torches seeming like beacons in the dim darkness of the night.

 You mouthed along to the words that were sung, chanting to the gods, asking for victory and fortune, and praising them. Many of the songs you knew, but others were new, coming from Denmark or Sweden.

 You had lost all of your five sisters in the massive crowd of people just shortly after the sacrifices were made, but did not worry too much about where they were. They were where they should be, as were you.

 You wore your hair un-braided today, the loose strands falling into your face, obscuring your vision even more, distorting the images you saw in front of you. You took a big swig of your mead, the sweet liquid running down your throat like the honey it was made of, the taste so beautiful that it was completely obscuring the strong alcohol in it. You had to admit that you did not know how much you had drunken of it, a thrall usually close to refill your cup once it was empty, but your swaying mind told you that it must’ve been quite a lot.

 You felt good, though, you felt incredible. You felt so close to the gods, you were sure they were walking among you now, looking upon you favourably, and at your journey to avenge king Ragnar, who was now feasting with them in Valhalla.

 You blinked and opened your eyes a bit more, slowing your swaying slightly, as you spotted two large ravens, sitting on a roof close to where you were sitting under the open sky, their feathers glowing blue in the light of the torches, their beady eyes seemingly looking down at you.

 A broad smile formed on your lips, and you raised your cup to them.

“Hail the All-Father!” you said, drinking from your cup, before, still smiling, you closed your eyes, continuing to move to the sound of the drums and the pipes and the lyras and the voices of many men and women.

 You hair fell over your shoulders, and you became one with the music, the melody of this song, this chant, long known to you, the familiar words coming from your lips without you having to think about them.

“Sjå meg djupt

i augene blå

du må forstå

Hugs at alle

eingong forlét

Natta den kjem

Eg gjev deg din odel

Om du vil ha

Den fer ikkje fra

Tungt den veger

Hugs, ta ikkje meir enn du orkar å bere.”

 A warm, fuzzy feeling of bliss spread through your chest, as you remembered the song from your childhood, immediately knowing where you had heard it for the first time. It had been not long after your mothers had found you. They had taken you to Vestfold for the first time in your life, on your way to the city and passing a small farm, your small hand firmly held by Thora as you had been afraid of the new area.

 There had been a family on the farm, sitting in front of their house in the warm summer sun, two parents with their four children. The father had played the drums, while together they had sand, the youngest child sitting on her mother’s lap, clinging onto the two long braids of the laughing woman.

 You were not sure why you remembered it so vividly, but this image, this memory, had stuck to your mind, just as the beautiful song. You could not remember how often you had made Yeva sing it to you, how often you had asked her to sing it just as you were going to bed, or when you were frightened.

 “You should dance.” A voice next to you suddenly pulled you out of your thoughts. It was close to you, almost next to your ear, and you almost froze in place.

 It was a smooth voice, just as smooth as the mead in your cup, but also as sharp as a sword. It was light and melodic like the sounds of a lyra, but also tense like a bowstring. It excited you.

 You opened your eyes, for some reason not daring to turn your head to the source of the voice, something inside you telling you that it would be wiser not to look.

 “Dance?” you asked almost breathlessly, carefully, your heart now pounding a lot faster than the drums. You could not explain your sudden excitement, but you partially blamed all the mead, partially yourself.

 “I am sure the gods would very much like to see it. After all, they are watching.” The voice continued, and at his words your eyes moved up to where the ravens were still sitting, still looking down at you.

 Whomever this voice belonged to, you knew it was right. You had to swallow, still not daring to look.

 “Would you like to see it?” you did not know why you asked it, what part of you even dared to word the question, but it was too late now.

 But the smooth, dangerous voice simply chuckled into your ear. You felt the breath of it against your skin, sending goose bumps over your body.

 “Yes, I would like to see it too.” The voice said honestly, causing you to shiver slightly.

 You slowly nodded your head, your hair falling into your face once more, before you drained the rest of your mead, putting the horn cup down beside you. Without saying another word, and without turning around, you slid off the wooden table you had been sitting on, making your way over towards where the music was being played, and where many other people were already dancing together, laughing and singing along in celebration.

 They welcomed you warmly as you joined them, a tall woman with almost silver-blond hair, who, in your still dizzy mind looked like a Valkyrie to you in this light, taking your hand and pulling you into their group to join them.

Finally you dared to throw a look back to where you had been sitting, to finally look at the person the enchanting voice had belonged to, but there was no one in sight.

[miss-noo-na]

“Vos Anima Mea” (Part 2)

* See Masterlist for additional chapters

Title: Vos Anima Mea

Rating: PG-13, mentions of blood.

Summary: You learn Kihyun’s secret, and to both of your surprise it doesn’t send you away.

The first thing you did with the down payment provided by Kihyun was buy all new paints, brushes, and canvas material. Kihyun had said he’d provide the materials for his portrait, but you went ahead and spoiled yourself for personal use.

The first night you showed up on schedule, but things went a little differently. You gave the code phrase at the door and instead of being taken through the club; you were guided to a different door, down a back hall, to an elevator and straight to Kihyun’s penthouse.

There weren’t any guests this time, just Kihyun, and it put you on edge a little bit.

“Don’t be nervous.” He said with a small smile as he took a seat across from you. He was more elegantly dressed today, in a black blazer with a crimson red buttoned shirt underneath and black slacks, the same long silver earring.  The dichotomy between his face and the way he spoke made you feel something strange, it didn’t add up. How could someone so boyish be so refined?

You sat on a stool and looked at the sketch pad provided to you, and fine graphite pencils. You’d informed him that before getting a proper portrait, you’d need to take sketches to get a better idea of his face and anatomy.

“Are there any ground rules?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“Not really. In fact, its better if you move as much as you want, it gives me a better idea of what you really look like.” You explained, wanting to make sure you captured his true essence, whatever that may be.

He relaxed back into his seat and put one leg up, cocking his head to the side.

“Tell me about yourself.” He said, and you let out a laugh, thinking it a joke. The laugh faded once you realized he was serious.

“Shouldn’t you be telling me about yourself?” You asked as you picked up a pencil and started making rough lines.

“I will, in due time” He nodded. “But first I want to hear about you.”

You were quiet for a long moment, peering back and forth between the pad and Kihyun’s face, partially to make up your sketches and also because staring at him for too long made you nervous.

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Ah, I don’t believe that. You don’t end up in one of my clubs because you lead an average life.”

He had a point there.

“Outside of here it’s fairly average. I work a desk job, I knit, paint of course, and watch bad reality TV.” You rambled off the list of mundane activities and when you glanced back at Kihyun, you were surprised he seemed so interested.

“Go on.” He shifted in his seat.

“I just wanted to experience things that were different. I always felt a little different, like my interests and the things I found beauty in were different. It was like an itch I couldn’t scratch, until I started going out and observing.”

“So you like to watch?” He said, and you saw a smirk ghost his mouth. You added it to one of your sketches, even if it made you blush.

“Not like that, even though I did try a few of those kinds of clubs in hopes that was what I was craving. It wasn’t.”

He laughed a light and melodious laugh that sounded like music.

“I own one club like that, but I can’t say I visit it often.”

You couldn’t help but giggle yourself.  The longer you talked the more comfortable you got with Kihyun. He was personable and easy-going, and you found yourself discussing all sorts of things with him. Your childhood, you goals, your thoughts on the current art movement in your city, they were all talked about with input from Kihyun, and he listened intently whenever you spoke. It was nice.

“I think I have enough for tonight. You want to take a look and tell me what you think?” You asked, and Kihyun stood and approached the pad. He examined the various head sketches and some of parts of his body like his hands.

“Your detail is amazing.”

“Thank you.” You dipped your chin toward your chest.

“I like this pose here, and this expression is good.” He said, pointing to two areas of the sketch pad, and you nodded.

“That’s what we’ll focus on when I start the actual portrait.”

“Perfect.”

“Next time,” You started, standing from your stool, “You’re going to tell me more about you.”

He smiled and looked like he was thinking about it. “We’ll see.”

“I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Of course, let me walk you out.”

You waved a hand. “Oh, no thank you. I think I’m going to go downstairs and have a drink, say hi to Samantha.”

“Tell her thank you for bringing you to me.”

You licked your lips, your throat feeling dry at those words, even though you knew he meant only for your artistic merits.

“Will do, see you.” You waved and he did so back to you as you walked to the elevator.

You rode it down and entered the club from the side door, not very crowded tonight. You found Samantha immediately and as soon as you locked eyes, she started making you a drink. It was done by the time you got to the bar and took a seat.

“Kihyun says thank you.” You leaned in to say, and Samantha smiled proudly.

“I told him he’d like you.”

“My art.”

“What?”

“Like my art, you mean.” You corrected, taking a sip of your drink.

“I’m sure he likes you, as well.” She winked, and you felt your stomach tighten up, but threw her a playful glare.

“Anyway, I think it’s going to go well.”

“I can’t wait to see the finished product; your work with his beautiful face? It’ll be a match made in heaven.” She sighed wistfully, wiping down the bar top with a rag.

“You have a crush on him or something?” You said teasingly, and Samantha laughed.

“He’s my boss, but it’s a pretty common idea that he’s gorgeous and charming.  Don’t act like you don’t see it.”

“I do, but I prefer to keep things as professional as possible.” You explained firmly, and Samantha agreed.

“Yeah, he’s not the type to get involved anyway. I’ve worked here for 5 years and I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend, or even had a play-thing as far as I can tell.” Samantha explained, and you were intrigued by this new fact.

You finished your drink and were about to leave when you realized you didn’t have the sweater you came in with.

“Ah crap, I must’ve left it upstairs.” You said, figuring it was no trouble if you ran back up to fetch it. You said goodbye to Samantha and made your way back to the elevator.

When you walked into the penthouse you stopped short when you caught sight of Khyun in the adjoining room through a viewing window in the wall. He was with a woman.

You took a step back and paused, realizing they hadn’t seen or heard you come in. You meant to turn and leave, not wanting to bother them, but something caught your attention.

The woman pushed some hair away from her neck, laying it on her opposite shoulder, and Kihyun drew a finger down the side of her neck, feeling the pulse with the pad of the digit. He then cupped her face and pulled her forward, his head obscuring what he did next but it looked like he was kissing her there. You swallowed hard, feeling a little sick to your stomach. Jealousy was not an emotion you experienced often.

Again, you meant to leave, but that envy turned into a spike of fear as the woman gasped, whined, and a thin trail of blood was visible running off her neck and across her collar bone. When Kihyun pulled back, his lips were coated in it, and so were his teeth, including two sharp fangs.

You clasped your hand over your mouth to suppress the gasp, then turned on your heel and hurried back to the elevator.

You practically ran home, your thoughts swimming through your buzzed mind. Had you actually seen what you’d seen? Was there any mistaking it? If he had not actually been drinking that woman’s blood, what else could it have been? You remembered the performance you’d see the night you met him, how realistic the blood looked. You felt sick for a completely different reason.

You went about your nightly routine in a daze, standing under the shower’s spray for an unusually long time, just thinking about it, the images flashing through your mind.

What scared you most of all, was that when the fear faded you felt something else. Something like excitement.

If you hadn’t been mistaken, and vampires actually existed, and Kihyun was one of them, the idea alone set your nerves on fire. It was dangerous and bizarre, but you wanted to learn more. You needed to.

You battled with yourself the rest of the week, trying to decide if you should return or not. Despite drinking a woman’s blood, there hadn’t been anything violent or cruel about it, the woman seemed willing. Kihyun as a person, though you didn’t know him well yet, seemed completely harmless.

The day of, you felt the club calling to you, but you were too nervous to get yourself to go. What would you say when you saw him? Would you be able to ignore what you’d seen and go about painting as normal? And what if you did confess to what you’d seen and he was angry with you?

You decided to take this week off, give yourself time to process it, and if you felt any better about it you’d return.

You stayed in instead, making yourself dinner, hanging out in a large sweatshirt and PJ pants with your hair tied up. You painted your nails and played around with your new paints while binge watching Netflix. You tried not to think about Kihyun, but your mind kept drifting there.

Late in the evening, there was a knock on your door.

You looked around, making sure you’d heard that right and it was really coming from your door, and not a condo in the same building as yours. You never got random visitors, and none of your friends said anything about coming by.

You looked through the peephole and saw a man lift his head and you almost doubled back in shock when you realized it was Kihyun.

You cracked open the door and stared at him wide-eyed through the slit. He leaned over to get a look at you.

“Hey.” He said softly, and you opened the door a little more.

“What are you doing here?” You paused and stood up straight. “How did you know where I lived?”

“I have ways.” He said cryptically with a laugh, and gripped the door handle tighter.

“I was a little worried when you didn’t show up today.”

The fact he’d even thought of you at all, much less went out of his way to come check on you, made you feel weak in the knees, but you fought to hold onto your resolve.

“Do you want to come in?” You asked, realizing how chilly it was outside. Something about vampires probably not feeling cold crossed your mind as you opened the door wider.

He nodded as he stepped inside, and you realized how under-dressed you were in comparison to his, as usual, chic dress. You stood awkwardly in the foyer.

“Well I see that you’re fine.” He laughed uneasily, and you crossed your arms, feeling insecure.

“I am, sorry I didn’t show up. I had some stuff come up.”

“I see.” He looked down, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“It’d probably help if we stayed in contact better so this doesn’t happen again.” He said, opening his contacts, ready to put your number in.

“I was actually unsure if I wanted to come back.” You said quickly, and he looked up with surprise all over his face.

“Really? Why is that? I thought things were going well last time.” He said, almost sounding disappointed and for some reason it hurt.

“Um, well,” You started to shift around. “Let’s take a seat.” You said then, moving into the living room. Kihyun followed you to the couch.

“Sorry about the mess.” You mumbled as you moved paint supplies out of his way. He peered around your shabby, colorful abode. It was in total disarray, but not dirty per se. Just…chaotic. In a good way.

“Kihyun,” You started, breathing his name and liking the way it sounded in your voice.

“I saw something last night and I honestly don’t even know if I saw it right, maybe there was something in my drink, I don’t know for sure.” You rushed out in a jumbled mess of words. “But I swear I saw you”

You stopped yourself, looking up and catching his eyes. There was something about his face that told you that he knew.

“You saw me with that woman?”

You nodded slowly.

“And you saw me drink her blood?”

You swallowed and nodded again.

“Then you saw right.” He said casually, and you felt your brain cave in on itself, trying to work through what you’d just learned.

“Listen,” He leaned forward, quieting his voice even though it was just the two of you. “I understand if you’re scared, but I never intended on hurting you. That’s not who I am.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way his soft eyes peered into yours, you believed him.

“And I also understand if you don’t want to paint me. You can take the $6,000 and be done with it.” He said, sitting back, and you fidgeted with your hands.

“I’m not scared.” You said then, “And I want to continue painting you.”

He cocked his head. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure. I’ve searched all this time to get in touch with something otherworldly and here you are.” You laughed a little, and when you looked at him again he smirked.

“You’re a strange one, Little Dove.”

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip and looked away.

“Well if you’re okay with it, then I’m okay.” He said as he stood, which prompted you to do the same.

“I’ll see you next week? For sure?” He asked, leaning toward you, and your breath caught up in your throat a moment, feeling how close he was.

“Y-yes, of course.”

“ Good.” He smiled and saw himself to the door.

“Oh, before I go,” He pulled his phone back out, and this time you gave him your number.

“Don’t make me track you down again.” He said, clearly joking, but there was something predatory in his voice and it made you shiver.

You watched him leave through the window, and once he was out of sight you threw yourself on the couch and screamed into a pillow, all your muddled emotions accumulating into one big ball of exhilaration. You had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into, and that was the best part.

[dfroza]

As the Judgment upon the world draws to a conclusion

John writes of a terrible scene he witnessed of the future cleansing with Today’s reading from the book of Revelation:

Next I saw another messenger descending from heaven. I knew he possessed great authority because his glory illuminated the earth.

Heavenly Messenger (with a powerful voice): Fallen, fallen, is Babylon the great city!

It has become a habitat for demons,

A haunt for every kind of foul spirit,

a prison for every sort of unclean and hateful bird.

For all the nations have drunk deeply

from the wine of the wrath of her immorality,

And the kings of the earth have disgraced themselves by engaging in gross sexual acts with her,

and the merchants of the earth have grown fat and rich, profiting off the power purchased with her luxury.

Then I heard another voice from heaven urge,

A Voice: My people, get away from her—fast.

Make sure you do not get caught up in her sins.

Put some distance between you so that you do not share in her plagues,

For her sins are higher than the highest mountain. They reach far into the heavens,

and God has not forgotten even one of her missteps.

Deal out to her what she has dealt out to others,

and repay her double according to her deeds.

In the cup where she mixed her drink, mix her a double.

Whatever glory she demanded and whatever luxury she lived,

give back to her the same measure in torment and sorrow.

Secretly she says in her heart:

“I rule as queen;

I am not like a widow;

I will never experience grief.”

Because of this arrogance, in a single day, plagues will overwhelm her.

Her portion will be death and sorrow and famine,

And she will be incinerated with fire,

for mighty is the Lord God who exacts judgment on her.

And the kings of the earth, who committed lewd, sexual acts and lived lavishly off of her, will weep and wail over their loss when they see the smoke from her burning body rise into the sky. They will stand at a distance, fearing they, too, might fall victim to her torment. They will moan,

Woe to you, our great city!

Babylon, the most powerful city in the world.

In a single hour, your day of judgment has come.

And the merchants and the magnates of the earth weep and mourn over her demise because no one is buying their goods any longer: warehouses remain full of gold, silver, jewels, and pearls; fine fabrics, purple, silk, and scarlet cloth; fragrant woods, items made of ivory, and items finely crafted out of expensive wood; bronze, iron, and marble; cinnamon, spices, incense, myrrh, and frankincense; wine, olive oil, rich flour, and wheat; cattle, sheep, horses, chariots, and human cargo (the trafficked souls of humanity).

Everything your heart desired

has gone away;

All the glitz and glitter

are lost to you forever;

you’ll never have them again!

The sellers of these goods, who made a fine profit from her, will stand at a distance. Like the kings, they will fear her punishment might fall on them too. They will weep and mourn their loss.

Woe to you, our great city,

dressed in finest linens, in purple and scarlet fabrics,

dazzling in gold and jewels and pearls.

In a single hour, all this wealth is gone.

And all the sea captains, all those who sail the seas, sailors, and those who make a living by the sea, stood at a distance. Strong men were reduced to tears as they gazed on the smoke that rose from her ruins. “Was there ever any city like her?” they asked. They threw dust in the air covering their heads. They wept bitterly and mourned their loss.

Woe to you, our great city;

all who had ships at sea

became rich off your wealth!

In a single hour, you have been utterly ruined.

Rejoice over her torment, O heaven. Join in the celebration, you saints, emissaries, and prophets because God has judged in your favor and against her.

Then a mighty messenger picked up a huge stone—it looked like a great millstone—and he cast it into the sea.

Mighty Messenger: Watch and see. This is how Babylon, the great city,

will be thrown down; violently will she go down,

and they will search for her in vain.

Never again will the sound of music grace your streets.

The melodies and harmonies of the harpists and musicians and flutists and trumpeters

will never be heard again.

And never again will an artisan of any craft

be found in your markets,

And never again will the grinding of the millstone

provide rhythm to your city,

And never again will the light of a lamp

bring warm light to your houses,

And never again will the voices of the bridegroom and bride

bring joy to your festivities.

For the merchants were the magnates of the earth,

and all the nations fell prey to your sorceries.

And in her streets the blood of the prophets, saints,

and all who have been slaughtered upon the earth, ran freely.

The Book of Revelation, Chapter 18 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 29th chapter of 2nd Chronicles that documents the cleansing and reopening of the Temple by King Hezekiah:

[King Hezekiah]

Hezekiah became king when he was twenty-five years old and was king in Jerusalem for twenty-nine years. His mother was Abijah daughter of Zechariah. In God’s opinion he was a good king; he kept to the standards of his ancestor David.

In the first month of the first year of his reign, Hezekiah, having first repaired the doors of The Temple of God, threw them open to the public. He assembled the priests and Levites in the court on the east side and said, “Levites, listen! Consecrate yourselves and consecrate The Temple of God—give this much-defiled place a good housecleaning. Our ancestors went wrong and lived badly before God—they discarded him, turned away from this house where we meet with God, and walked off. They boarded up the doors, turned out the lights, and canceled all the acts of worship of the God of Israel in the holy Temple. And because of that, God’s anger flared up and he turned those people into a public exhibit of disaster, a moral history lesson—look and read! This is why our ancestors were killed, and this is why our wives and sons and daughters were taken prisoner and made slaves.

“I have decided to make a covenant with the God of Israel and turn history around so that God will no longer be angry with us. Children, don’t drag your feet in this! God has chosen you to take your place before him to serve in conducting and leading worship—this is your life work; make sure you do it and do it well.”

The Levites stood at attention: Mahath son of Amasai and Joel son of Azariah from the Kohathites; Kish son of Abdi and Azariah son of Jehallelel from the Merarites; Joah son of Zimmah and Eden son of Joah from the Gershonites; Shimri and Jeiel sons of Elizaphan; Zechariah and Mattaniah sons of Asaph; Jehiel and Shimei of the family of Heman; Shemaiah and Uzziel of the family of Jeduthun. They presented themselves and their brothers, consecrated themselves, and set to work cleaning up The Temple of God as the king had directed—as God directed! The priests started from the inside and worked out; they emptied the place of the accumulation of defiling junk—pagan rubbish that had no business in that holy place—and the Levites hauled it off to the Kidron Valley. They began the Temple cleaning on the first day of the first month and by the eighth day they had worked their way out to the porch—eight days it took them to clean and consecrate The Temple itself, and in eight more days they had finished with the entire Temple complex.

Then they reported to Hezekiah the king, “We have cleaned up the entire Temple of God, including the Altar of Whole-Burnt-Offering and the Table of the Bread of the Presence with their furnishings. We have also cleaned up and consecrated all the vessels which King Ahaz had gotten rid of during his misrule. Take a look; we have repaired them. They’re all there in front of the Altar of God.”

Then Hezekiah the king went to work: He got all the leaders of the city together and marched to The Temple of God. They brought with them seven bulls, seven rams, seven lambs, and seven he-goats to sacrifice as an Absolution-Offering for the royal family, for the Sanctuary, and for Judah as a whole; he directed the Aaronite priests to sacrifice them on the Altar of God. The priests butchered the bulls and then took the blood and sprinkled it on the Altar, and then the same with the rams and lambs. Finally they brought the goats up; the king and congregation laid their hands upon them. The priests butchered them and made an Absolution-Offering with their blood at the Altar to atone for the sin of all Israel—the king had ordered that the Whole-Burnt-Offering and the Absolution-Offering be for all Israel.

The king ordered the Levites to take their places in The Temple of God with their musical instruments—cymbals, harps, zithers—following the original instructions of David, Gad the king’s seer, and Nathan the prophet; this was God’s command conveyed by his prophets. The Levites formed the orchestra of David, while the priests took up the trumpets.

Then Hezekiah gave the signal to begin: The Whole-Burnt-Offering was offered on the Altar; at the same time the sacred choir began singing, backed up by the trumpets and the David orchestra while the entire congregation worshiped. The singers sang and the trumpeters played all during the sacrifice of the Whole-Burnt-Offering. When the offering of the sacrifice was completed, the king and everyone there knelt to the ground and worshiped. Then Hezekiah the king and the leaders told the Levites to finish things off with anthems of praise to God using lyrics by David and Asaph the seer. They sang their praises with joy and reverence, kneeling in worship.

Hezekiah then made this response: “The dedication is complete—you’re consecrated to God. Now you’re ready: Come forward and bring your sacrifices and Thank-Offerings to The Temple of God.”

And come they did. Everyone in the congregation brought sacrifices and Thank-Offerings and some, overflowing with generosity, even brought Whole-Burnt-Offerings, a generosity expressed in seventy bulls, a hundred rams, and two hundred lambs—all for Whole-Burnt-Offerings for God! The total number of animals consecrated for sacrifice that day amounted to six hundred bulls and three thousand sheep. They ran out of priests qualified to slaughter all the Whole-Burnt-Offerings so their brother Levites stepped in and helped out while other priests consecrated themselves for the work. It turned out that the Levites had been more responsible in making sure they were properly consecrated than the priests had been. Besides the overflow of Whole-Burnt-Offerings there were also choice pieces for the Peace-Offerings and lavish libations that went with the Whole-Burnt-Offerings. The worship in The Temple of God was on a firm footing again!

Hezekiah and the congregation celebrated: God had established a firm foundation for the lives of the people—and so quickly!

* * *

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 29 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, february 26 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible, along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

A set of posts by John Parsons about Purim:

The sages extol the importance of the holiday of Purim because it reveals the hidden hand of God, despite his apparent absence in the affairs of this world... On the surface, each turn of the story could be explained naturally, or as simple “coincidence,” yet in the end we realize that God was at work behind the scenes, carefully putting together deliverance for God’s people. The eye of faith trusts in God’s providential plan, despite appearances to the contrary. Indeed, the phrase hester panim (הֶסְתֵר פָּנִים) means "hiding of the face" and is often used when discussing the Book of Esther. Understood as hidden providence, hester panim is somewhat like the sun on an overcast day: Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't there. God's great love is at work at all times, in all affairs of the universe, whether we perceive it or not. And that includes our world and all of its troubles: God is in control and His hidden hand holds all things together for the sake of his own counsels and purposes... [Hebrew for Christians]

2.24.21 • Facebook

The Book of Esther centers on God’s faithfulness and care of the Jewish people, and by extension, for all those (among the nations) who become partakers of Israel’s blessings through Yeshua the Messiah. The “scandal” of the story turns on the “scandal of election,” or the idea that God personally chooses some people -- for reasons that are entirely His alone -- to be the recipients of His covenantal love. The Jews are called the “chosen people” (עם הנבחר) just as Christians are said to be “chosen [εκλεγομαι] in Yeshua before the foundation of the world” (Eph. 1:4). In both cases we note God’s sovereign prerogative to choose those who are in relationship with Him. Yeshua told his followers: “No one can come to me (δυναται ελθειν προς με) unless the Father who sent me drags [ἑλκύσῃ] him” (John 6:44, 6:65), and He also said “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you” (John 15:16). God is the Initiator of the relationship; He is the Master of the Universe and “the God of the spirits of all flesh” (Num. 16:22). If there is revelation from heaven, it is Heaven’s prerogative to bestow it on Heaven’s own terms...

Regarding this divine prerogative, Paul reminded us of God’s words to Moses: "I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy" (Rom. 9:15). He then followed this up with the statement: “So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who shows mercy” (Rom. 9:15-16). If this sounds “offensive” or “unfair,” it may be that we are secretly appealing to our own supposed merit in order to find acceptance before God. The “scandal” of the gospel is that God loves whom He loves for reasons that are His alone, and this is likewise the scandal of God’s sovereign choice of ethnic Israel. In either case, God is preeminent, and God is perfectly righteous in all he does. [Hebrew for Christians]

2.24.21 • Facebook

an email message by Glenn Jackson:

February 26th

* WE ARE THE RIGHTEOUSNESS OF GOD, IN CHRIST

[ part 1 of 3]

Righteousness is the key word in Paul's epistles. It means the ability to stand in the Father's presence without the sense of fear, condemnation, or inferiority. The greatest blessing of the New Creation is to be established in righteousness, to acquire a "righteousness-consciousness". Man is born into a "sin-consciousness". We have had a "weakness-consciousness" that has kept us slaves of fear. But what a sense of victory, of freedom would be ours if we knew that we were the righteousness of God and were established in that fact. Sin-consciousness has made slaves of the human race. It has destroyed the initiative in multitudes. It has been the oldest and most persistent enemy of faith. You cannot have faith in the Word when you are under condemnation! Righteousness means the ability to stand in the presence of God. What would sonship be worth if we did not have righteousness? The Father would have no pleasure in His children because they would be shrinking, cowardly, fearful beings. The children would never enjoy the Father's presence. No redemption would be worth the name that did not include righteousness. No New Creation and sonship would be worth the title, if righteousness did not become part of it. So the object of the Redemption that God wrought in His Son was to make man righteous before Him. That was the ultimate objective of the Father. He dared to make His Son a Substitute for the human race.

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

February 26, 2021

The Wicked Man

“The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts.” (Psalm 10:4)

It is significant that the word “wicked” does not necessarily mean morally depraved or violently dangerous. It is essentially synonymous with “ungodly,” and the Hebrew word used here (rasha) is often so translated. This tenth psalm provides a graphic summary of their real character. They are:

Proud. “The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God” (v. 4).

Fawning. “For the wicked...blesseth the covetous, whom the LORD abhorreth” (v. 3).

Atheistic, at least in behavior. “He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten:...he will never see it” (v. 11).

Stubborn. “He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved: for I shall never be in adversity” (v. 6).

Profane. “His mouth is full of cursing....under his tongue is mischief and vanity” (v. 7).

Hurtful. “In the secret places doth he murder the innocent” (v. 8). This surely applies to character assassination, when not to actual killing.

Deceptive. “His mouth is full of...deceit and fraud:...He lieth in wait secretly as a lion in his den” (vv. 7, 9).

It is significant that the apostle Paul cited verse 7 (“full of cursing”) as descriptive of most of the ancient pagans in his day, and it can sadly be applied to many modern pagans as well.

But David said: “I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green bay tree. Yet he passed away, and, lo, he was not” (Psalm 37:35-36). “For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish” (Psalm 1:6). HMM

[ecotone99]

[MS] Cothrom

The studio apartment, where Jeffrey McHahan found himself sitting, was filled with post-modern pieces of art. Some of which looked like it had been through a giant blender, then pasted back together with melted crayons and bubblegum. He did not bother trying to see any significance or symbolism in the piece. He had seen cold bowls of oatmeal that have had more charm. The man who lived here had an expensive taste, but not much reason to stay longer than a night at a time. The artwork did little more than fill the room, and that was about it. Sketches of barfed out figures but no pictures of family or friends. Sculptures that resemble busted machinery glued together in a macramé hammock, but no big screen TV or stools at the kitchenette.

Jeffery was not a smoker, at least not since his time in Eastern Europe. The room was dark, but the orange glow from a burning cigarette was not going to be accompanying the foreboding of his task. The task he appointed to himself, and was obligated to take on from several parties of grief-stricken parents, was not going to be an uncalculated robbery. It was going to have a purpose. It was going to provide cothrom. The room already smelled like toxic glue and cleaner, from the art pieces, and Heaven only knew what the smell of second-hand smoke would have added.

"Why?" Jeffery muttered to himself looking through the glass table at his light brown work boots. Above sat a manila folder, a black pen, and a suppressed CZ-75 Automatic which he understandably almost always had set on "semi-automatic". He could not quite understand why people insisted on eating at glass tables, and the thought became the most apparent with the unsettling "clang" from placing his gun there earlier. “...why have one this flimsy?” He stayed cool, but perplexed, with no reason to be fidgety or paranoid. The alarm was deactivated, his spandex gloves were on, and the place was swept for weapons. In the hour he had been there, waiting for Mark Laughlin to come home, he had only been sitting for ten minutes. Waiting is not the hardest part when you know the social patterns and routines. It's everything that comes after they walk through the door that makes the difference between zen and bedlam.

Mark Laughlin, a Caucasian man in his early 20s, strolled into his apartment whistling an indistinct tune and tossing his keys into a porcelain bowl by the front door. His attitude was casual, in a good mood from beating some of his drinking buddies in a game of racquetball. When he tossed his keys, over-head into the bowl, he noticed his alarm panel was off. He grunted quizzically as he opened a small cabinet to retrieve a Glock 19, he kept in a lockbox. To his dismay the box had already been opened and the gun was missing. Keeping his bravado, he cautiously walked into his apartment dialing "911" on his cell phone.

"Good afternoon Mr. Laughlin..." Jeffery said holding up his CZ-75, elbow resting on the table. Mark panicked and put up his hands. "Hey man easy..." "Put down the phone." "I didn’t push 'Send'..." "Unplug from your tech ways Mr. Laughlin. I won't ask again." Jeffery’s tone stayed calm and official; but he did pull back the hammer to let Mark know he would be shot if there was no compliance. Mark tossed the phone onto the kitchenette counter. "Listen I have money, there's..." "$6,435 American, 800 Euros, and a big diamond ring in your bedroom safe. I know, I helped myself to it, you can keep the passport.” He pointed, with the gun, at a nearby seat of the table. “Now sit down please Mr. Laughlin." "Can I get you a drink?" It was the only other thing he could offer his intruder, perhaps picking up on the Irish accent, and assuming he could bribe him with the age-old cliché. He made his way toward the mini-bar, motioning toward the bay windows, with an appealing raise of the eyebrows. "No thank you. I don't drink on Thursdays. By the way I cut the wire on that panic button of yours." Jeffery’s Irish accent went gruff, with his tone at the end of his sentences being absolute rather than ending with a stereotypical high pitch. Mark stopped in his tracks and lowered his head defeated. "Can I get some ice?" "If by 'ice' you mean the unregistered .38 snub in your mini-fridge..." Jeffery pulled the gun in question out of his satchel, and gently placed it on the table. "...then no... you may not. Sit down Mark, I'm getting tired of askin'." Though annoyed his tone was still calm, but more demanding.

Mark frowned, he opened his mouth to say something, but refrained and settled for a shrug of the shoulders instead. He walked over to the table and sat down; his situation was bleak but his body language was reinforcing his false sense of confidence. Jeffery de-cocked the hammer on his pistol sitting it down gently.

“Are you familiar with the name Linda Velicia?” Jeffery opened the folder like a lawyer beginning a line of questioning. Mark looked up surprised, like the name DID bring up a tragic memory. “No…” “’No’? Ok, what about Brandon Welsh?” Mark’s eyes grew wide. “No…” “Rebecca Zenburg, Dillon Roacheque?” Mark rolled his hands, through his dark blonde hair. He grew anxious. "Are you sure Mr. Laughlin? I'm getting the impression I’m hittin’ a wall here..." "I... What the fuck do you want!?" "I'm trying to be civil and give you the opportunity of being honest with me." Jeffery stayed calm, but his tone was getting louder as he placed a photograph in front of Mark. "Linda Velacia?"

Mark glanced at the picture and quickly looked away; he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The picture was a printout photo, most likely from a social media page, of a young blonde-haired Caucasian woman, smiling at a college party, with a red disposable cup in her hand.

Jeffery raised his eyebrows quizzically looking at Mark's reaction. "The name match the face?" “I don’t recall…” Mark replied with an ounce of shame in his tone trying, but upspeaking in the form of a question. “How about this one?” Jeffery laid out a Poloroid of Linda in a hospital bed. The left side of her face badly cut and bruised. Her mouth covered in medical tape with a breathing tube. “Christ…” Mark whispered shaking his head. Jeffery put out another picture; one of a young Caucasian man, with brown hair, by a pond, smiling with a pair of black Labrador retrievers. “Brandon Welsh?” Mark looked at the picture, then looked up at Jeffery with tears starting to form. Jeffery squinted menacingly putting out an eight-by-ten forensic photo of Brandon crushed by his steering wheel, face covered in windshield glass. “Don’t look at me boy! Look at the picture!” He was slowly getting angry. Mark looked down, covered his eyes, and began to sob. “Fuck you...” “This is Rebecca Zenburg before…” He presented a slightly grainy print out of a light skinned black girl smiling, with her parents, at her high school graduation. “…this one here is her after she met you. I don’t know how pertinent it may be for your recollection.” He slid another forensic eight-by-ten across the table. “As you can see her head’s a bit obscured in this one.” Mark leaped up from the table. “Look, I need a drink ok!?” Jeffery leaped up and grabbed him by the left shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair. “Drinking put you in me crosshairs, taking another sip will cause a pull of the trigger…” He grabbed the back of Mark’s head, forcing a tilt toward the table. “Easier for you to remember when you’re sober? She’s a bit hard to make out in that one!? Steel beams tend to do that...”

Mark looked at the CZ-75, “business end” pointed toward him despite it resting on the table. He wiped his tears, took a deep breath, and considered trying to get to the root of what Jeffery wanted.

“How much money do you want?” Mark said getting right to business, silver spoon providing whatever pay could get himself out of his present situation. Jeffery let go of Mark’s head and sat back down with a smirk. “First maybe you can tell me what the hell is the matter with you.” “I like to party sometimes. I’m really a good driver....” “Obviously not...” Jeffery interrupted him swiftly already knowing what kind of man he was, motioning at the pictures on the table. “...but you know that’s what taxis are for. Judging by your design choices I’d say you have the money for them.” He looked around the room and sighed. “No... I know you’re an irresponsible drunk. Take this glass table as sort of an example.” “What?” “Why do people buy glass tables? You can’t put a hot pot on it, you can’t stand on it to fix your ceiling fan, and you can’t exactly bang a cute girl from the bar on it… That is if they made it here alive... So, what’s the point of it? Is it cheaper than wood? Is it a ‘fengsuai’ thing maybe?” Mark sat in his chair with a quizzical look on his face, trying to follow the line of questioning. He never expected to be held at gunpoint for his decorating decision. “Well... would you rather we talked about the lives you ruined while driving drunk?” Jeffery shrugged his eyebrows and sat back in his chair, trying to mess with Mark’s head. “I was acquitted of those accidents!” Mark sat forward and said with a stern voice. Jeffery slapped Mark across the face. “You got off! There’s a difference boy! Insanity, or after a botched 28 days in rehab, or your daddy being the honorable Judge Laughlin!? The ‘honorable’ part being questionable. There ain’t a court in the world that would have acquitted you otherwise! No jury would have let you just walk away from this!” “Just tell me what you want! I can get you money!” Mark blocked his face from another strike. Jeffery smacked him anyway hitting his left forearm. “The problem with you is your daddy didn’t do that enough.” He grabbed a legal document from the file and slid it in front of Mark. “You don’t have to pay me a dime, I already helped myself to your safe, but you didn’t give your victims one penny.”

Jeffery sat back in his chair and waited for the young man to read the document in full. He had no empathy for Mark, or what he had done. Reading his face, he could tell that being forced to finally pay damages wasn’t going to be an issue, but was he going to learn from his mistakes? Some people don’t have the sense to stay from behind the wheel after getting wasted, but most learn from their first accident. Mark Laughlin was a man who was made abandoned yet cuddled by his rich parents. While his sister Kelly went off to be a future starving artist, Mark got lucky investing in his college friends’ real estate and freemium mobile apps. His problems could be solved with a checkbook, and a written note from his Judge father, but Jeffery clenched his fist knowing none of it could bring back the victims.

Thinking of their families he breathed deeply and placed a pen on the table. “I don’t really care what YOU think of the terms. Sign the paper Mr. Laughlin. You owe much more than what it states.” His shoulders sank and tone grew dim. The clack of the plastic pen, on the glass table, sounded like a boulder crashing into a deep chasm. Mark started to shake, his eyes grew buggy, looking at the pictures of his former friends.

“How did it go?” A burly bald man with a Boston accent and grey beard, asked looking in a manila folder. “Not the way I would have expected, but I’m not saddened by the results.” Jeffery replied exhaustingly leaning against a tree in Palmer Park. “Was he sick with anything?” “Give them a different folder for appearances sake.” Jeffery hadn’t noticed the small blood smear on the corner. “You’ll be fine though. The only thing he was sick with was poor decision makin’.” “Is it all on the up?” The burly man, Ray Starks, shook the folder giving Jeffery a look of concern. “Just give the document to the attorney, she’ll see it through.” He walked toward his car, a 2008 Dodge Charger. “I already got me pay, so tell them to save my cut.” “How much he have?” Not considering it a shakedown Jeffery gave the man a sly look. “Anniversary coming up?” “Yeah...” Jeffery tossed the diamond ring. “Give your old lady that.” Ray caught it with one hand and looked at his palm, eyes lighting up. “You beautiful son-of-a-bitch. You know Christmas ain’t for another seven months?” “You’re welcome asshole.” Jeffery got into his car. “Hey...” Ray tapped on the driver-side window. “...seriously. You’re a wicked pissahJeffy.” He continued after the power window went down. “Thanks, is what I’m tryin’ to say. Not just cause of the ring. Fuck that Laughlin guy, the families will appreciate what you did for them.”

Jeffery nodded approvingly, with a stern look and a half smile, before driving off. What he did most wouldn’t consider “right”, but he was a professional. He was someone that provided cothrom, to those who don’t have time to inform or trust the police. Or in Mark Laughlin’s case those who slip past “Lady Justice”. No matter which side of the law his results went he didn’t do it for the money or the glory. He had his reasons, a long history of why’s and when's. Ray, like a lot of his friends, was someone who could be trusted with this knowledge. A former member of an outlaw biker gang, he spent most of his time as a courier up and down the east coast. Transporting discrete documents for Jeffery and others who needed his services.

As Jeffery drove up North Front Street his cell phone rang to life.

“Hey Jeffy can you get over to The Arch Apartments? Kidnapping took place this morning, it’s the usual M.O., but something’s hanky about it. I’ll give you the details when you arrive.” A man with a Dominican accent said quickly but quietly over the phone, not giving Jeffery a second to say “Hello?” “I’ll be there in 15. What’s the apartment number?” “Apartment 12D. The front desk will buzz you up, I told them to expect you. This place is classy, make sure you dress appropriately. They might not let you in.”

A kidnap and ransom case? How Victor got word wasn’t important to him, he being in the Philadelphia Police Department had its perks with information gathering. In the trunk of his car he kept a dark blue blazer, among other things, that he swapped with his brown leather jacket. He sprayed on some deodorant and rushed into the lobby of the old apartment complex. The outside of the building was of a 1920s design and the lobby had been renovated to make it reflect that. The front desk, not saying a word, waved Jeffery up. In the corridor on the twelfth floor the door for apartment D swung open after a swift knock. Victor Guzman, stood in the doorway wearing a dark grey pants suit. He stood with a look of subdued shock at the sight before him.

"It's the first sign of the apocalypse!" Victor said with a chuckle at Jeffery's outfit. “You said dress properly so I threw on me best jacket.” He replied with a grin. He looked down at his faded jeans and brown boots. “It’s a nice effort but I said wear a suit.” “No, you didn’t you said ‘dress appropriately’.” “No, I sent you a text message after you hung up saying ‘that means wear a suit.’” Jeffery pulled out his cell phone, from his jeans pocket, and browsed through his texts. “Ah… had me phone on vibrate so I wouldn’t crash and die.” He put away the phone and reached into his left inner jacket pocket. “Don’t worry I figured this wouldn’t be enough.” He produced a black clip-on tie which he proceeded to put on the collar of his t-shirt. “God help me…” Victor replied in his native Spanish. “Come on get in here.” Jeffery tugged at Victor’s shirt color. “If I knew we were going to a GQ photoshoot I would have made a better effort.” “Hey! I got this at Men’s Warehouse, not that fruity shit. The guy was right, I like the way I look, but my wallet thinks I’m an asshole.”

Jeffery laughed and made his way into the apartment; the suite had a gloomy atmosphere to it. A pale and dark foreboding was in the air and it was reflected by the lighting. It could either be a sign of the case to come, or it was just the way it shined through the beige curtains, it was not a pleasant setting. The apartment had a long corridor that lead to several other rooms, all of which about the size of a whole cheaper apartment in New York City. This was most certainly a high-end complex, “you could fit six families in here” he thought to himself “what a waste of space”. “What’s going on Vic?” He said with a sense of uneasiness in his voice. Victor frowned and turned to face Jeffery. “Kidnapping, six years old, name’s Tyler Bloom.” Jeffery hung his head in regret and yanked his tie off, the moment for humor had passed. “How long ago?” “This morning, 7:32AM, somewhere near the corner of Westmoreland and 17th.” “Where are the parents?” “The mother is crying her eyes out in his bedroom and his step father is watching the game in the living room.”

Jeffery made his way down the corridor trying not to look at the pictures that covered the wall on the right. Birthdays, summer vacations, Christmases, Halloweens, trips to the mall, even a few pictures of Tyler as a baby in the maternity ward, every angle and crack of his smile documented. Holding back tears wasn’t a hard thing to do at this point in his life. “Never distant, but never involved.” He knew better than to look at the wall of family photos but he couldn’t help it. They told him time and time again in the Philly P.D. not to look at photos of happier times, not to get involved emotionally with a case. Just as soon as you look at the smile of such a child’s face the grim reality of finding their lifeless body suddenly makes the meeting disappointing. Having to tell the parents, having to describe how you found them in the sincerest way possible, while clutching onto a professional tone and not letting your emotions show, although on many occasions Jeffery wanted to cry right along with them.

He made a left into the living room; the décor was postmodern with industrial style settings. Light gray walls with bright colored furniture that matched the modern paintings. The furniture helped brighten up the gloomy mood of the apartment’s atmosphere, but Martin Swanson looked like a black hole of hope in the middle of the couch. On the 65” HDTV was a St. Lois Cardinals and Washington Nationals baseball game. Martin was very subdued, not even paying attention, or rooting for either side.

Lauren Bloom sat in Tyler’s bedroom, staring off into space, tears in her eyes, clutching a stuffed cheetah toy. She was a young black woman with a frizzy natural afro. She looked as if she had got dressed in a hurry but was wearing expensive tight legged jeans, boots, and a Kashmir sweater. She had on no makeup but was a young attractive woman, this was a blessing he thought “she probably would have cried it all off by now.”

“Miss. Bloom this is my associate Jeffrey McHahan.” Victor said with an era of sympathy and professionalism. Lauren glanced up and looked down quickly. “Hello.” She said her voice cracking through her tears. “Ma’am.” Jeffery replied remorsefully with a nod toward her, and then retreated with Victor back into the corridor. “Is he the father?” Jeffery asked referring to Martin. “He died last year from heart complications. He ain’t mine.” Martin spoke up bluntly replying with his eyes fixated on the baseball game. “Lauren is currently engaged to... Mr. Swanson. This is his place.” Victor said with a sigh. “And what is it you do for a living Mr. Swanson?” Jeffery asked aggressively walking into the middle of the living room. Martin got up from his chair, uncomfortable by the advancement, and made his way to the kitchenette. “I’m a stock broker.” “So, I imagine you have a long list of enemies?” “Yeah! You know sometimes I imagine unicorns and Santa Clause too!” He walked toward the kitchenette to grab a beer from the refrigerator. “I imagine if I didn’t put a ring on that woman’s finger I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess!” He shouted in the direction of Tyler’s bedroom.

Lauren slammed the bedroom door causing Victor to roll his eyes. Jeffery grabbed him by the arm and motioned for them to head back into the corridor.

“Thanks... I’ve had me fill of dealing with spoiled yuppies today Vic.” “Yeah and about that, the Laughlin thing came over the radio while you were on your way here.” Jeffery looked shocked. “Let me guess. cleaning lady found him?” “Yeah... Nice mess you left behind.” “I didn’t mean for it to go down like that. I swear I was just gonna scare him, you know? Beat him up a bit?” “What the hell happened then?” “I’ll tell you later! Did the kidnappers make any demands yet? Contact the family?” Jeffery was trying to get the case back on track. He knew Victor didn’t like hearing about his “messes” since it went against a long-standing agreement, they set years ago. “The old cliché'; ‘don’t call the cops or we’ll kill the boy’ you know? Lauren called the district, L.T. got wind, made it confidential, and I thought of you.” Victor shrugged his shoulders giving Jeffery the short version. “You like ‘Quicksilver’ for this?” “I’m getting a bad vibe from him, yeah.” “Me too...” Jeffery walked back toward the kitchenette. “Who was the last person to see the boy, I mean apart from the kidnappers?” “The fam…” Jeffery interrupted Martin to clarify what he meant. “Were there any witnesses?” “Yes! Jamie Williamson, I hired that hood rat to be Tyler’s driver.” He took a long swig of his beer. Jeffery rolled his eyes over to Victor. “Was there any blood at the scene?” It was a question that he didn’t want to ask, but was an important detail that had to be clarified regardless. The question wasn’t for Martin, but he stopped drinking and grew a guilty look on his face. As if he suddenly gave a damn about Tyler’s life. “No, thank God, it seemed like a simple ‘crash and grab’.” Victor replied sighing with relief. “L.T. reported the crime scene to the traffic division, as of now they’re treating it like a simple fender bender.” “But that won’t last for long.” Jeffery shook his head.

Knowing that wasn’t the case in reality, he figured the kidnappers were amateurs. He wasn’t certain if that was a blessing or a curse for Tyler.

“Why does Jamie Williamson sound familiar?” Victor said with a quizzical expression. “He couldn’t be related to Cyrus, could he?” “The drug dealer? No, the world can’t be that small.” “Drug dealers!? Oh, that’s cute!” Martin quipped heading back to the couch. Victor pulled out his police issued smart phone and began searching for the name Jamie Williamson. “So, what was it Mr. Swanson took too big of a laundering fee?” Jeffery asked flippantly knowing guys like Martin could get involved with the wrong clientele.

Victor looked up for a second, from his case searching, waiting for Martin’s reply. He had a feeling of a confrontation about to begin. Martin, a man of smaller stature compared to Jeffery’s nearly six-foot frame, tossed his nearly empty bottle at Jeffery. In his eyes it seemed like a smart offensive move. Jeffery, in turn, smacked the bottle to the side of the room without a shatter. Victor rolled his eyes and got between Martin and Jeffery.

“Martin sit down!” Victor pushed him back, knocking him off his feet into the couch. “We’re here to help you, but you need to tell us everything!” Jeffery shouted backing away from Victor’s intervention. ”Who the fuck is this any way!? I’m gonna sue you AND the city!” Martin shouted, leaping up, pointing at Jeffery. “I want my lawyer present!” “I’m the man who’s gonna save your fiancé’s boy.” Jeffery replied sternly. “IF you let me.” Martin took a deep breath. “I want my lawyer.” “You only need a lawyer if you talk to a cop.” Victor smiled passing Jeffery his phone. “I’ll be outside until you’re done. Don’t kill this one ok?” He walked down the corridor nonchalantly. Martin looked at Victor, then looked at Jeffery confused. “I’m not a cop Mr. Swanson, I’m a K&R specialist.” Jeffery pulled the right side of his jacket, showing his HK USP, in a three-o'clock position inside the waistband holster, but no badge. “Everything you tell ME is confidential, and will NOT be used against you in a court of law, but if you’ve messed up, you’ll need to come clean. Every detail helps my investigation and the more you impede it, the less likely we’ll find Tyler alive.”

Jeffery clenched his fists. Lauren walked out of the bedroom, staring at Martin infuriated. Martin’s shoulders dropped, face frowned, and overall demeanor changed. No longer was he looking to fight, he now was using every ounce of strength just to keep from dropping to his knees with guilt. Jeffery looked down at Victor’s phone, Jaime Williamson’s police record in blue and white colors with a mugshot from when he was a teenager back in the early 2000s. He browsed the page, occasionally looking up at the domestic stare down between Martin and Lauren. He sarcastically wanted to speak up with a “well?” to move things along but instead he’d rather have a proverbial “knife” to cut the tension. Jaimie didn’t have much of a record; little misdemeanors here and there. Under “known associates” was his more criminally-hardened brother Cyrus Williamson, a.k.a. T-Bone, a.k.a. Muhammad Abdul Hamar, a.k.a. Charles Williamson III. His aliases changed about as often as an egotistical hip hop artist’s title; though his creativity was violence and drug smuggling rather than rhythm and lyrics. “It’s a small world after all.” He already knew his usual location, his mother’s tavern in Germantown.

He looked over at Lauren, approaching her slowly, blocking her line of sight from Martin. He frowned, raised his eyebrows, and took a deep breath. “Miss. Bloom I swear to you that you’ll see Tyler again.” He reached into his right jacket pocket, gently grabbed her right hand with his left, and placed a clean folded handkerchief in the palm with his right hand. She looked down smiling gratefully at the gesture, the daggers in her eyes subsided as she gave a short laugh. “I didn’t know anyone still carried these.” He glanced back at Martin then guided her away into the kitchenette. “I didn’t know I had it either, it must have come with the jacket.” Jeffery replied jokingly patting around the pockets for other trinkets. It was just part of shtick to alleviate anxiety. He lifted her chin up and looked into her wet green eyes. “You WILL see Tyler again, and I swear to God if anyone...” Jeffery looked over at Martin. “ANYONE. Gets in the way of that...” He looked back in Laura’s eyes. “They will feel pain, I promise, but certainly nothing like what you’re feeling now.” There was not an ounce of flare or falsity in his eyes, with small tears developing in both of his ducts as well. “No weapon has that kind of power.” Lauren slowly nodded in agreement; she knew what he meant. “Get back to your game Mr. Swanson and sit down!” He said aggressively to Martin, bulging his eyes and facing away from Lauren, to let him know there would be physical violence if he didn’t. “Could you show me Tyler’s room please?” He faced Lauren, now with a calmer tone and a smile.

Over the next twenty minutes Lauren showed Jeffery various toys and interests Tyler had. He had an entire shelf filled with animal books and magazines. Almost all of them marked with a page of information on African species. She continued to clutch the stuffed animal cheetah that was apparently his favorite. It reminded Jeffery of a time when he himself had a stuffed animal as well as the “battles” he and his siblings would have with their respective toys. It alarmed him to find out Tyler would sometimes punch his stuffed animals muttering Martin’s name, but not the cheetah. The reminiscing was bitter sweet. Every time Lauren would bring up a favorite past time of Tyler’s she would stutter then hold back crying.

“I’m sorry I have to ask you this, and you don’t need to hold back, but has Martin been abusing Tyler?” Jeffery asked while Lauren cried into her shoulder. “No. Thank God. This is the most he’s been home in weeks. He’s never here...” She looked toward the door with anger. “He doesn’t love him like his father did.” He nodded understandingly and sighed. He sucked in the emotion with a clearing of the throat and left her be. “You’ll see your son by tonight Miss. Bloom. I just need you to stay strong.”

Jeffery knew there was no time to lose, taking the time to get to know what kind of kid Tyler was may have seemed like a waste of time to most people, but it for him it was motivation. He wasn’t just trying to save someone’s child; his mission was now to save a friend. He glanced at Martin disapprovingly as he stormed up the hallway. For his sake it was best that he never laid a finger on Tyler, or else Martin would never walk again. Not that Jeffery had the time to dish out that level of retribution under the current circumstances. Victor stopped him in the hall.

“Just got off the horn with the L.T, they couldn’t stall Jamie any longer. He ain’t saying anything helpful anyway.” Victor sounded more defeated at knowing Jeffery would have to head down to Germantown, wasting precious time, rather than weary of the fact no one likes to corporate with the police. “That doesn’t surprise me, the only ‘legal advice’ he gets is from his hood rat brother. I know he’ll run to momma. They always do when the law’s involved.” Jeffery said with a confident tone, smiling with glee as he exited the apartment. He was for certain he would go to her tavern to “lay low.”

TO BE CONTINUED

This isn’t the whole story because I didn’t know there was a 40,000 character limit on Reddit. Would like to get this published but not sure where to go. If there’s any interest I’ll post the rest here in a comment.

submitted by /u/Wilmore99 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RNi7La

[dailybiblelessons]

What's ahead in the Bible readings for February 8 to 14?

The Sixth Week After the Epiphany (for some), The Transfiguration (for some), and Ash Wednesday (for all)

Transfiguration Celebration

The Transfiguration of Christ is one of the most significant events during his earthly life, and the church rightly celebrates it. Lutherans, Presbyterians, and Methodists celebrate it on the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday, while Catholics, Anglicans, and Orthodox churches celebrate it on August sixth. Those Orthodox churches that use the Gregorian calendar also celebrate it on August sixth, which falls on August nineteenth on the Julian calendar in general use.

That is why the last week before Ash Wednesday has two sets of readings, one labeled for the sixth Sunday following the Epiphany (and the related weekdays), and another, labeled as Transfiguration Sunday (and the related weekdays), for those who celebrate that festival this week. Ash Wednesday completes the week, and the first week of Lent follows. For those who get the readings by email, those for the sixth week after the Epiphany should come first, and the ones for the Transfiguration a few minutes later.

The sixth week after the Epiphany readings have much to do with leprosy. Most study Bibles indicate that the word probably refers to a wide variety of skin conditions, in addition to what we today call Hansen's Disease. So the image I chose is of Jesus healing a leper, showing that the Son of God has power over ritual uncleanness.

The Transfiguration image conveys a more spiritual view of the event, and so is something we might meditate on.

The Sixth Week After the Epiphany

Thursday to Sunday Psalm 30 You have turned my mourning into dancing; you have taken off my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, so that my soul may praise you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever.

Thursday: Preparation for the Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany Leviticus 13:1-17 Duties of a person with leprosy and the priest, and regulations concerning ritual cleanness. Hebrews 12:7-13 God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share his holiness. Now, discipline always seems painful at the time, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

Friday: Preparation for the Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany Leviticus 14:1-20 The procedure for becoming clean is explained, and the duties of the priest laid out. Acts 19:11-20 God did extraordinary miracles through Paul, so that when the handkerchiefs or aprons that had touched his skin were brought to the sick, their diseases left them. A number of those who practiced magic collected their books and burned them publicly, so the word of the Lord grew mightily and prevailed.

Saturday: Preparation for the Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany Leviticus 14:21-32 Offering that a poor person should make at the time of cleansing from leprosy. Matthew 26:6-13 While Jesus was at Simon the leper's house, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head. The disciples complained that the ointment could have been sold and the money given to the poor. Jesus responded, "Why do you trouble the woman? By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her."

The Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany 2 Kings 5:1-14 Elisha has a messenger tell Naaman, an Aramean, to wash in the Jordan seven times to be cured of his leprosy. 1 Corinthians 9:24-27 Athletes exercise self-control in all things; they do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable one. Mark 1:40-45 A leper came, and kneeling, said to him, "If you choose, you can make me clean." Jesus, stretching out his hand, touched him and said, "I do choose. Be made clean!" Immediately the leprosy left him. Jesus told him to go to the priest and make the offering that Moses commanded. Instead, the man told everyone, and Jesus was no longer able to stay in a town openly, but out in the country. People came to him from every quarter.

Monday & Tuesday Psalm 6 Turn, O Lord, save my life; deliver me for the sake of your steadfast love. The Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord accepts my prayer. All my enemies shall be ashamed and struck with terror.

Monday: Reflection on the Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany 2 Chronicles 26:1-21 King Uzziah set himself to seek God in the days of Zechariah, who instructed him in the fear of God; and as long as he sought the Lord, God made him prosper. Uzziah built towers in Jerusalem at the Corner Gate, at the Valley Gate, and at the Angle, and fortified them. But when he had become strong he grew proud, to his destruction. For he was false to the Lord his God, and entered the temple of the Lord to make offering on the altar of incense. But the priest Azariah went in after him, and said to him, "It is not for you, Uzziah, to make offering to the Lord, but for the priests the descendants of Aaron, who are consecrated to make offering." Then Uzziah was angry, and when he became angry with the priests a leprous disease broke out on his forehead, in the presence of the priests in the house of the Lord. Acts 3:1-10 Peter and John were going up to the temple when a man lame from birth was being carried in. Peter looked intently at him, as did John, and said, "Look at us. I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk." And he took him by the right hand and raised him up; and immediately his feet and ankles were made strong. The people were filled with wonder and amazement at what happened to him.

Tuesday: Reflection on the Sixth Sunday After the Epiphany 2 Kings 7:3-10 There were four leprous men outside the city gate, who said to one another, "Let us desert to the Aramean camp; if they spare our lives, we shall live; and if they kill us, we shall but die." When they came to the edge of the Aramean camp, there was no one there at all. For the Lord had caused the Aramean army to hear the sound of chariots, and of horses, the sound of a great army, so they fled away in the twilight. So they came and called to the gatekeepers of the city, and told them, "We went to the Aramean camp, but there was no one to be seen or heard there, nothing but the horses tied, the donkeys tied, and the tents as they were." 1 Corinthians 10:14-11:1 The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a sharing in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a sharing in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread. So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God.

Transfiguration

Thursday to Sunday Psalm 50:1-6 The mighty one, God the Lord, speaks and summons the earth. Out of Zion God shines forth.

Thursday: Preparation for the Transfiguration 1 Kings 11:26-40 The prophet Ahijah found Jeroboam. Ahijah tore the new garment he was wearing into twelve pieces and said to Jeroboam: Take for yourself ten pieces; for thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, "See, I am about to tear the kingdom from the hand of Solomon, and will give you ten tribes, because he has forsaken me and worshiped Astarte, Chemosh, and Milcom." 2 Corinthians 2:12-17 We are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; to the one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life.

Friday: Preparation for the Transfiguration 1 Kings 14:1-18 Abijah son of Jeroboam fell sick. He sent his wife to Abijah, who told her that her son would die, because Jeroboam made for himself other gods, and cast images. The prophet told her that God will strike Israel and scatter them beyond the Euphrates, because they have made their sacred poles. 1 Timothy 1:12-20 The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners-of whom I am the foremost.

Saturday: Preparation for the Transfiguration 1 Kings 16:1-7 The word of God against Baasha: Since I exalted you out of the dust and made you leader over my people Israel, and you have walked in the way of Jeroboam, and have caused my people Israel to sin. Therefore, I will consume your house." Luke 19:41-44 Jesus wept over Jerusalem, because its people did not recognize the time of their visitation from God. They will be crushed to the ground, and one stone will not be left upon another.

Transfiguration Sunday 2 Kings 2:1-12 Elisha asks Elijah for a double portion of his spirit. Elijah says that he will receive it if he sees him when he is taken. Elisha sees a chariot of fire and Elijah ascending into heaven. 2 Corinthians 4:3-6 It is the God who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. Mark 9:2-9 Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain apart. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, who were talking with Jesus.

Monday & Tuesday Psalm 110:1-4 You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.

Monday: Reflection on the Transfiguration Exodus 19:7-25 Moses brought the people before God on Mount Sinai. God was present in a thick cloud, and there was a very loud blast of a trumpet, and an earthquake. God sent Moses down to get Aaron. Hebrews 2:1-4 The message declared by angels was valid. It was declared first by the Lord, and God added testimony by signs, wonders, and miracles, and we have the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

Tuesday: Reflection on the Transfiguration Job 19:23-27 I know that my Redeemer lives. In my flesh I shall see God on my side. 1 Timothy 3:14-16 Paul writes of Jesus, "He was revealed in flesh, vindicated in spirit, seen by angels, proclaimed among Gentiles, believed in throughout the world, taken up in glory."

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday Psalm 51 I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me. Create in me a clean hear, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. You have no delight in sacrifice. The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. Hebrew Scripture: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 Blow the trumpet in Zion! Return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weep, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing. Let the priests says "Spare your people, O LORD, and do not make your heritage a mockery." Alternate Hebrew Scripture: Isaiah 58:1-12 You serve your own interests on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. You fast only to quarrel. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high. Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free? 2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10 We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21 Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

The links above do not become active until 7 a.m. US Eastern Time on the designated day, when the readings get posted on our web site.

Thank you for all that you do to bring God's reign into being. Mike Gilbertson

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 Bible verses from The New Revised Standard Version, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All right reserved. Selections from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings, copyright 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Image credit: Healing of the Leper by Gunnar Bach Pedersen, via Wikimedia Commons. This is a public domain image. The Transfiguration of Jesus by Armando Alemdar Ara, via Wikipedia.org (not Commons). This image is licensed under the Creative Commons 3.0 Attribution Share Alike 3.0 license.

 What's Ahead B Epiphany 6