#ive been put off more by seeing people eat it straight out the jar

[corrienteallita]

No thank you.

I think that mayonnaise is a heinous excuse for a food and the only way I tolerated mayonnaise machines in game was knowing that I would never accidently slurp the white slime down my pixelated throat.

[destination-despairing]

Sierra and I saw this piece of art by @ktokei and I ended up writing a whole drabble set in the Butterfly Effect au inspired by the picture and an idea Sierra had, and I debated posting it cause it was just something quick I wrote for fun (and cause Sierra asked me to) but there’s some parts I’m pretty proud of so here ya go why not:

Nagito was no stranger to hospitals, and neither was Izuru. Neither of them liked hospitals, which was understandable given their associations with doctors and lab coats. This is why Nagito was so grateful that Izuru had come to visit him.

“They keep asking for my guardian,” Nagito sighed. “That would be upsetting if I were under eighteen, but now? It’s upsetting and annoying. I wish they would just tell me, it’s not like I haven’t heard all these terms before.”

Izuru nodded with a ‘hm’ sound. He was checking Nagito’s chart, which made Nagito raise an eyebrow at him.

Izuru noticed this after awhile and cleared his throat, setting the chart back. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine… you worry in your own way…” Nagito sighed. 

Izuru looked around the room, his frown deepening. He went to the window and examined the lock. 

“Worried about intruders now?” Nagito chuckled.

“No.” Izuru slowly closed the door, then moved back to the window. “You want to leave?”

“I mean… yes? But I can’t.”

“Temporarily.”

“You mean like… sneak out for a date?” Nagito asked, suddenly growing more interested. 

Izuru nodded. Nagito had been locked up in here for weeks, and each time Izuru came to visit his partner’s eyes had looked duller and duller. Izuru was of the opinion that no one should spend such a long time in the same room, sitting and staring into nothing. 

Nagito stood shakily, and Izuru moved quickly around him removing the IV and helping him find his balance. He’d brought a backpack with some of Nagito’s clothes amongst other items he thought might come in handy, so he helped Nagito change out of the hospital gown before throwing the backpack over one shoulder and lifting Nagito. 

Nagito took a sharp breath and clung tight to Izuru, and Izuru honestly couldn’t tell if he was scared of the drop from the window or if he was excited by it. Either way, Izuru held him safely as he made a controlled descent to the ground below. 

“What did you have planned?” Nagito asked as he slipped out of Izuru’s grasp. 

Izuru shrugged, then held out his hand. Nagito happily took it, swinging their joined hands as they walked. 

Izuru took Nagito to the library where he tried to grab a dangerous pile of books. Izuru took them before Nagito either collapsed under their weight or tripped from bad luck and dropped them everywhere. They spent the better part of two hours in a darkened corner of the library, Nagito deep in a book and Izuru subtly using cuddling as a way to keep track of Nagito’s temperature and pulse.

Then Izuru decided Nagito should eat, and managed to convince him of this only after they’d checked out all the books he hadn’t gotten to. They went to a hole in the wall neither of them had heard of before that day, where the food was both greasy and amazing. Nagito kept smiling and laughing as he talked incessantly. He paused only whenever Izuru nudged his hand, which was still holding a fork with a forgotten bite of food, towards his mouth. Nagito was so busy praising the food and comparing it to what they served him at the hospital that he kept forgetting to actually eat. 

Nagito insisted they go visit his old school, and Izuru spent a few uncomfortable minutes on the campus where he was born while Nagito reminisced and tried to teach Izuru about all the great parts of the school.

Eventually, Izuru gave Nagito a piggy back ride as they ventured out of town. Izuru could feel Nagito drifting off slightly, head resting on his shoulder, and it made him worry that he’d exhausted him, overestimated how much he could handle. But when they reached their destination, Nagito was quick to wake up.

“Where’s this?” he asked curiously, looking around the empty field. 

Izuru didn’t answer, he was busy pulling the small tent from his bag and assembling it. Nagito clapped his hands together excitedly and hovered around him until he was done. The sun started to set and all across the field dozens of fireflies started to do their thing. 

“It’s… beautiful,” Nagito said, lips twitching into a smile.

Izuru nodded. Nagito liked beautiful things. He’d debated between this, an art gallery, and a greenhouse. His final decision was, as always, the best one.

“Don’t trip.” Izuru steadied Nagito with a hand at his elbow, trying to keep his boyfriend upright as he chased fireflies. “Careful. Don’t over exert yourself.”

“Use your talents to keep me safe,” Nagito challenged him playfully, running off with a laugh. 

Izuru followed after Nagito as they filled a jar with fireflies, and even though he maintained a look of neutral annoyance at Nagito’s antics, it made his heart lighter to see him laughing and enjoying himself again. There were still dark circles under his eyes, but in his eyes the light was back. 

They ended up laying on their stomachs, peeking out of the tent at their jar of fireflies and all the others who they’d mercifully allowed to remain free. 

“Think you can sneak this back into the hospital for me?” Nagito asked, finger tracing against the glass. 

“Yes,” Izuru promised.

“I’ve missed things like this,” Nagito said, smiling sadly. Izuru lay his head on Nagito’s shoulder with a frown as he kept talking. “Everytime I get sick, it’s like… everything gets caught behind glass.” he stared at the jar, and a firefly came to land right where his finger was resting. “I can’t touch the light, but I can still see it shining without me. Nothing pauses, it keeps going. But I pause. One day I might stop.”

“You won’t stop,” Izuru said.

“I might.” Nagito looked at him. “Maybe your talent could save me, or maybe I’ll die and you’ll remember me. If I do, use my memory to help other people? Let me be the stepping stone that raises them higher.”

“Stop…” Izuru huffed, and Nagito chuckled at his pouting. 

“I thought you said I shouldn’t!” he teased.

“Not funny.”

“You don’t think anything’s funny.”

Izuru watched the fireflies, and tried to stay confident in his abilities. Emotions muddled things, made it hard to think. Sometimes he reached for a talent and it simply wasn’t there. It happened more and more these days, and he wasn’t sure if it was something he could train himself to endure or if one day he would simply lose everything that made him special. Everything that had made him… worth it. 

He didn’t know if he would be able to create miracle cures with the inspiration of Nagito’s death. 

He’d had enough trouble understanding his chart with the concern clawing at his heart like an enraged beast. 

Nagito shivered, and considering it was seventy degrees out, Izuru felt that concern return, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He was starting to feel warm, and he looked pale. 

“We should get you back.” he crawled out of the tent and offered Nagito a hand up. Nagito looked reluctant, but he stood anyway. As soon as he was standing straight he felt a dizziness come over him, one he recognized.

“I’m sorry to worry you,” he mumbled, stumbling against Izuru. 

Izuru would remember the feeling of Nagito’s body falling against him and then immediately to the ground forever. 

“Nagito!” he dropped to his knees, shaking hands lifting the figure lying prone in the grass. 

It was a blur after that. Running to the hospital, doctors taking Nagito away from him. 

He heard things like ‘irresponsible’ and ‘he’s seizing’ and ‘your parents?’ and ‘get him out of here!’

He saw things like Nagito convulsing, his chest going still, his head falling limp to the side as doctors placed an oxygen mask over his mouth. 

Then he was sitting in a waiting room, all the sounds in the world assaulting his ears and all the sights in the world assaulting his eyes until all he could do was pull his legs up onto the chair, hold them tight to his chest and close his eyes, cover his ears with his hands and-

“Izuru?”

There was so much of it all, he couldn’t process so many things at once-

“Izuru, sweetie.”

He opened his eyes. 

Chisa had a hand on his shoulder, another on his cheek. She was looking at him with concern.

“How… did you-” words were getting hard so he trailed off there knowing she’d grasp his meaning.

“You gave them my number, you don’t remember?” she asked. “Izuru, what happened. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Did something happen with Nagito?”

He nodded. 

She rubbed his arm softly. “Okay, sweetie. I’m gonna go ask the nurses about it, alright? Then we’re gonna go somewhere quiet.”

Next thing Izuru knew he was sitting in the backseat of a car. He could feel the vibrations from the engine, and after a moment he turned his head to see Sakakura in the driver’s seat and Chisa beside him. 

“I thought he’d be okay,” he said quietly, immediately getting both of their attention. “I thought… I thought. I should have known. It gets hard, and people pay…” his head fell to one side, hair falling in loose tangles all about him. “I just wanted him to feel happy. We talked about how he might stop. He told me if he died I had to use his death and my talent to help others… but my talent turns off when I think about him dying.”

“You just get distracted,” Sakakura said. “It’s not turning off, it’s just harder to focus when you have emotions.”

“Yeah.” Chisa reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’ll get better at it. Until then, it’s okay to ask for help and it’s okay to make mistakes. It sounds like you did something really nice for him.”

Izuru pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and pushed hard. 

“They said we can see him tomorrow,” Chisa said. “He needs rest for now.”

Izuru put his hand on the door handle and Sakakura made a sharp disapproving noise.

“You’ve done enough of that for one day,” he said warningly, and Chisa, seeing Izuru fall back into guilt, gave Sakakura a kick for it. 

“First thing tomorrow, okay?” Chisa said.

“... can I wait here?” Izuru asked.

“You should come home and get some rest.”

“Can I wait here?”

“Izuru…” 

He stared at her with his intense red eyes.

Chisa sighed, sometimes to take care of someone you had to tell them no. Telling Izuru Kamukura no was near impossible, as he could just do whatever he wanted and no one could stop him. However, he’d shown on many occasions that he respected her wishes and guidance. 

“Home. So you can rest,” she said.

Izuru looked like he might argue again, but then he sighed and nodded.

Sakakura drove them home, and Chisa battled with Izuru over every bit of self care she could get him to accomplish from eating dinner to changing into pajamas. She caught him pretending to sleep and in the end invited him to come watch movies with her all night. 

His single minded nervous energy was almost too much, but after awhile she managed to distract him with movies and snacks until he fell victim to the human weakness of fatigue and drifted off to sleep curled up and resting on the arm of the couch. 

But he was awake bright and early at five am. 

Nagito looked frail, like a ghost of himself, laying in the hospital bed. 

Izuru had the urge to shake him awake to make sure he was still alive, but then again he also had the urge to turn around and leave to guard the door so he could continue resting. Nagito ended up deciding for him by waking, as if sensing him nearby.

“... your face looks kinda scary,” he said hoarsely, with a quiet chuckle.

Izuru glared and took Nagito’s hand. 

“Ooh, scarier now,” Nagito teased.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Izuru huffed. 

“Because you’re making me laugh,” Nagito said helpfully. “Hey, our fireflies, did you go back for them?”

Izuru’s face grew surprised and sad as he remembered their abandoned campsite.

“That’s okay. Just go back for them later, alright? And my books?” 

“I will. How are you feeling?”

Nagito sighed, looking a bit exasperated and yet sad. “I can’t seem to get away from that question.”

“Have you been answering it?” Izuru raised a critical eyebrow and Nagito smiled sheepishly.

“I feel… bad,” he sat up with a wince, and Izuru immediately made him lay back down. “I won’t break.”

“You might stop,” Izuru said, voice shaking.

“Oh…” Nagito took Izuru’s hand again. “That’s why you look so upset. I scared you with that, didn’t I? Talking about death and stuff.”

Izuru didn’t answer. 

“Hey. Big guy, look at me. I’m alright.”

Izuru didn’t look at him. 

“Okay. Come here.” Nagito slid over a bit, ignoring Izuru’s protests at his moving. He patted the bed next to him. Izuru was ashamed of how quickly he slid into the empty space, still clutching Nagito’s hand like a lifeline. Nagito pressed their foreheads together and pulled Izuru’s hand over to rest on the pulseline on his neck. “Let’s just get you reassured, okay? I need a nap after that nap I just took, and you need to look less scary.”

Izuru didn’t say anything, but Nagito saw his facial expression change ever so slightly, saw the emotions stirring under the surface of his calm face. Gratitude, awe, love, relief, happiness, and yet still worry, guilt, fear. 

Careful, Izuru, you’re becoming one of us, Nagito thought idly to himself. Should I be flattered or feel guilty for laying him so low?

“Sleep,” Izuru ordered him, seeing the wheels turning in his head.

“Yes sir,” Nagito sighed, cuddling as close as he could without disrupting Izuru’s hand on his pulse. He slept easily, his body exhausted and dosed with painkillers. Izuru slept just as easily, feeling calmed by Nagito’s steady heartbeat and tired from a night of worry.

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 52

You guys are the absolute best, most patient readers ever.  Thank you so, so, so much for waiting on this, and like every other slow update over the past year and a half that my life has been a raging dumpster fire.  I love you all.  

Also I am a needy carrot that needs love and affirmation please send love and affirmation

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 2431

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Tooth rotting domestic fluff, some angst if you squint.  PTSD mentions/symptom descriptions.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

Bucky joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for you both.  “Take as long as you need, Sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he wraps his arms around you.  “Just keep in mind that every time your stomach growls, I’m gonna think you’re ready to pass out.  You’ve had IV fluids but haven’t eaten since we were on the jet.”

You smile at his reflection in the mirror as you lean into him, intensely grateful for how much he cares for you and for getting back these little moments with him.   “I won’t take too long, I promise.  I just want to get comfortable.”

Eyes soft, he nods.

You both exhale.

Fingers entwined, Bucky leads you out of the bedroom exactly 18 minutes later.  The gently lit hall leads to an elevator and one other door.

“There are two of us to a floor,” Bucky murmurs into the quiet as he gestures with a nod, “That’s Steve’s room.”  He pushes a button and the doors silently slide open.  “The kitchen and common area are a few floors down.”

You follow him into the elevator, doing your best to ignore the feeling of claustrophobia that sneaks up on you.  This is new; tight spaces were never a problem for you before.  Goddamn it.  You suppose you should get used to it, at least for now.  “Where are we exactly?”  They’d mentioned it earlier, but you can’t remember all the details.

His gaze cuts to you but he doesn’t say anything about the sudden tightness in your voice.  “Upstate New York, just off the Hudson.”  When you nod without replying, Bucky pulls you into a tight hug and firmly rubs your back.  “You’re safe here, Sweetheart.  I promise.  We moved you here because it’s quieter than the tower and there are a lot less people. No one here can or will hurt you.”

You nod into his soft t-shirt and breathe.  Of course you’re safe here.  Goddamn PTSD. The elevator door opens and the ominous feeling disappears.  Mostly. “Whew, that sucked,” you mutter as you pull away.  

Bucky nods with a half-hearted smile.  He understands.  “It’ll get better, Sweetheart.”  He wraps his arm around your waist and leads you forward into another hall.  “The kitchen is just around the corner.  If you want I can make you something while you rest on one of the chairs,” he gestures to the breakfast bar as you enter the area.

“Um,” your eyes dart around the room, taking in the generous space, “would it be okay if I did the cooking? I just, I kinda –“

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course.  Just make sure you take a break if your leg starts to bother you.”  

It was the answer you’d expected, but now you feel like you don’t know what to do or even where to start. Oh for fuck’s sake, you know how to cook, you chastise yourself.  “Can…are there certain things I can use?  Or –“

“You are free to use whatever you’d like, Miss Kiddo,” FRIDAY suddenly offers.  “The pantries were freshly stocked in anticipation of your arrival, and Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that you are to make yourself at home.  In fact, the kitchen has been rearranged to match your home as closely as possible, so you should be able to find what you need without too much hassle.”

The gently accented voice startles you and you struggle to digest the unexpected information.  “Miss Kiddo?” you blurt as Bucky ducks his head to hide a smile.

“Isn’t that your name?” It’s almost comical how the AI sounds confused.

“Kiddo - it’s what Stark calls you,” Bucky gently reminds you with a soft chuckle.  “You’re free to correct her, if you’d like.”  

Your mouth opens, closes, and opens again before you finally answer.  “Well, yes.  Yes he does.” It’s strangely comforting to hear, and after what you just went through it’s exhilarating that you have a choice in the matter.  “Yeah, FRIDAY, that’s fine.”

It’s silent again as Bucky waits on you to start moving…and then your stomach growls again. Right.  Food.

Finally stepping into action, you open the fridge to see what’s available and then quickly assess the pantry.  Damn – it’s like an entire grocery store is at your fingertips.  Okay, so you can make pretty much whatever you want, but you haven’t had chance to make such a simple decision in so long that it’s a little overwhelming; you have to make a conscious effort to slow your racing thoughts. It’s just food, you remind yourself, and you can have whatever you want.  So, what do you want?  Something simple and quick.  Absolutely no potatoes.  Your stomach growls again, protesting at still being empty.  You definitely want something satisfying.

Mind finally made up, you set some water to boil in a large, deep frying pan as you pull out some pasta, butter, cream, garlic, a few seasonings, and a package of chicken breasts that looks like it’s already been grilled.  

“You can thank Barton for that,” Bucky chuckles from the breakfast bar as he watches you, chin in hand. “He offered to make supper for the team after a mission, and everyone got food poisoning because he was in a hurry and undercooked the chicken.  Stark has made a point of having ready to eat protein available since then.  If you want, there’s usually fresh stuff on the shelf below, toward the back.”

“No,” you murmur, “this is fine.”  It’s more than fine – grilled chicken would be ideal for your pan alfredo, and as happy as you are to be in a kitchen again, you’re also grateful for the shortcut.

Your mind quiets as you settle into a rhythm.  Salt the boiling water and add the pasta.  Cut the chicken into strips, set aside to mince the garlic.  Grate the cheese.  Drain the pasta into a strainer and return the pan to the stove.  Throw in some butter and sauté the garlic, then toss in the chicken and pasta.  Add a few generous splashes of cream followed by the parmesan.  Just a few turns with the pepper grinder, a few sprinkles of parsley, toss everything together until the cheese is melted and…done.

Damn that felt good.

When you turn around you see that Bucky has set out two plates at the breakfast bar, a loaf of crusty French bread, and olive oil along with a jar of dried spices for the oil.  “You’re perfect, you know that?” you smile as you dish out the alfredo.  You feel relaxed.  Peaceful.

He shakes his head with a soft smile as you finally take the seat next to him.  “Nah, but I love that you think so.”

Sitting as close as possible, the two of you eat in silence.  The familiarity wraps you in warmth and although it takes a few minutes, you recognize the feeling as contentment.  Yes. This is good.  

A yawn creeps up on you. “Hey, what time is it, Love?”

He finishes chewing before answering.  “A little after one a.m.”

Ugh.  It feels later…or maybe earlier?  You don’t know.  Jetlag, surgery, and a massively fucked up sleep schedule before that is making you feel like time is just an illusion.  Then again, maybe that’s the exhaustion.  “So dishes and back to bed?”

Bucky plants a kiss on your forehead as he stands.  “I’ll get the dishes later, Doll.  But first, dessert if you have room.”

“Bucky, I feel like a bottomless pit right now,” you admit as you ruefully eyeball your empty plate. You thought you’d made more than enough pasta, but Bucky clearly has his appetite back and you feel like your body is trying to make up for lost time.

He doesn’t bother with plates as he slides a pie onto the counter and cuts into it with his fork.  Not wasting any time, you do the same.  “God, I love you.”

His fork pauses midair as he watches you from across the counter.  “Are you talking to me or the pie?”

“Yes,” you manage around a mouthful of flakey, buttery crust and perfectly baked apples.  When he nods and chuckles, you take another bite with an appreciative hum.  It’s not just that it tastes good – it’s delicious and is clearly from a bakery that knows what they’re doing – it also brings an immeasurable amount of comfort. The filling tastes like your mom’s; if you had to guess you’d say that these are probably Haralson apples like the ones she grows in her back yard.  The best pie apples in your humble opinion.  The sweet-tart bite that hits the back of your cheeks brings you back to the crisp October days of your childhood and you can almost feel the golden autumn sun and smell the fallen leaves.   That’s where the resemblance ends, though.  She can’t make a decent homemade pie crust to save her life.

You can’t believe how much you miss her, but you’ll get to talk with her in a few hours.  And your babies.  Finally.

“Hey, I have a question for you.”  Bucky has stopped eating and is watching you intently.

“Okay.”  You nod for him to continue as you take another bite – just because he stopped doesn’t mean you want to.

He looks down, hooks his hair behind his ears, then stands up straight.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous.

“Well…”

Scratch that.  He is nervous.  That makes you nervous and sets you on edge, so you put down your fork and hold your breath.  “Buck, what is it?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, but can’t shake the hesitancy in his voice, “Well, I know we have a lot going on, and I know that our relationship hasn’t exactly been conventional.”

“Okay…”  The food you just ate starts to feel like a lead ball in the pit of your stomach as contentment gives way to concern and your insecurities rear their ugly heads.

He’s quiet for what feels like forever before he blurting out, “Can…can I start courting you?  Take you out on real dates, like a normal guy would do for a girl he’s sweet on?  I know it’s kinda backwards and all but I really wanna do right by you.”

Well, that wasn’t at all what you were expecting.  Taken by surprise, you blink before you answer, “Yeah.  I’d like that.”  You both give each other dopey smiles as you continue, “I’d like that a lot.”

He takes both of your hands in his as his grin fades to earnestness.  “I want you to know I’m serious about you.  About us.  That I meant everything I said at the safehouse, and since I got you back – every damn word.  But I also know that we’ve been through a lot and things might get tough, so I thought that dating – real dates – might help with the transition.”

Nodding, you continue what you now understand to be his train of thought.  “You and I – we are incredibly fucked up right now.  Like, massively, absurdly, almost can’t believe our brains even function levels of fucked up.  And it would be incredibly naïve for us to just assume that we could fly back home in a week or two and just go back to the way things were. It’s not going to be that simple.” You hesitate as an uneasy thought occurs to you.  “You are coming home with me, right?  You don’t have any, um, avenging to do?”

His nod immediately puts you at ease.  “Yeah, Sweetheart – as long as you’ll have me, my place is with you.  You are – we are – my priority.  I’m taking an extended leave of absence from work so I can put my entire focus on us and getting better.”

You had hoped you would have some time with him, but you also realize that he does have a job, even if that job is nothing short of extraordinary.   “Really?”

“Really.  And Sweetheart, it might not be simple, but it’s not gonna be impossible, either.  Maybe just a little complicated for a while till we get our heads sorted out. Being with you has been the easiest thing I’ve done in my life.”

You can’t help but nod along with his words – it’s the truth.  And in realizing that, a small piece of your broken psyche glues itself back together.  

“So…” Bucky is almost bashful as he releases one of your hands to take another forkful of pie, “I know it doesn’t give you much time, but what do you say to dinner and a show tomorrow night?”

It makes no sense at all that you have butterflies in your stomach, but you do.  “I’d really like that.”

Bucky exhales as if he’s relieved.  “Great! Great.”  He flashes an almost impossibly bright smile.   “I’ll pick you up at 5:00.”

Did you miss something? Aren’t you sharing a room with him? “You’ll what?”  

He winks at you, causing those butterflies to take flight yet again.  “It’s a date, Doll.  I’m gonna give you the space to get ready – I’ll get ready in Steve’s room – and then I’ll pick you up at 5:00.”

“I…okay,” you laugh as you squeeze his hand, loving how light you feel.

“Speaking of getting ready, it it’s alright with you, Nat will come by tomorrow morning and pick you up to take you shopping.”

“Shopping?”

Bucky smiles so broadly his face could split in two, “I’m taking you out on a date tomorrow night. Finally.  This is something I’ve wanted to do for months, and all I could manage was that night at the barn.  But now?  Doll, we’re on my turf, and you’re both safe and free.  I’m going to take you on the first date you deserve, the one I would have taken you on if I had met you under different circumstances.  So,” Bucky lifts your hand to his lips, “you’re gonna need a dress,” he kisses your knuckles, “and whatever else you would want to get ready that you don’t already have here.  I want my girl to have everything she needs or wants to be comfortable.  Besides, if things go the way I expect they will, the way I pray they will, you’re gonna need a drawer of your stuff here anyway so you don’t have to pack as much when we spend time in New York.”

You’d be lying if you said that last sentence didn’t make your heart skip a beat.  “Okay.”  You don’t bother elaborating – he knows that you’re agreeing to more than just a date or shopping.

“Yeah?”  The happiness in his eyes is enough to make your breath catch.

“Yeah.”  You take another bite of pie as you smirk.  “You know, it’s going to be hard to top our first first date.  That was pretty fantastic.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Nope, just a fact. That was seriously the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

He smirks, eyes smoldering. “Doll, you’re gonna get the full Bucky Barnes treatment – the barn date was me with one hand tied behind my back. I’m gonna knock your socks off tomorrow.”

Anticipation spikes your blood – somehow, you believe him, but you can’t miss the chance to gently tease, “We’ll see.”

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[clownbeep]

This is gonna be kinda brutal. But I want to put it into writing

Big vent/whats been going on

Hah... I guess this is like my life story or some shit...

Trigger warning ahead.. Depression and a bit of gore/suicide talk so if you are sensitive to that please, for your own sake and mental state you might not want to continue.

For those who dont want to hear a pretty dark vent, I understand.

And those who are just scrolling by feel free to scroll past. I just personally want to get this out.

If you have dealt with emotional neglect/abuse and need to know it isnt in your head this might be the post.

By writing this it feels like hopefully someone else will read this and realise certain things are NOT healthy.

If you are questioning if you are being emotionally neglected/abused (im speaking in a parental sense but even romantically or sexually) im not someone to give you answers, but the fact you are questioning it raises some red flags. In a healthy relationship you dont wonder those things.

Sorry for the long prelude but heres what I wanted to say

.

.

.

.

.

.

Ever since I was young, ive had bad ADHD, manic bipolar/depression, and sensory issues.

I was diagnosed around 13 I believe. My family (I didnt realise it then) always showed pity. Like I was some wild animal that couldnt be tamed and there was nothing they could do. Id do and say stupid attention seeking things just to try and get a shred of empathy.

My family didnt care.

When I was in the hospital for a suicide attempt regaurding pills and my liver had a chance of failing.. None of my family members cried over me. But a family friend. Someone not. Even. Related. Wept over me.

My family didnt care.

I cant say they never cared. They give me food water and luxuries like internet and a phone. For that I am grateful.

But in many other ways they have hurt me faar more than helped.

Once I got out of a short term stay in an inpatient mental facility I desperately needed contact with anyone who would care for me.

I have a younger sister, quite young probably around 7 at the time. She was a close friend of mine for that time. Id hang out with her so often to fill the gap in love it felt my family didnt give. One day I walked into the dining room and overheard my mother and father talking to my little sister. They told her to keep away because I wasnt "stable" because I was "dangerous" and could give her bad Ideas. And with one single action my only friend at the time and way to find happiness was taken away.

My family did not care.

When I stay in bed every day for months on end not knowing which day ill snap and end it all.... I get called lazy.

My family did not care

When I beg for medication to make me a functional human being they brush me off for years on end. Im losing my grip. I can barely remember things that have happened last week because I try so hard to forget everything its my automatic response to everything.

When I cant get to sleep because all of the memories come flooding back and im hit by wave after wave of horrific memories and the feeling if worthlessness... When I cant watch any videos or read posts about families because it brings on unwanted memories and emotions....

Is it me being dramatic then?

When you hear your family openly mocking and laughing about how stupid and dramatic and fake trans people are... How weird and unnatural and mentally insane these people are not knowing they are the very reason grsm and trans suicides are so high...

Am I a liar now? Am I insane?

When I tried to talk to them about my mental health issues. They took my only way of contact and made me feel like it was my own fault.

My family didnt care.

When I was nearly passed out shaking in a bathtub covered in wounds and blood all over... They showed pity, then lectured me for an hour for not telling them or for being impulsive and basically cleaned my wounds and sent me into my room.

My family didnt care.

Yes. I do agree, they cleaned my wounds, the physical side of showing care. However emotionally they were not there.

When my father drinks so heavilly every day he is home from work that he forgets half the things he tells you and can barely function.. They lecture my older sister for having a glass of wine (legal age)

They did not care.

My sister (23) tried for so many years to cling to what little attention she would get by getting good grades and going to college... She realised that it changed nothing about how my family felt toward her.... She snapped.

My family did not care.

She starves herself for a disease she does not have, she uses religion as an exuse to be one of the biggest christian extremists I personally know. Half the days she doesnt eat... Other days she burns book and gets rid of items for being demonic.

My lovely sister used to be kind and quite normal. However she couldnt find comfort in what little live her family gave. Starved for care she turned to religion to un unhealthy degree. Finding any way to keep her mind busy. Now I worry she will end up in the hospital for weighing so little.

My family did not care.

My oldest sister (27) Is married to a continuously cheating husband who she keeps letting back into her life. She was raised with a failing marrige and doesnt seem to see when she should call it quits.

Not to mention her husband has touched someone legally under the age of concent. Did she report him to the authorities? No.

All of these horrific things stemming from bad parenting. Unhealthy relationships and neglect.

Neglect emotionally can cause just as bad things as physical neglect. They are both horrifically dangerous in different ways.

These are the only big things I can remember... Basically age 15 and below are a complete blur to me and I cant remember much of it without thinking for a looong time. Even then I cant remember a lot of it... I feel like ive lost my whole damn childhood. And it hurts more than if they had just hit me or physically harmed me.

Im not underplaying physically harm. But in my personaly opinion I would rather my family have beaten me badly because at least then id have an easier way to prove to people how severe the abuse was. You can see bruises and confirm broken bones... But years of feeling completely useless and being shut off from most of the world other than the internet... It fucks you up in a way I dont think can be healed.

I dont know if I can ever love myself or... Remember things. Its terrifying to think Ill post this and a few weeks later probably not even rememner unless its brought up. Or meeting people and having conversations... And they are just... Gone.

Gone.

I suppose the biggest reason im writing this is well... In the future I dont want to forget in some ways.. I want like to be 100× as awesome knowing itll start as soon as im out of here..

If I dont have anything to compare it too then what is the point?

Ive layed out basically most of what I remember

A large amount of time I look around and nothing registers... Everything is familiar but I cant remember anything for a moment or two.. I feel like my memory is slipping so fast and im terrified.. I cant do anything to stop it and I cant make my mood be stable without the medication my family cant be bothered to get ...

I suppose this is a bit of a vent. I know its kind of everywhere and unorganized..

If im honest.. Tumblr is the only place where people have given me a home I wish I had..

I came out as trans here... Everyone was so damn supportive.. I didnt say anything but I cried hard and the kindness.. It was amazing.. It was such a jarring difference to how I feel when I say anything in real life.

Ive met friends here and ive had some much fun here. If youve stuck around this far thank you so much.. If you didnt I dont blame you.

I just wanted to share what has been flashing in my head these past few days.. It hurts a lot and ive even considered suicide recently..

Im trying hard. As hard as I can.. I have no escape though.

I cannot leave home. I cannot escape. Im not being dramatic.

I

CANT

LEAVE

And its terrifying because I know without medication or at least being somewhere AWAY from family.... I feel like im going to break soon.

I dont want to do anything stupid.. But some days I cant think straight and do things that harm myself and its not good. Its not okay. Im aware that I need help but I have no idea where to go/turn.. I have no ID or drivers liscence.. I have no transportation to and from a job to get money so I can leave... I live in the middle of nowhere.... I just..

I dont want to lose touch. I dont want to do anything bad.. I want to be functional.. I want to do more than eat and sleep my life away because I have nothing else to do..

Im so damn sick and tired of this all.. And at times I really do feel like there is only one way out.

Its always there and I just feel like one of these days im gonna be pushed over the edge and not be thinking clearly enough to stop it.

Im thinking semi clearly right now which is my im posting this.. Because im afraid and alone.

I have nowhere to go irl I have no friends Irl i just have tumblr and media and thats it. I dont expect anyone to be able to help I just wanted to write this so anyone knows what happens if I leave media..

If I tell my family my issues they will blow me off again for the 11th time or so (not exaggerated)

And if I do something to get sent to the hospital and get the help I need the cycle will continue with them being pissed and me getting sent home in a month or less anly for my family relationships to get worse..

Im spiraling fuether and further and I cant keep up the facade of being fine. I need help. And i have no way to get it. Ive just been suffering for years...

Sitting around and doing nothing but using your phone or drawing or whatever sound fun in theory... But if thats all youve been able to do for years with little to no real life social contact its gonna mess with your head... I dont want to be a shut in... I just

I dont know what to do.

Im sorry for rambling. I will most likely delete this later feeling embarrassed I posted this...

Im just tired..

[aliceslantern]

Retribution, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Newly a person again, Ienzo is weighed down by guilt and his humanity. He's prepared to do whatever it takes to atone... only to find unexpected solace in a familiar face. With more insight into the bonds between people than ever before, Ienzo reaches for a dangerous element from the past to help Kairi and Riku in their search for Sora. What is his life if it means saving another, brighter light?

Chapter summary:  Ienzo's attempts to regain his power go awry, leading him to a confrontation with Even.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo turned back to his work, again, with a fervor. Only this time, after dealing with all of Ansem and Even’s frippery, at night he tried to find places to train magic.

The greenhouse was out. Demyx was using that, and might see things he didn’t need to see.

The castle was huge. Plenty of nooks and crannies to squirrel himself away in, but Ienzo did not want to spend hours climbing or walking somewhere just to train for yet more time. He spent several days trying to subtly coax the entirety of Aeleus and Dilan’s rounds out of them; it needed to be off their radar, too. At last, though, he found it. It was a domed courtyard, perhaps fifteen meters in diameter, with several pillars; these pillars had lighted sconces. The ground had once been inlaid parquet, only it had been damaged and torn away in places. It was quiet, here, and there was potential for moonlight.

He dressed comfortably. He brought with him a small store of water, nonperishable snacks. Ienzo wasn’t quite brazen enough to try stealing ethers from Even’s stores; the man would no doubt notice they were missing. He’d have to make do for now until the next time he went to the market.

Ienzo sat cross legged on the ground. He tried to breathe and center himself, and once he felt he was sufficiently focused he summoned the lexicon.

It had once been named “Book of Retribution,” a name he’d not consciously chosen but had been inscribed in the front cover. He knew now that of course this was the very essence of his psyche; what else would a scholar, a researcher have other than a book ? He had no need for knives, swords, or instruments. Words could--and did--hurt just as much. They could break your heart.

Sticks and stones , he thought sourly.

But this volume? There was nothing written on the inner cover, just blankness, a generic paper print. There were some contents to this book now, from all his time spent reading in this life so far. So what was it? Was it nameless? Did it matter?

Friend, he thought towards it, help me.

Ienzo stood. His powers had been partially telekinetic, at least in regards to the lexicon. It might be easiest to start there. He held it out in his arms and tried to pull from within. He could feel the book trembling in his grip as he tried to lift it with his mind; instantly Ienzo felt a hot headache blooming, his heart rate increasing noticeably. Just fucking pick it up, he thought to himself. He let go with his hands, and it immediately fell to the floor.

He almost groaned out loud, but composed himself. He had to be calm. Try again.

He must’ve stood there for hours. It was unclear.

Every time Ienzo tried to get the lexicon to do what he wanted, it simply flopped to the ground. He could get it to do no more than tremble in his hands. The pain grew worse, and he grew dizzier, until his breathing was quite labored. The water and snacks only partially helped. He felt drained, depleted, in more ways than one, and to his shock felt frustrated tears building in his eyes.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

He walked back to the apprentices’ quarters and dropped into bed for a weary few hours of sleep before his alarm woke him.

---

These days took on a pattern. By day, he was Ienzo, a modest scholar of the heart, seeking to plumb the depths of Kairi’s. By night, he was closer to Zexion, struggling to reign in a power he’d once had like breath. He had no idea if he was making any progress or if he were simply hurting his body for no reason.

Because it was hurting. He was prone more than ever to headaches, to wooziness, and sometimes even in sedentary stillness his heart would race. He felt out of breath climbing stairs. The ethers he finally got his hands on did help, but only so much. It seemed like Even was right, about the entropy. Not to mention, magic burned ludicrously more calories for humans than Nobodies, and he struggled to keep up proper intake.

He couldn’t do nothing. What were some aches and pains compared to Sora’s life?

The weeks--or months? He wasn’t sure--seemed to drag on in this manner… Ienzo so slowly made progress, was able to lift and manipulate the book with relative ease, though it left him gasping for air. He would get used to it. He’d be sure of it.

That morning, he’d again been feeling dizzy, but thought nothing of it. He saw Demyx in the hall, on his own way to work. “Hey, Zo,” he said pleasantly. Ienzo had tried to be cordial, since his breakdown, had even responded to the other boy’s texts--but Ienzo had no time for friendship, and he thought Demyx knew that. “How’s it going? Haven’t seen hide or hair of you in forever.”

“It certainly is going,” he said vaguely. His vision was blurry, and he felt again his heart starting to skip, to race. It would pass. “I’m afraid I’ve barely had a moment to myself.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “But are you… doing okay?”

“Better than I was. Thank you for asking.”

“‘...Course.” He smiled a little.

“How’s your work?”

“Oh, same soup, just reheated, you know? But I honestly don’t mind. It’s just different enough every day. And so far… almost all the people I’ve met are nice. It’s… refreshing.” A wry laugh.

“I know I haven’t been--very warm--” A particularly sharp pain echoed through his head, and he touched it without meaning to.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate--Zo?”

He tried to breathe through the pain. His heart had leapt into his throat. He realized all this must be very visible because Demyx added,

“Hey. Zo?”

Ienzo tried to find the words to console him, but his knees were weakening.

“Zo? I… fuck.”

His consciousness cut rather abruptly, and from here there were only odd snatches of things. He was being carried, his face pressed against Demyx’s chest, the smell of laundry and something like salt and ginger. How odd… to be so vulnerable…

“I got your call--what on earth happened?”

“We were just talking and he collapsed like a sack of potatoes.”

More darkness, more lost time. Ienzo didn’t regain awareness all at once. He felt blankets, the distinctive pull of an IV, the smell of bleached linen. An ache, dulled by painkillers, nothing quite having straight lines.

“...My boy? Can you hear me?” A warm, dry hand against his.

His eyelids felt like lead, and a scratchiness of sandpaper.

“Let him sleep, Ansem. He’ll need it for the hiding I’m about to give--”

He either slept or was unconscious--it was hard to tell. But things were clearer once he opened his eyes.

He was not in his bedroom. He was in the med bay, where he’d tended to Even and Dilan as they recovered from their Nobodies’ wounds. While not as cold or as sterile as the Organization’s own ward, it was still quite jarring.

“Awake at last?” Even set aside the tablet he’d been holding and came over to the bed.

“Time for the hiding, then?” Ienzo asked dully.

“Do you have any idea what shape you were in when Demyx brought you to me?”

“I was simply unconscious.”

“Simply--” Even sputtered, his hands near his face, and Ienzo saw Vexen once again. “You do realize healthy twenty-year-olds don’t simply black out, yes?”

Ienzo sat up. He was still perilously dizzy, but less so. “Perhaps I was just ill.”

“None of this perhaps nonsense. I know exactly what you’ve been up to.”

His heart stuttered again, though this time from that familiar punch of caught.  

Even scowled and turned away from him. “Do you know what the ideal weight for a person of your size is?”

Ienzo was confused; not the lecture he’d been expecting about entropy and danger . “Well--yes--”

“Tell me.”

“What are you getting at?”

“What is a healthy body weight for a person of your height?” His lips were pursed.

“Between fifty-nine and eighty-one kilograms.”

“Do you know how much you weigh?”

“Even, I’ve no idea where you’re going with this,” he said honestly.

“Fifty-four. Fifty-four kilograms with a twenty-year-old’s metabolism.”

It started to click. Even didn’t know about Ienzo’s attempt to regain his power. He thought all these health issues were from-- He put a hand to his head. Ienzo knew the magic was causing him to lose weight. He didn’t think it was drastic or noticeable.  

Which angle to play, then? How did he get himself out of this? He did not want to confess to an issue he did not have, but confessing to use of power seemed infinitely worse. “Even,” he said tiredly. “You needn’t worry about my weight. At all.”

“Oh, but that isn’t all, Ienzo,” he said smoothly. “You think nobody’s noticed that your bed is rarely slept in? That your phone shows you active all hours of the day--and night? Not to mention you barely eat, barely drink water, that I’ve noticed, anyway, and I’m not the only one paying attention. The dehydration, the sleep deprivation, this…” Again he trailed off. “Your blood pressure, the ambient amount of cortisol in your blood… Ienzo, if you keep living like this, you won’t see thirty.”

Ienzo dropped his eyes.

“I don’t know how to impart the seriousness of your condition.”

“I’m not radically underweight.”

He groaned. “It’s not about your weight. It’s that you clearly are neglecting your own needs--and it’s catching up to you. And it will keep catching up to you unless you learn to take care of yourself.”

“I’m an adult, I’m perfectly capable--”

“Perfectly capable? Perfectly capable? You think losing consciousness for the better part of three days is a reflection of health ?”

Ienzo gritted his teeth. A rage began coiling in his stomach. “What does it matter?” he all but snarled.

“Child, I can’t make you want to live. But how else can I convince you that your body can’t, and won’t , react like a Nobody’s? It’s not a vessel, not a plaything. You can’t expect to work if you’re deteriorating so rapidly.” He softened just a touch; bizarre to see it happen. “You can’t expect to live, either.”

Ienzo didn’t know what to say. It felt like getting punched.

“I lost you once. I won’t lose you again.”

“Lost?” The claws were well and truly out now. For the first time Ienzo fully understood what it meant when someone snapped , despite having seen it and forced it on people countless times. It did feel like breaking. “You lost me?”

At his radical change in tone, Even’s eyebrows shot up.

“You…” He couldn’t find the words. “You took my father and you dumped him out, and then you had the nerve--the gall -- to lie to me about it. For years .” He was trembling. “You let Xehanort do to me what he would. You let me see and break those people. You.”

Even had turned very pale.

“And then--after all that--you let him take my heart. You think a kid could make that kind of decision? A fucking child?” Ienzo breathed hard. “I was just another one of your experiments, Even. That’s all I ever was. Admit it.” He’d never heard his own voice like this, rough and on the verge of a scream. “You, Aeleus, Dilan. You didn’t lose me. You threw me away.”

Ienzo didn’t know what to read into that expression--only knew that he’d never seen it before. “Ienzo…” He began tremulously.

“Everything I’ve done…” The guilt was almost stronger than the rage. “You gave me the tools. Why?”

“What?”

“Tell me why.”

“I never wanted him to hurt you. Never wanted you to have that life. But Xehanort… his hold on us… we were so convinced we could… change the world. He told me he wanted to make it better for people like you.” His eyes were pleading. “Seeing all your pain… I thought the darkness could heal. That it could help people. But it twisted me. Made it so much easier to put aside the human for the scientific… made my ends… worth their means. We were experiments too, Ienzo. Do you think any of us had a choice? It was give up our hearts… or become another subject in his plan.” He pressed one hand to his face, his eyes shut tight. “By the time I tried to get us out, it was too late… and being a Nobody cut all my bonds with others, especially you.”

The rage was cooling, hardening, and becoming something far more painful.

“Every time I see your face I think of it. What you could’ve done. Already, already you’re doing so much more good than I ever did.” He came closer to Ienzo. “I had hoped to raise you to be better. When Ansem asked me to help him care for you… you were already all but feral from his ragged childcare. I saw that you were… different, a brilliance I had hoped to nurture. But once the darkness came we exploited you. And I am so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The tears in his eyes were oddly cold.

“It pains me more than I can describe to see you struggle now, as a direct result of my actions. All I can do is hope I can make this place good enough, safe enough, for you to have the life you deserved.” His voice was unsteady. Ienzo had never seen Even cry; part of him didn’t think the man was capable. But the tears on his face were very real.

“...Even.” He felt his lip trembling in an attempt to hold it back.

“I do not expect to be forgiven. I hope that this guilt… will make me better .”

The apology rang dully in his ears. He feared he was breaking again, in a different way this time. Even sat on the bed next to him.

“Let me help you, Ienzo. You are no longer so alone. I wish to earn your trust again… should you so let me.”

It was this that did it, on top of his very exhaustion. Again the tears seemed to run from a deep, awful place in him; the abandonment and guilt and rage mixing into a slurry he couldn’t fight anymore. They broke out of him. He curled up. Despite it all, Even was here. He’d apologized, something Vexen never had done. He was… upset.

So gently, Even reached forward to embrace him. It had been years since he’d last been consoled like this, yet it was so eerily familiar. Even smelled the same, bleached cloth and powder. Ienzo found himself clinging to him. “Just cry,” Even said softly. “Scream, if you need. It might help.”

All Ienzo could do was listen, paralyzed again by his own emotions, but it felt… cathartic? Like the dark things were bleeding out of him, bit by tiny bit. He knew on a literal level it was probably humiliating, to be a grown man sobbing in his old guardian’s arms, but he felt less mortified than when he had broken down in front of Demyx. Even stroked his hair, another familiar gesture. Eventually, eventually… the sobs quieted, calmed, and he could breathe normally. Even got up and handed him a cool, damp cloth for his raw eyes.

“Is that better?” Even asked.

“How disgraceful this is,” he muttered.

“Your system is no doubt out of sorts--and so is your heart. Natural for it to need some kind of release.” He took off his lab coat; Ienzo noticed before he set it aside that the shoulder was quite damp, translucent, almost. “You should spend some time recovering. Sleeping, eating, getting outside.”

“What about Kairi?”

“Kairi and Sora would both agree that this isn’t worth the price of your health. Physically or mentally.”

“But with Aeleus and Dilan pulled away by rounds--” and Even and Ansem seething at one another, “--you’ll be--”

“We’re both grown men, Ienzo. I think we can set aside our differences for the time being.”

“What will I do if I don’t work?” It was more a question to himself than anything; Ienzo truly didn’t know. He’d been working and working for years now.

“Perhaps focus on your own studies? Or…” He considered. “We could have you on in a heavily reduced capacity, say three hours a day?”

Ienzo felt odd. Stripped bare. “This is so humiliating, for it to come to this.”

Even just sighed. “What else would have happened? It’s all you know--working yourself into the ground for things you care about. We raised you this way. But now your cause should be learning to be human. No more, no less.”

It was clear Even was right. If he were to do good, he had to be healthy. Dealing with these emotions and memories should be a priority.

��I’ll give you some medication to help you sleep,” Even said. “And the anti-anxiety. I’d like for you to try both, at least for a time. See how it treats you.”

“...Alright.”

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Safe with me (14)

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

Characters: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Graphic descriptions of violence. Minor character death.

A/N: Bucky has methods to his madness and you are just done with these people. Stuck in the middle of a battlezone is a terrible place to be.

Tags for this story are CLOSED Link here for posting schedule

SAFE WITH ME MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously…

The room is silent.

All eyes are on Bucky, who stands at the screen with his hand still raised. Steve releases him slowly, when he feels the panicked movements go suddenly rigid. From behind, a peculiar shapeshifting appears to take place. His posture changes, his neck flexes, his shoulders roll back.

Bucky stands up straight.

When he spins around, even Steve takes a step back at the sight.

Deadly rage burns like blue fire in the Soldier’s eyes.

*****

MID-1990s

Jack Bernstein pours a cup of coffee and parks himself behind the large wooden desk, propping his boots on Pierce's crisply folded suit coat. He takes a long drink, coughing when the scalding liquid scorches his throat. No matter. He enjoys the pain, because he needs something simple to ground him before he buzzes out of his skin.

That was exhilarating.

Every fantasy he's entertained about this day, about meeting the Soldier for the first time, all of it pales in comparison to the real thing. In life, everything about him was infinitely more than Jack ever imagined. Harder. So obedient. Beautiful and perfect. What a marvelous gift.

Scanning the white walls and bits of clutter adorning the small office, Jack memorizes every detail. He knows he'll remember this day for the rest of his life.

Sighing in contentment, he selects the top folder from a large pile, one appropriately stamped with the word "INDUCTION" in chunky red script. He begins to read.

-----

BASIC HANDLING INSTRUCTIONS The Asset requires minimal formal care, but it is biologically enhanced and dangerous if not handled properly. The following instructions will minimize risk to handlers. See related appendices for detailed information.

Removal from cryofreeze: Asset will be sluggish and non-responsive. Hosing down with cold water is recommended before wiping. Clothing is optional, but not preferred during removal phase.

Wiping process (see detailed instruction manual): Asset will tolerate wiping process as long as it is completed shortly after leaving cryofreeze.

Nutrient management: Asset does not eat standard food. Calories should be administered in the form of IV fluids.

Drug enhancement: Adrenaline may be given through injection but should be used sparingly as it enhances agitation levels. 'Oblivion' can be given in limited amounts. Technicians are recommended to hold Asset's jaw shut until clear the drug has dissolved / been swallowed.

Weapons selection: Asset will select its own weapons. DO NOT try to remove weapons from the Asset's body once they have been strapped in place, may result in loss of life or limb.

In the unlikely event of death due to mission failure, Asset has no personal affairs or effects to manage. If available, body should be cremated to reduce risk of knowledge transfer.

-----

He moves slowly through the Asset's files, absorbed in hundreds of pages exploring every detail of the disturbingly long life. Memorizing lab reports and doctor's notes, tracing wondering fingers over the blunt block letters of his mission reports, captivated by photos showing bullet holes and knife wounds littered across a broad chest.

Shivering with delight at the idea that all of this belongs to him.

He was disappointed to put him back on ice, but the Algeria mission was unnecessary and it's best to be patient. He has years to learn him, to understand his Soldier inside and out. Every intricate nuance of his body, every sparking neuron in his brain. How to obliterate everything and how to piece him back together.

A perfectly indestructible toy.

Jack tips his head back and laughs, the sound bouncing around the small room.

And after all – toys are meant to be played with.

*****

PRESENT DAY

5 HOURS AND 10 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

To this day, Bucky marvels at the difference between a Hydra mission and a mission for himself.

Now, Bucky takes blisteringly hot showers before every mission. He despises the cold, hated it during the war, hated it even more with Hydra. He doesn't have time tonight, so instead he stuffs heat packets in the pockets of his tac pants. He loves the way they make him sweat.

Now, Bucky doesn't rely on IVs and pills and manufactured enthusiasm. Instead, he drinks a special cherry flavored Gatorade Bruce had engineered especially for him and Steve, and he raids the Tower cabinets of every king-size Snickers he can find. Chocolate and peanuts make him happy and help him focus, and Bucky swears their tagline was written for him. He is definitely not himself when he's hungry.

And now, perhaps the most stunning difference, are the personal affairs he puts in order. As the Soldier, Bucky had less than nothing. He remembers the vague feeling of wistfulness, of emptiness, that often intruded before a mission – he consistently took unnecessary risks, because he had nothing to draw him home. When he joined the Avengers, he behaved the same way – until Steve reminded him that he had his own real life with people and possessions he loved. So, Bucky sat down and wrote a will. He still doesn't have much, but now the little things he cherishes all have a place to go when the inevitable end arrives.

On that note, Bucky digs out the sheet of paper from the bottom of his desk, finds a chewed-up Bic pen, and makes one small amendment.

Under the Brooklyn apartment, he adds your name next to Steve's.

*****

5 HOURS AND 20 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Steve can actually feel his body thrumming when he reaches Bucky's bedroom, tension climbing over his skin. Pausing outside the door, he steels himself for a full-scale brawl, because as he well knows, his best friend is a stupid god damn fucking idiot.

Throwing open the door he stomps inside, kicks it shut, and starts speaking.

Loudly.

"Look, I know you're pissed as hell right now, but you need to take a beat and think about things. You can't go barging in, shooting everything on sight with no back-up. It's fucking suicide."

Bucky hums in agreement, fishing through his loose change jar for the key to his bedside weapons cabinet.

"Seriously Bucky, we need a plan. This is very obviously a set-up."

The small key snicks when the lock clicks open, revealing a cache of knives and guns, several old grenades and a handful of Widow's Bites he won off Natasha in a poker game.

"They know you'll come. They expect you'll come. Traps, Buck. There'll be so many traps."

Bucky nods along with the tirade, but the absentminded move proves he's not listening. Frustration bubbles over and Steve's now yelling.

"James Buchanan fucking Barnes, why are you such a stubborn asshole all the time?"

At the words, Bucky looks up in startled surprise.

"What the hell Rogers? Why am I an asshole?"

"I don't know Buck, why are you an asshole?"

Tossing an armful of knives on his bed, Bucky plunks his hands on his hips, head tilted in genuine confusion as he stares at Steve.

"What am I – "

"You're not going alone Bucky."

"Whoever – "

"There's no guarantee you're not walking right into a god damn trap."

"No sh – "

"Why the hell can't you ever let anyone help you?"

"Steve, I – "

"Jesus Christ, you're an insufferable prick!"

Bucky looks on the verge of laughing.

"Are you done? Can I talk?"

Steve grabs a bottle of cherry Gatorade off Bucky's dresser and chucks it at him, growling when Bucky dodges the missile.

"Yeah I'm done. Jerk."

Bucky sighs patiently. "Steve. I'm not going in blind and obviously I need your help. Assumed the whole damn team was coming, so I'm not sure why the hell you're standing here. Stop being a little bitch and suit your self-righteous, spangly ass up."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but – yeah, he's got nothing. Bucky raises his eyebrows and goes back to sorting knives, separating his favorites and setting them aside.

"Well," Steve clears his throat, still spoiling for a fight, but struggling for a reason. "Well okay then. Long as we're clear. About time you stopped acting like a self-sacrificing dumbass."

Bucky snorts. "You should talk. Meet me in the lab in 10, we leave in 40. Only got a few hours until the sun rises. I want this finished before then, I'm not leaving her there a minute longer."

"Good," Steve grunts, and turns to go. The door's almost closed when he hears the question.

"Steve?"

Spinning at the sound of Bucky's low voice, Steve's heart skips a beat when he sees the expression. The façade has broken, harsh emotion filtering through the cracks. In the entirety of their crazy fucked up lives, Steve's never seen his best friend look so desperate.

"If he kills her – I won't stop. Not until every last one of them is dead." A dark look settles on his face in place. "I'm telling you right now, don't get in my way. Don't make me stop."

Steve contemplates him for a long moment.

"I know you won't. And I'll help you do it."

Thank god for Steve Rogers. Bucky gives him a brisk nod and goes back to his knives.

*****

5 HOURS AND 25 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Bucky storms into Tony's lab, a wraith in head to toe black. The silver arm is emitting a constant whir, endlessly clicking and shifting, a physical representation of the anxiety pulsing through his veins.

"Stark, I need your help."

Tony looks up at his arrival, blanching at the image. Mission ready, Barnes is just a little terrifying.

Black tac pants are tucked into a pair of comfortably worn combat boots, and each boot holds two long serrated blades, rough black handles within easy reach. Strapped around both thighs are matching holsters, the right side holding a Sig Sauer P320, the left side holding a Beretta M9. A black utility belt sits low at his waist, holding extra clips of ammo, a cylindrical tube with five round mini-grenades, and a pack of bandages. Flat against each hip, are two fixed blade combat knives, and tucked into a holster at his lower back, sits his Glock.

Strangely, the most striking feature about the whole ensemble isn't the ridiculous amount of weaponry. It's the ordinary black tank top he wears.

Normally refusing to let anyone see the thick red scars streaking down his shoulder, he always ignores the curious questions or dismisses the thoughtful comments with an icy glare. But tonight, for the first time Bucky appears oblivious to the furtive glances and open stares.

Well, he's not actually oblivious. He's just totally out of fucks to give.

Rubbing both hands down his face, Tony slaps them on the table, fingers splayed wide. Disappointment rolls off him in waves, and Bucky thinks he knows what's coming.

"Stark, listen – "

"I'm sorry," Tony interrupts, curling his fingers into hard fists, rapping his knuckles restlessly against the table. "I screwed her tech up, that's on me. I wasn't – "

"Stop," Bucky holds his hands up. "Seriously. I'm sick and tired of us taking the blame for the shit these assholes do. Forget it and help me fix it."

Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes stare at each other for a long moment. Their relationship's been disproportionately burdened by a shared history, but with this common purpose, each is relieved to find the other willing to wipe the slate clean.

"Done," Tony says tightly. "What'd you need?"

"Remember the throwback outfits we had for that charity event? With Steve's stupid USO outfit and my Commandos uniform?"

"Sure," Tony says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "They're in storage. Why?"

"I need the blue jacket."

"You need it right now?"

"I need it right now," Bucky confirms.

"Are we stopping by Fashion Week on the way? You're not wearing it on this mission, are you?" Tony asks, bemused by the odd request.

"I most certainly am."

Tony purses his lips and chooses his words carefully.

"Uh, not that I don't condone wearing whatever makes you feel comfortable with your bad self, I mean clearly I love red since it highlights my boyish good looks and all, but you're supposed to be stealthy. That's kinda your thing. The blue is bright, Barnes. No clue why Howard ever made that dumbass design, they'll see you a mile away."

Bucky doesn't reply. Instead, he offers a slow smile and there's something so astoundingly sinister, it makes Tony's teeth chatter. Bone-chilling and lethal, he sees the anger simmering just below the surface, Bucky's murder face on full display.

"Ah. Right. So. The color was bright on purpose," Tony guesses. "You wanted to be seen."

"I did," Bucky affirms, his tone easy and conversational. "And now I want every one of those fuckers who took her to shit their pants when they see me. I want them to know exactly what's coming for them."

*****

6 HOURS AND 5 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

Down in the cargo hold of the Quinjet, Bucky's screams grow louder and louder. Sitting quietly on the above level, the team remain stoic.

*****

6 HOURS AND 30 MINUTES AFTER ABDUCTION

The world around him is dark and blessedly quiet.

Alone now, Bucky leans a trembling forearm against the window, rests his aching forehead on the cold glass and takes a shallow breath. The beads of sweat dripping down his face finally begin to dry, so he shuts his eyes and lets his mind wander, searching for something sweet to calm the nightmare still wracking his body. Like a slideshow, the pictures in his brain flip at lightning speed, until they stop on his apartment in Brooklyn and zero in on the book you left tucked under a fuzzy velvet blanket.

The Book Thief.

When he watched you pick it up that day, Bucky fought back a smile. It's one of his favorites, something he's read a dozen times. When he feels anxious and fidgety, the story is soothing, the pages crinkled and bent, the poetic words smoothing the edges of his soul in a way he could never explain. Tonight though, Bucky begins to understand why the story holds so much appeal.

Through the horrors that made up the bulk of his life, first during his war, and later as the Soldier, a concept always played in the back of his mind.

Some people are born into this life with the desire to command, to play God. Some demand the role and some accept the burden when it's given. That was never him. No, Bucky was always asked to play one role above all others, one that led him to find a kindred spirit in the narrator of his favorite book.

Death.

It's been his calling card since the first day of Basic, when the US Army plucked him from obscurity and shoved a rifle in his peculiarly steady hands. From that day forward, he owned every life around him. Some he spared, some he protected. Some he reaped with a broken neck in the dead of night, some he bartered with a sharp blade and a sharper tongue. This has been the way of his life for so long, it boils down to a single truth.

Most of Bucky's life – has always been death.

Now he stands silently, accepting once again the bleak mantle laid across his shoulders and he thinks of you curled in his leather chair, warm in a patch of afternoon sun, your finger unconsciously marking his favorite quote as you drift to sleep, not realizing you equally loved the one line that always gave him pause.

"Even Death has a heart."

Most of Bucky's life has been death, but that's okay. Because those words are a poignant reminder that he can be so much more than the hollow shell he was. In this life with you, he finally understands how his head and his heart really are better together.

So, he holds the words in his mouth, tests them on his tongue, accepting that if the inevitable happens, he has a reason to come home.

"Even Death has a heart."

He certainly does, Bucky thinks wryly. He opens his eyes and gazes into the star strewn blackness, his heartbeat a steady rhythm driving him forward, back to you. And it's all hers.

*****

All you can think right now, is that this compound is freezing and you'll rage kick anyone who comes near you.

Slouched in the chair from earlier, a constant throb of pain shoots up your awkwardly bent arms, still secured behind you with a plastic zip-tie. Earlier struggles had done a number on your wrists, the unforgiving plastic slicing open the delicate skin and even now, blood oozes from the lacerations. It offers a small amount of warmth though, the sticky liquid running down your fingertips and catching under your nails.

You're a little disappointed when it cools.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

How did you not know?

You knew Jack. You knew him. He supported you, encouraged you. Offered helpful life advice even when you didn't ask for it and bought you a bottle of champagne to celebrate your first by-line. How could you not see that charming, amiable façade, hid a full-blown unhinged psychopath? How was it possible to be so utterly wrong about someone?

Maybe you should fire yourself for being the world's worst investigative journalist.

Huffing in frustration, pain flares anew when you shift, searching out a comfortable position. The stripes on your arms burn, your ribs are bruised, your jaw aches.

Everything hurts.

Bucky, where are you?

Closing your eyes, you let your mind drift, reaching for the imaginary comfort of your favorite place. An apartment in Brooklyn filled with piles of fuzzy blankets and soft pillows. Shelves of books and bowls of peanut M&Ms. The fresh scent of the river and Bucky's laughing blue eyes.

Did he see the video? Did he know where you were? Would he figure it out in time? The grim reality of this whole thing, was that you desperately wanted to leave, to be back in Brooklyn, warm and safe in his arms, but there was one glaring problem.

You wanted Bucky to find you.

You wanted Bucky to never face these people again.

Success was an impossible duality.

The faint sounds of movement outside your door grow louder, inaudible voices making you tense. Electronic beeps sound and the door whooshes open, revealing two men dressed in faded combat fatigues. One is tall and lanky, bald head shining under the fluorescent lights. He spares you a brief glance, before striding to the table and rifling through the knives and lengths of rope.

The other man is short and thin, with red hair buzzed military short. He gives you a little smirk as he ambles inside, making a show of locking the door and letting his eyes roam over you.

"Don't worry sweetheart, we're just here to tidy up," he says.

Sauntering over, he stops beside you, cocking his head and staring down, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Fixing a bored expression on your face, you ignore him, keeping your eyes trained on the door handle straight ahead.

"I'd look up if I were you," he advises. Heart pounding at the implied threat, you stare forward in silence. Suddenly his fingers are gripping your jaw, pressing into the bruises left by earlier knuckles, and the startled gasp melts into a groan as you struggle away from the rough hand.

Tears prick your eyes when you look up, meeting his mocking stare.

"There she is," he croons, pinching your jaw tighter. The pain makes your vision swim and you blink rapidly, fighting to stay conscious.

"I gotta say, we've been running real low on women around here. Be nice if you could help some of the guys out," he says casually. "Maybe later, once we get your man back under control. Hell, maybe he'll even have a go. I hear he'll do anything if you know the magic word."

Releasing you, he drags the tips of his fingers over your face, tracing the bruises, swirling his fingers through the blood still leaking from the gash high on your cheek. The pads of his fingers come away stained red and he brushes them over your mouth, painting your lips with the taste of salt and copper.

"How about it sweetheart?"

Eye level with you, his thumb is still rubbing your lip, waiting for an answer.

You can almost hear Bucky's voice begging you not to do it, but you're so god damn pissed off.

The taste of copper appears again, when you snap your teeth, sinking them into his finger. He screeches and jerks the hand away, hugging it to his chest as he stumbles backward.

"Bitch," he rasps furiously, raising his hand while you brace for the hit.

"Dude, would you get away from her? You're not allowed to mark her up," his partner cuts him off with a sharp rebuke. "Wait until the Asset's finished and packed away, you'll get a turn after. If there's anything left."

The nonchalant way they speak about you should make your skin crawl and it does. It really does.

But the way they speak about him, about your Bucky, as if he's nothing but a mindless animal and not the sweetest, snarkiest, most infuriatingly wonderful man in your life, makes you shake with anger.

"Makes your nervous, huh?" The redhead sneers, sucking petulantly on his damaged finger. "You should be. I hear he's a beast once he gets going. Brain's so fucking fried, he'll probably get confused halfway through, won't remember if he's supposed to fuck you or kill you, but either way – sucks to be you."

Nothing would be more enjoyable in this moment than stabbing this prick in the eye with a rusty knife, but you'll have to rain check. Taking a soul cleansing breath instead, you settle for your best Bucky Barnes murder face impression, letting a grim smile slowly lift your lips, while glaring in total silence.

"What the hell?" he grunts, unnerved at the creepy expression.

A long-suffering sigh comes from the bald man. "Stop talking and help me."

"Aw come on man, I'm just – "

The sound of a low sonic boom suddenly vibrates the floor beneath your feet.

Both men freeze, turning wide-eyed to each other.

"What the hell was that?"

"Something in the upstairs lab?" the other guesses wildly.

A long pause follows, the world quiet.

The second boom knocks the wind from you, raising dust from the floor. Lifting your eyes, you watch a long crack appear in the plaster ceiling, stilted bursts of movement as it spiders outward.

Silence follows again.

Then the distant pop of gunfire reaches your ears.

"Shit," you hear one of the men behind you whisper in panic.

The surge of happiness floods through you, promptly tempered by the panic of knowing Bucky was here, surrounded by these bastards once again.

"How'd he get here so fast? Bernstein said it'd take a couple days for him to figure it out!"

"How do I know? I wasn't planning to be here when he – "

There's a high-pitched scream in the hallway that's cut short.

Silence.

Suddenly the screeching whine of metal on metal rings through the room when something heavy slams against the locked door.

Once.

Twice.

"Fuck," the bald man spits out, lifting his gun and taking aim at the shuddering door.

Three times.

Next to you, the redhead draws a pistol from the holster under his arm, and you close your eyes when you feel the cold kiss of a metal barrel pressed against your temple.

Silence.

You can hear the ragged, panting of the man above you, deafening in the quiet room. He smells stale, like fear and cigarettes, the scents bleeding from his skin.

Silence stretches on, further and further, and you pray Bucky won't pass, that he knows, that he comes back.

The respite forces a shift in the room. Weapons lower slightly, muscles soften. Perhaps the Soldier has moved on.

A rookie mistake.

A catastrophic mistake.

With an ear-piercing metallic crunch, the door in front of you explodes open, ricocheting off the wall. A knife whistles through the air, cold steel whispering past your ear, before the wide blade lands in the man's neck with a wet thunk. The force of the throw knocks him flat on his back, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the rough hilt, and you squeeze your eyes shut when the gush of hot blood splatters across your face.

Roaring gunfire sets your ears ringing as the bald man fires five hasty bullets at the hulking presence in the doorframe, but each one is swatted away with a lazy flick of a metal hand. There's a sharp retaliatory crack, and the man wobbles for a second, before collapsing to the floor, a bullet drilled straight between his eyes.

Bucky steps into the room, gun raised while his eyes scan the corners, check the ceiling, sweep under the table. Swinging around, he catches the edge of the door and slams it shut, before grabbing a chair and jamming it beneath the busted handle.

When he stalks forward, a small fraction of your heart cowers in fear at the viciousness in his face. This is him, the unreal ghost story, the legend in the flesh.

"Don't look," he orders harshly, bending down to the twitching body beside you. Eyes closed, you turn away when you hear the cracking noise the knife makes as Bucky jerks it from the man's throat. A brief bloody gurgle follows, before it's effectively silenced, and you hear the sound of a body dragging across the concrete floor, landing with a soft thump.

Breathing fast, sharp little pants that make your chest ache, you keep your eyes closed and wait.

A moment later, you feel the light touch of cool metal on your swollen jaw. Opening your eyes, your heart leaps into your throat.

Leaning over you, he gently cups your face, patiently waiting for you to see him. And now, looking into those blue eyes, you wonder how on earth you could have ever been afraid, because this isn't him, he's not the Soldier.

This is your Bucky, through and through.

Reaching down to his boot, he pulls up a long knife, slipping it behind you to snap the plastic on your wrists. They feel like deadweight after being locked in that position, so he helps ease them forward, working out the aching kinks. Two quick flicks and your legs are free, and you see a minute tremble in his fingers when he returns the knife to his boot.

Kneeling before you, Bucky looks up, the penitent man with his heart on his sleeve. He swallows thickly, throat working as he gathers his courage.

"Hi," he finally whispers.

"Hey," you whisper back, voice cracking.

He sees the cuts and bruises scattered over your face, the raised welts down your arms. Reaches a tentative hand to your neck, fingers brushing over the thin line of rope burn, a broken sound rising from deep in his chest when he feels the raw texture of your skin. That sound alone is more painful than anything you've experienced, so you reach for him, cradling his face between your hands and his eyes close. Leaning into the touch, he turns to press his lips to the palm of your hand.

"You came for me," you murmur.

"I’ll always come for you," he responds, lifting blood-stained hands to cover yours, tangling your fingers together. "I love you. I love you so god damn much and I'm so sorry for everything."

Tears flood your throat at his declaration, at the heat behind his words.

"God you're such a pain in my ass Bucky Barnes, but I love you too. More than you can imagine," your voice is painfully hoarse, but his response makes each syllable worth the strain.

Speckles of blood cover one side of his face, sweat plasters strands of hair to his forehead, and there's white dust caught in the dark stubble covering his neck, but at your words, the grime and exhaustion fade away. Bucky's face lights up and his excited smile steals your breath.

"Really? Seriously?"

"Really seriously," you confirm with a smile, voice still weak but growing stronger. "Take me home Bucky."

"I will," he promises. "I'll get you out of here, I swear."

Taking your hand, he curls a warm arm around your waist and stands, lifting you carefully to your feet. Swaying at the move, you lean heavily into him and he wraps his arms around you, folding you close to his heavily padded chest.

And sure, the world may be falling to pieces outside that door, and god knows what you'll find when you leave, but in this moment, the only thing you need is the solid presence of the man surrounding you.

Comforting and stable and brimming with love, he is enough. He is everything.

Finally, reluctantly, he lets go. Stepping backward, he pulls his Glock from the holster at his back, cocks the hammer and flips it around. He presses the grip in your palm.

"Listen to me. We get out there, and I want you to shoot first, ask questions later. If you feel threatened at any point, pull the trigger, okay?"

"Okay," you agree.

"You remember everything I told you?"

It takes a moment, but you fish for the memory and reel it in, remembering that day at the Tower gun range.

"Yes. Squeeze the trigger, don't jerk. Both eyes stay open. Be ready for the recoil," you repeat.

He looks surprised but pleased at the automatic recitation. "I honestly didn't think you were paying attention that day. That was – kinda hot."

"Your face is kinda hot," you sass back instantly.

Pulling a fresh clip from his belt, Bucky snaps it into his Sig Sauer and grins. Watching his movement, you notice something new, something different.

"Hey. The blue jacket – it really did match my dress. I like it. You look really handsome in blue," you say softly, tugging his sleeve. "Sorry, I've been super behind on your compliments. Lots of catching up."

There's a blazing look on his face at your statement, and he wraps a gentle hand behind your neck and steps closer, resting his forehead against yours. Closing your eyes, you breathe each other in, a swirl of blood and death, of safety and protection.

"I love you," he murmurs the words again, reveling in the pleasure they bring.

"I love you," you answer, pressing a light kiss to his chin.

He hums at the response, giving himself one more delicious second to enjoy, before grudgingly stepping away. His voice shifts and he speaks quickly, sharing the basic intel necessary before leaving the room.

"There should be very few people left out there, I swept the majority of the lower level before I found you. There were people here, but it wasn't heavily guarded. Which makes me nervous. I don't know exactly what this place is now, but it used to be a secondary research lab. This is – it was here, where I met him. The first time."

It's clear who the him is in this scene. And while Bucky's voice is calm, you notice a flicker of confusion cross his face, and that small waver makes you want to find Jack and cut his heart out. Gripping his hands, you give him a small shake, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"Listen to me. You got out. You won. You never ever have to go back," he clings to your words, riveted by your conviction. "You came here to get me Bucky, but don't forget – I've got you too."

"I know," he agrees heatedly, pressing his lips to your knuckles. Then he shifts the chair blocking the door and squares his shoulders. "Alright, you ready?"

"Ready," you confirm. "Let's go fuck shit up."

Fingers pause on the handle and he sighs, equal parts exasperated and entertained. Glancing over, he looks like he wants to say something stern, but the serious expression melts and his shoulders shake with laughter.

"I really fucking missed you," he nudges you.

"Same," you whisper back, elbowing him in return.

Keeping one hand fisted in the smooth cloth of his jacket, you take a deep breath as he pulls open the door and steps outside.

Once in the hallway, his demeanor switches back to the man who kicked your door down only a few minutes before. He's overwhelming in this form, towering and tense, confidence in every move, so obviously capable it puts you at ease.

The corridors are eerily quiet, the tracks of fluorescent lights lining the ceiling giving off a steady buzz and the occasional flicker. The smell hits you in that moment, a strange burnt earth smell floating through halls, of gunpower and guts, and it makes your eyes water. People don't seem to talk much about what it's like on a battlefield, the visual horror and the stomach-churning smell. Now you see why.

Turning the corner, you see bodies scattered along the hall, the stench of blood a dense fog hanging heavy in the air. Bright red halos spill around surprised faces, and you see now that bullets leave very large holes. It draws your eyes with each body you pass, and your breath comes faster.

"Breathe through your mouth, not your nose," Bucky urges, his voice a grounding force as he propels you forward. "Look at me or close your eyes, okay? I won't let you fall."

"Yeah," you say weakly, turning your face toward calming blue. "Yeah, okay."

Rounding the next corner, the hall is thankfully empty of human remains. Bucky keeps his gun raised, eyes sweeping along. All seems deserted, until the whisper of rolling wood, like a closet sliding open reaches your ears and you see part of the wall begin to shift. Bucky swings around, but your finger already hovers dangerously over the trigger, and without thinking, you squeeze.

The bullet makes a solid thwack when it hits, and a body crumples to the floor.

A sickeningly familiar body in fact. One with a faded red tattoo crawling up his neck.

He groans, curling around himself, gasping as blood pumps from his abdomen. In one quick stride, Bucky is standing over the writhing body, and he stomps down, grinding his boot into the man's wrist. Screaming in pain as his bones are crushed, he drops his gun and Bucky kicks it away.

Walking slowly forward, with the smoking gun still raised, you stare down into the face of the man who's haunted your dreams for the better part of your life. Who spent the last several hours smiling while he slapped your face. While he snapped a leather strap across your arms. While he tightened a thin rope around your neck.

Who smiled the day he shot your father and took away the only person you had in the world.

Bucky's pistol feels perfect and right in your hand, as you point it at his face. Vengeance, retribution, revenge, whatever word fits, you're feeling it right now, surging adrenaline making you light-headed. Finger brushing the trigger, you steel yourself for the final shot, for the chance to end this on your terms.

The moment drags on and on, the sounds of his wet gasping the only thing in your ears.

"Come on little girl, do it!" he manages to taunt, choking on the words.

Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger. Pull the trigger.

This man killed your Dad. He tortured you. He destroyed your childhood.

Pull the fucking trigger!

Your arm begins to tremble, precious moments allotted for escape now lost as you stare down. A strangled sob suddenly breaks through and your heavy arm begins to lower. Tears fill your eyes, and you rub them furiously away, trying to raise your arm again.

And then Bucky reaches over, gently pushing the gun down. Looking at him, the tears spill over, sliding down your cheeks, dripping from the tip of your nose.

"You're not a killer," he says quietly. "Once you pull the trigger, you can't take it back. If you want to do it I'll help, but don't become something you're not, just because you think you should."

Firm and compassionate, his familiar voice shakes you out of the haze. Sniffling, you hesitate for another moment, before letting the gun relax at your side. With a deep breath, you turn away instead, snipping the strings tethering you to the survivor's guilt that's hung around your neck for so long.

Bucky nods encouragingly, and together you walk away from the bleeding man. Putting his arm around you, he pulls you in tight. Covers your ear and presses your head against his shoulder, muffling the world.

Then he raises his arm behind him and fires one quick shot.

The hallway goes quiet once more.

*****

Moments later, you turn another corner, relief palpable when you hear Bucky speak.

"We're close, there's an exit in two turns," he mutters, his body still tense, eyes wary as he tugs you along. He taps the comms in his ear, letting it go to the loudspeaker so you can hear as well. "Steve, we're near the north exit, where are you?"

Clear as a bell, Steve's voice comes through sounding annoyed. Gunfire sounds in the background and you hear the clatter of tin cans on concrete, followed by a slow hiss.

"We're coming, just – finishing something up. Apparently Nat decided this was the right time to test Stark's new gas grenades."

"Don't be lame Rogers, these guys are assholes," you hear Nat laughing in the background.

"Yeah no shit, just wondering why – ouch, god dammit – why you couldn't wait 10 seconds. Buck, we'll meet you at the rendezvous point in 10 minutes. Did you find Bernstein?"

"Negative, no sign, I think he ghosted from – "

The comms crackles and goes off. Bucky taps it impatiently, but it stays quiet.

Stark technology will not fail a second time and it takes a split second to connect the dots.

Something is happening.

Swearing fiercely, Bucky pushes you behind him, his arm keeping you pressed against his back.

"Stay against me. Do not move away," he grits out, eyes scanning the empty corridor, searching, searching, searching.

He hears the sound before he sees it happen. It raises the hair at his neck, and with sizzling burst of heat, a web of electricity blooms before you, a curtain of transparent white light. Spinning around, you find the same thing behind, a crackling fence of fire trapping you together.

"Fucking hell," Bucky hisses, eyes whipping back and forth, assessing the electric barriers. Hesitating slightly, he stretches a tentative metal finger forward.

"Bucky, don't – " the warning is still leaving your lips when his hand makes contact. The harsh zap flings his arm back.

"Dammit, I didn't think these'd still be here," he growls in frustration. His fingers curl into a hard fist, metal plates whirring as they reset after the electric shock.

Looking through the waves of energy, you can see beyond them, but there's no possibility of passing. "What are they?"

"Fry zones. Barricades to trap people," he mutters. "When a building was under attack, they were set up like alarms. Someone must have triggered them earlier, because I killed everyone else in the building."

"Well that's just awesome," you mumble, pressing close to him. Bucky turns to face you, hugging you against his chest.

"Okay, it's alright. The team are coming this way, they'll find us when we miss the rendezvous, so we just wait. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," your voice is muffled against the thick fabric.

Bucky leans down to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, the barest hint of a touch. For a second, you wonder if the sound of electricity is still the walls around you, or if it's the feel of his mouth on your skin. Snuggling closer, you relax in his arms, while his hands rub long, soothing strokes up your back.

For a long, happy moment, all is well. The world is right. A bright future together is so close.

But inevitably, it doesn't last.

The measured, deliberate click of dress shoes on concrete rises above the steady hum of electricity, and Bucky's body goes rigid. His arms tighten around you, but when you raise your head, his jaw is clenched and his face is white, sweat already slicking his forehead. His eyes are fixed on something above you, beyond you, and still clasped in his arms, you slowly turn.

Jack stands on the other side of the barrier, his face flooded with desperate, hungry longing as he gazes at Bucky. He licks his lips and comes closer to the cage, and even through the thick fabric of his jacket, you feel Bucky's heart racing.

"So, here we are then. After all this, there he is," Jack breathes fervently, moving closer, unable to help himself. "I see him under there Barnes. Let him out to play. Let him come home."

Bucky lets go of you, tugging you behind him and extending both arms, widening his stance.

"Drop the barricade and let us go," he says calmly. "She has nothing to do with this."

With a snort, Jack shakes his head.

"Wrong. She has everything to do with it. It's because of her that you're even here. She's a weakness. She's your weakness, don’t you see that? You think you're in control, but she stole that from you. Look at you! Following her here like a pathetic dog. Jesus Christ, what did you do to my Soldier, you've ruined him Barnes."

"Seriously Jack, eat a dick you dramatic piece of shit," poking your head around Bucky, you try to move in front of him, but he holds you in place.

"Don't, it's not worth it," he murmurs warningly.

Jack looks amused for a moment, but it fades as he considers an idea.

"She's scrappy, I'll give her that. We could make a deal you know – give me back my Soldier and I'll let him keep her if he wants. She can be his pet, something soft and breakable to entertain him. Maybe that's what was missing before."

Bucky feels a swoop in his stomach as he considers Jack. Hearing his voice now, he's baffled how in seven hells he could have ever forgotten this man. It's so clear, so god damn obvious he wants to scream. But in the midst of that anger, Sam Wilson's voice pops in his head, and Bucky suddenly remembers the closing remarks of his first group therapy session down at the VA.

"Some things you leave behind, some you carry home. It's your decision what you need to let yourself heal."

Bucky understands it then, the choice he made. The only way he could let himself heal, to get better and move on, was to let go of the horrors in his past. Including this one.

"No deal you sick fuck," he says flatly. "Let us go or I swear to God, I'll rip you to pieces with my bare hands."

Jack shrugs at the response.

"Alright then, if that's what you want," he steps even closer to the barrier, so close you can see the gleaming white of his eyes. "I gave you a chance, so – just know that what happens next is your fault Barnes, it's all on you. I hope you remember that. In the end."

Jack reaches behind him, grasping for something in his pocket, and Bucky crouches slightly, a snarl on his face as he settles into battle stance.

When his hand reappears, Jack's holding a thick paperback book.

He smiles.

*****

Next Chapter

*****

[eggdotjpeg]

OKAY SO I FINALLY FINSIHED CHAPTER TWO WHO AM I?

um i feel like this chap is more shit than the last one but i meannnnnnn

once again, idk when the next chap is gonna be up depends how i feel

um yeah i wrote from the new character to the end just now and ive had a headache for the past 5 days im fine but ik its shit??? deal with it??? okay chapters below the cut fuckers

The Five Fingers

We’ve Only Got 5 Minutes Until Our Show’s on

 The three friends had been sitting there watching the blank screen for five minutes. A lot of other people had come in, including a bunch of meddlesome teenagers. They were joshing around throwing popcorn at each other. With every piece thrown, Jeremy got more and more agitated, until he finally shister snapped.

“HEY, STOP MUCKING ABOUT, THE MOVIES ABOUT TO START”

The teenagers started snickering at that remark, and one of them muttered “old man”

Then Jeremy flipped his shit. “WELL IF IM SUCH AN OLD MAN THEN YOU SHOULD RESPECT THE ELDERLY AND GO SIT IN A CORNER AND THINK OF WHAT YOURE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE. YANNO, MAYBE DO MORE THEN CREATE A MESS AND BE FUCKING WORTHLESS.”

Well that certainly seemed to shut them up.

The one who whispered old man started crying and they all went to the corner of the cinema to cry like fucking babies (I mean, what a mood lmao).

“That seemed to do it, and a bit more,” said a mortified Marjory.

“As long as they cry silently, I’ve not no problem,” Jeremy replied enthusiastically.

“Shhh, its starting,” said Hubert.

The movie starting by spitting some straight facts about bees. It said that they defied science and said fuck you to humans. Seemed interesting.

 The movie ended and everyone was buzzing with excitement. They decided they’d get some post movie food, and they settled on Indian.

They walked to the nearest restaurant, and asked for a table for 4.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have any free tables, but we have a customer at a table for 6 that’s willing to share with you if you want?” said the waiter.

“That’s cool with us! Show us the table waity boi!” exclaimed Hubert

The waiter gave him a weird look, but led them to the table regardless.

Milford was looking around eagerly in hopes of seeing the stranger they would be sitting with.

“Here we are! Feel free to ask if you need anything!”

“Cool! Thank you so much!” said Jeremy

The waiter just smiled in response, before leaving.

Hubert looked around him to see how everyone was feeling. Marjory was looking at the stranger with caring and interested eyes, she always was the mum of the group.

Milford was looking at the stranger very excitedly, this fuck never seems to calm down for one second.

Jeremy seemed uninterested, wait, he’s on his phone. Again. Why do we bother bringing him places again? (is Jeremy a mood? Yeah you know it lads)

Hubert looked at the stranger. He couldn’t help but notice that he seemed nervous.

“So, what’s your name?” Hubert asked the stranger.

“Uhh, my name is Shrignold,” the stranger replied

‘HI SHRIGNOLD IM MILFORD AND THESE ARE MY FRIE-“ yelled Milford, earning a slap on the wrist from Marjory

“Hi dear, sorry about Milford, he can be a bit... excited sometimes. I’m Marjory, and this is Jeremy and Hubert,” said Marjory, indicating towards the correct specimens.

“LETS GET SOME PIZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!” And of fucking course its Milford cause he’s an absolute M A D  L A D.

“HI WELCOME TO CHILI’S,” and oh looky it’s the waiter.

“YES PIZZA PLEASE NO ADDED HORMONES FROM COLES,” its Jeremy again wOah.

Marjory just stared between the two with disappointment in her eyes.

“YES HERES PIZZA JUST FOR YOU HEHE,” oh here comes the chef broom vroom.

Everyone stared at the pizza for about 4 minutes including the chef.

“HON HON PIZZA,” exclaimed the chef before they left.

“nice.” Said Hubert

“Lets eat!” Marjory exclaimed

Everyone grabbed a piece of pizza. Everyone except Shrignold.

“Whats wrong Shrignold?” Asked Hubert

“Have detachable fingers… but just one, see?” Shrignold then went to pick up a piece of pizza, only to find that his finger fell off.

Everyone stared at T H E F I N G E R as it lay on the table.

“That’s okay Shriggy! Here, we can all take off a finger to help you!” suggested Jeremy

“You would do that? For me?”

“Anything for you sweet pea,” said Marjory lovingly

Hubert took a pocket knife out of his (wait for it) pocket and proceeded to chop off everyone fingers. Except Shrignold’s of course.

Milford pulled a glass jar out of his inner jacket pocket and picked up everyone’s fingers and put them in the glass jar.

“I HAVE AN IDEA FOR A NAME FOR OUT SQUAD. HOW ABOUT… THE FIVE FINGERS (omg its like it was planned dsfnjksdbvjadbv)!!!!!” screamed Milford because seriously who else?

[tallmansions]

A Fallen London Story in Four Parts

This was originally a Christmas present for @anakronisma, but as my “Inspired...” quality is always reset every time I sleep, I only just got around to finishing it. Hope you like it, dearest. I tried to do your character and the world justice, but I probably didn’t lmao.

Doctor Kohri is anakronisma’s, and Fallen London is © 2015 and ™ Failbetter Games Limited: www.fallenlondon.com.  This is an unofficial fan work..

Part I: The Sociable Clockmaker, Veilgarden

A flurry of unfortunate circumstances brought Doctor Kohri to me that afternoon, three o’clock on a particularly brisk winter day. From what I understand—and I can guarantee I understand most of it—she was in hot pursuit of a suitable gift for her friend, subsequently settling on scouring the streets around Veilgarden for something marvelous, something quite unlike anything else in the window displays. She had tried the Bazaar, and while its many splendors and varied specialty shops had drawn her eye, her friend had access to the same mannequins and arrangements in addition to her more esoteric selections—selections that Doctor Kohri would not think to peruse even had she the contacts, which she did not.

I had learned of these events not because Doctor Kohri had any desire to tell me, but because the friend in question had cautioned me that the good doctor might come looking my way. How this suspicion came sneaking to this friend is not, in good manners, mine to say, but it would have been even poorer manners not to take such a suspicion into consideration. I was polishing the counter when Doctor Kohri entered. The bells in my shop chimed the time as the door jangled shut behind her.

She didn’t introduce herself, but as no one had come into my shop at all until that point and she fit the description given exactly, I knew it was her. No one else in Veilgarden, wearing such a sober grey dress, would walk with such a straight back. She asked me if I sold baubles, to which I replied that I sold only what interested me and so should be more appropriately termed curiosities. I don’t think she saw the humor in it, but I don’t take my stock humorously, and so I appreciated her reserve.

Doctor Kohri took her time in browsing, asking questions about my products when one struck her fancy. I remember she paid careful attention to the small silver clock with the brass doors above the clock face. I explained to her that the doors would open on the hour, and out would pop the tiniest of bejeweled owls—right on the hour, like I said. She had just missed the three o’clock mark and looked rather interested in seeing the spectacle unfold, for it really is not a sight to be missed. One can get so lost in my shop when the clock strikes the hour. The place erupts into chaos. All the clocks show off each of their tricks—all at once, mind you—and a small bejeweled owl behind brass doors set in a small silver clock can go quite unnoticed in the bedlam. One gets accustomed to it, after all these years, but for the first-time customer, it can be jarring. I’m surprised Doctor Kohri didn’t startle when she first entered the shop.

I could tell she wanted to see the thing in action, but she hadn’t quite persuaded me to deconstruct my piece on display. I asked her to wait one moment while I fetched the extra owl from the back of the shop, and so I can’t say for certain what transpired in the minutes I was indisposed. I do know that I heard the door jangle open and shut once more, then a bit of a scuffle, but as several boxes had toppled out of their proper places in my storeroom, I found myself in a scuffle of my own, trying to make sure no parts had got mixed up.

Once I emerged from the back, with apologies for my age and slow movements on my lips, I found Doctor Kohri bent over a fallen figure, utterly ignoring my excuses. She seemed to be trying to revive the person, pressing her fingers here and there along the body in what I can assume was in a medically sound fashion. I tried to assure her that the person would be quite fine, but she told me she had taken a very chancy risk in fighting her assailant off and hoped to extract some information. Alas, it seemed the person was dead for the time being.

The good doctor was rather put out about that, I can tell you, but there was nothing to be done, and she said she was rather in a hurry and couldn’t stand around waiting. This moment did not appear to be the time to be polite and ask to where she was off or why she had stopped in my shop at random if she were so desperate to secure a gift in a timely fashion, and so I opted for understanding silence. Well, said she, I must be off. And so she was. I admit to some disappointment at not being able to show her my owl, but I remained composed and soon the door closed behind her.

As for the cadaver, the constables made quick work of it and I soon returned to my usual puttering about the store. The lady did not come by to inquire about the doctor until later.

Part II: The Scattered Zailor, Wolfstack Docks

Well, it was ‘round four o’clock, and I’d got my pay, see, so me and the crew was doing some comparisons and gaming, for you best be careful with some of them harbormasters before you get to the gaming part. Glim’s not the quality it used to be when you have pirates from here ‘til the Principles of Coral raiding honest ships for their cargo, so sometimes when the pirates’ve been fiercer, that harbormaster you see there sometimes gets the plaster.

That doctor, she looked Tengrist to me, I don’t know about you. I’ve never gone as far as the Khanate—pirates about, y’see—but ever so often you get some from the Khan’s Shadow who’re even sick of that life, you get ‘em over here as stowaways or passengers. She looked like she had some of that blood in her. Came up to me and the crew like she were ready to push off port, only she asked if we had any trinkets to sell. Trinkets! Like talismans and the ink on my chest are trinkets! This one here, it ain’t any of that Salt creepy-like get-up some of them other zailors got. It keeps the zee-bats away like no one’s the wiser. And it ain’t for sale.

Stone, did that make her skin go pale! Anger, I’d wager. Didn’t look like she’d heard the word “yes” today. Kept trying to barter with me and the crew, kept saying she needed a gift for her friend. I said Lady—and she says It’s Doctor—so I says Doctor, you’re asking the wrong crew and you’re in the wrong part of London.

So the other zailors lurking about have a good chuckle at that, let me tell you! But that dress keeps her ramrod straight like, and she says something about getting jumped in Veilgarden and the foolish sod was dead for now and anyone who’d like could find out how he died. Doc didn’t have a weapon to grab and looked pretty stick-like to my eye, but the laughing sort seemed to take her seriously enough, don’t know why.  Something about her eyes.

Now some right idiot says something about how she knew who’d jumped this doctor—probably hoping for some more glim, greedy thing that she is, I know her. Well, Kohri—because the lady told me later that was the doc’s name, it’s Kohri—looked snap up at that, started edging towards the zailor who’d gabbed, but then every son of a b— on the docks started saying they knew something, and then even I couldn’t tell who’d spoke up first, much less figure if anyone had the truth.

Kohri went somewhere during all this, I don’t know. Saw a group of zailors shouting and heading all in a pack towards some building, but since it was pay and all, I expect they were headed for a mushroom wine or for honey or anything other than some good glim gaming, hey, nice and legal.

Now that I scrub my brains a bit, the lady came by just not too long after that. She plays a good game herself, but don’t you mention that to her.

Part III: The Voracious Lurker, Spite—perhaps

I send people out, I send people to hunt, to find, to feed me

They scribble and wriggle into every little corner of every little shop of every little house

I don’t like scraps. I demand decadence.

My little ratlings, my scrabbling people

And she hurt them the doctor Kohri she hurt them she hurt them and didn’t bring me

something to eat.

 She can kill my ratlings, they’ll be fine, I always have more, I always want more, but she has to replenish

which she didn’t.

She was like a ratling herself, scurrying to search for something to send her friend

She found me instead.

 Followed a tip, the tip of a zailor off the tip of her tongue, wondered why a ratling would cause her harm

None of my people cause harm

They feed me

Spices and salamanders and zee-bats and soft skin and syrups and

I’m hungry again. What have you brought me?

 Ah, yes

Of course

Doctor Kohri.

 It wasn’t the ratling’s fault

It wasn’t personal

I was just hungry

And oh

Kohri stumbled her way to me

 I used to be like her

Inquisitive

Daring

Watchful

Reserved

No.

I was never reserved

I liked to eat.

 Spite is good to me

This place gives me lost ratlings

I feed them—for a time, I give them someplace to stay, I set them free again to bring me my dessert

Give me give me give me give me Kohri’s head on a platter.

Let me eat.

She killed my ratling.

She came in here and I was ready to eat.

But the lady followed her in and swept her away.

Part IV: The Irresistible Lady, The Shuttered Palace

Kohri? She’s safe at home, I’d assume. She finds herself in the strangest situations, did you know? I had a feeling she’d contort herself into all sorts of delightful and embarrassing positions the moment I told her I had a gift for her. I knew she’d go running all over London and perhaps even beyond trying to return the favor. Can you imagine having a friend like that? I can, and it’s tiring, let me tell you!

I mean that in the best possible way, of course. “Tiring” means you’ve done something exciting enough to wear you out.

Well, I don’t like to spy on my friends, if that’s what this is all about. I keep an eye out. They can handle themselves, certainly, but some of them are newer to London than others. Some are newer still to the Unterzee itself. So I keep a close watch without interfering too much—just the right amount. Enough to excite me, to tire me out.

Now, I happen to know a little shop in one of the cozier corners of Veilgarden, and one of my friends—I do have many friends, you know; being the poetess-in-residence gives me many friends—this friend told me of another friend headed to that shop. Friends everywhere, you see! I thought I could catch up with her, but by the time I arrived, I could see the constables clearing out. I pay my dues as rightly I should, but that isn’t to say I like hanging about a constable when I see one, and so by the time I was able to pop my head in, Kohri was already gone.

I heard she had a scuffle on the docks, if that’s why you’re so concerned about her wellbeing. I most certainly would not have had anything to do with that. One of my friends might have done, however.

But Kohri does have the habit of watching for things beyond her, and then following them into the twisting shadows and searing secrets they spin for her. Someone has to have friends enough to protect other friends. Perhaps she thought to find me something in that hoard of luxury hidden under cobwebs and rust and bones and spilled wine. Perhaps she thought to seek answers for a day spent fruitlessly wandering, wandering, wandering. Perhaps she was not as familiar with London’s more reclusive and interesting denizens as she believed. Perhaps she thought she could handle herself when faced with ancient horror.

Or perhaps I’m making all this up! Kohri is asleep at home, that I can tell you. If you ask her anything about the matter, I assure you she won’t have any answers for you. She will most likely have fewer, in fact. I highly doubt she remembers anything of today at all! Silly doctor doesn’t even know her own health. Tomorrow she will awaken with a signed copy of my latest verses by her bedside table, and I will tell her how I delivered it during her most delirious moments, and she will not question me. I recommend you do the same.

I suppose this means I won’t be getting my gift from her, but don’t you go telling her that.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, march 21 of 2021 with Proverbs 21 and Psalm 21, accompanied by Psalm 2 for the 2nd day of Spring and Psalm 80 for day 80 of the year

[Proverbs 21]

[God Is the Source of Wisdom]

It’s as easy for God to steer a king’s heart for his purposes

as it is for him to direct the course of a stream.

We may think we’re right all the time,

but God thoroughly examines our motives.

It pleases God more when we demonstrate godliness and justice

than when we merely offer him a sacrifice.

Arrogance, superiority, and pride are the fruits of sin.

Brilliant ideas pay off and bring you prosperity,

but making hasty, impatient decisions

will only lead to financial loss.

You can make a fortune dishonestly,

but your crime will hold you in the snares of death!

Violent rebels don’t have a chance,

for their rejection of truth and their love of evil

will drag them deeper into darkness.

You can discern that a person is guilty by his devious actions

and the innocence of a person by his honest, sincere ways.

It’s better to live all alone in a rickety shack

than to share a castle with a crabby spouse!

The wicked always crave what is evil;

they’ll show no mercy and get no mercy.

Senseless people learn their lessons the hard way,

but the wise are teachable.

A godly, righteous person has the ability

to bring the light of instruction to the wicked

even though he despises what the wicked do.

If you close your heart to the cries of the poor,

then I’ll close my ears when you cry out to me!

Try giving a secret gift to the one who is angry with you

and watch his anger disappear.

A kind, generous gift goes a long way

to soothe the anger of one who is livid.

When justice is served,

the lovers of God celebrate and rejoice,

but the wicked begin to panic.

When you forsake the ways of wisdom,

you will wander into the realm of dark spirits.

To love pleasure for pleasure’s sake

will introduce you to poverty.

Indulging in a life of luxury

will never make you wealthy.

The wicked bring on themselves

the very suffering they planned for others,

for their treachery comes back to haunt them.

It’s better to live in a hut in the wilderness

than with a crabby, scolding spouse!

In wisdom’s house you’ll find delightful treasures

and the oil of the Holy Spirit.

But the stupid squander what they’ve been given.

The lovers of God who chase after righteousness

will find all their dreams come true:

an abundant life drenched with favor

and a fountain that overflows with satisfaction.

A warrior filled with wisdom ascends into the high place

and releases breakthrough,

bringing down the strongholds of the mighty.

Watch your words and be careful what you say,

and you’ll be surprised by how few troubles you’ll have.

An arrogant man is inflated with pride—

nothing but a snooty scoffer in love with his own opinion.

Mr. Mocker is his name!

Taking the easy way out is the habit of a lazy man,

and it will be his downfall.

All day long he thinks about all the things that he craves,

for he hasn’t learned the secret that the generous man has learned:

extravagant giving never leads to poverty.

To bring an offering to God with an ulterior motive is detestable,

for it amounts to nothing but hypocrisy.

No one believes a notorious liar,

but the guarded words of an honest man stand the test of time.

The wicked are shameless and stubborn,

but the lovers of God have a holy confidence.

All your brilliant wisdom and clever insight

will be of no help at all if the Lord is against you.

You can do your best to prepare for the battle,

but ultimate victory comes from the Lord God.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 21 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 21]

Through Your Strength

For the end times, to the Pure and Shining One

David’s poem of praise

[Looking Back]

Yahweh, because of your strength the king is strong.

Look how he rejoices in you!

He bursts out with a joyful song because of your victory!

For you have given him his heart’s desire,

anything and everything he asks for.

You haven’t withheld a thing from the king.

Pause in his presence

Rich blessings overflow with every encounter with you,

and you placed a royal crown of gold upon his head.

He wanted life—you have given it to him and more!

The days of his blessing stretch on one after another, forever!

You have honored him and made him famous.

Glory-garments are upon him,

and you surround him with splendor and majesty.

Your victory heaps blessing after blessing upon him.

What joy and bliss he tastes, rejoicing before your face!

For the king trusts in Yahweh,

and he will never stumble, never fall.

The forever-love of the Most High holds him firm.

[Looking Forward]

Your almighty hands have captured your foes.

You uncovered all who hate you and you seized them.

When you appear before them,

unveiling the radiance of your face,

they will be consumed by the fierce fire of your presence.

Yahweh’s flames will swallow them up.

They and their descendants

will be destroyed by an unrelenting fire.

We will watch them fail,

for these are the ones who plan their evil schemes against the Lord.

They will turn and run at the sight of your judgment-arrows

aimed straight at their hearts.

[Looking Up]

Rise up and put your might on display!

By your strength we will sing and praise your glorious power!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 21 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 2]

The Coronation of the King

[Act I – The Nations Speak]

How dare the nations plan a rebellion.

Their foolish plots are futile!

Look at how the power brokers of the world

rise up to hold their summit

as the rulers scheme and confer together

against Yahweh and his Anointed King, saying:

“Let’s come together and break away from the Creator.

Once and for all let’s cast off these controlling chains

of God and his Christ!”

[Act II – God Speaks]

God-Enthroned merely laughs at them;

the Sovereign One mocks their madness!

Then with the fierceness of his fiery anger,

he settles the issue and terrifies them to death with these words:

“I myself have poured out my King on Zion, my holy mountain.”

[Act III – The Son Speaks]

“I will reveal the eternal purpose of God.

For he has decreed over me, ‘You are my favored Son.

And as your Father I have crowned you as my King Eternal.

Today I became your Father.

Ask me to give you the nations and I will do it,

and they shall become your legacy.

Your domain will stretch to the ends of the earth.

And you will shepherd them with unlimited authority,

crushing their rebellion as an iron rod smashes jars of clay!’ ”

[Act IV – The Holy Spirit Speaks]

“Listen to me, all you rebel kings

and all you upstart judges of the earth.

Learn your lesson while there’s still time.

Serve and worship the awe-inspiring God.

Recognize his greatness and bow before him,

trembling with reverence in his presence.

Fall facedown before him and kiss the Son

before his anger is roused against you.

Remember that his wrath can be quickly kindled!

But many blessings are waiting for all

who turn aside to hide themselves in him!”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 2 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 80]

For the worship leader. A song of Asaph to the tune “The Lilies.”

Turn Your ear toward us, Shepherd of Israel,

You who lead the children of Joseph like a flock.

You who sit enthroned above heaven’s winged creatures,

radiate Your light!

In the presence of Ephraim, Benjamin, and Manasseh,

arouse Your strength and power,

and save us!

Bring us back to You, God.

Turn the light of Your face upon us so that we will be rescued from this sea of darkness.

O Eternal God, Commander of heaven’s armies,

how long will You remain angry at the prayers of Your sons and daughters?

You have given them tears for food;

You have given them an abundance of tears to drink.

You have made us a source of trouble for our neighbors—

our enemies laugh to each other behind our backs.

O God, Commander of heaven’s armies, bring us back to You.

Turn the light of Your face upon us so that we will be rescued from this sea of darkness.

You took us like a grapevine dug from the soil of Egypt;

You forced out the nations and transplanted it in Your land.

You groomed the ground around it,

planted it so it would root deep into the earth, and it covered all the land.

As it grew, the mountains were blanketed by its shadow;

the mighty cedars were covered by its branches.

The plant extended its branches to the Mediterranean Sea,

and spread its shoots all the way to the Euphrates River.

God, why have You pulled down the wall that protected it

so that everyone who wanders by can pick its sweet grapes?

The wild boar of the forest eats it all,

and the creatures of the field feast upon it.

O God, Commander of heaven’s armies, come back to us.

Gaze down from heaven and see what has happened.

Keep watch over this vine, and nourish it.

Look after the saplings which You planted with Your own right hand,

the child whom You have raised and nurtured for Yourself.

Your enemies have chopped it down and burned it with fire;

may they be destroyed by the sight of Your rebuke.

Let Your protective hand rest on the one who is at Your right hand,

the child of man whom You have raised and nurtured for Yourself.

Then we will not turn away from You.

Bring us back to life! And we will call out for You!

O Eternal God, Commander of heaven’s armies, bring us back to You.

Turn the light of Your face upon us so that we will be rescued from this sea of darkness.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 80 (The Voice)

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Garlic Quotes

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• A basic all-purpose rub: mix together one or two tablespoons equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, and onion powder. That will give you real good base for any kind of meat. Just increase the amount if you’re grilling large quantities. – Johnny Trigg • A garlic caress is stimulating. A garlic excess soporific. – Curnonsky • A gold standard is to the moochers and looters in government what sunlight and garlic are to vampires. – Herman Cain • A good hamburger mix: add equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, onion powder and some chopped onion. And mix in a little barbecue sauce, which will add even more great flavor. – Johnny Trigg • A plot without action is like pasta without garlic, like Dolly Parton without cleavage, and like a writer without his similes. – Dean Koontz

• After waking up, I take my vitamins and eat fruit or, sometimes, bread with garlic, which is good for your health. – Jordi Molla • And if you worry that not finishing the food on your plate is a slap in the face of all the hungry people everywhere, you are not living in reality. The truth is that you either throw the food out or you throw it in, but either way it turns to waste. World hunger will not be solved by finishing the garlic mashed potatoes on your plate. – Geneen Roth • Animals have rights, to be smothered with garlic and butter! – Ted Nugent • As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings. – George Orwell • Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain

  jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Garlic', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Beetroot, garlic, lemon … and buy a bottle of olive oil. All these things are very critical. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Danger is to adventure what garlic is to spaghetti sauce. Without it, you just end up with stewed tomatoes. – Tom Robbins • Do not eat garlic or onions; for their smell will reveal that you are a peasant. – Miguel de Cervantes • Do you guys have any raw garlic? – Shailene Woodley

• Following the Rumanian tradition, garlic is used in excess to keep the vampires away… Following the Jewish tradition, a dispenser of schmaltz (liquid chicken fat) is kept on the table to give the vampires heartburn if they get through the garlic defense. – Calvin Trillin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • For a rub with sweet tang: mix just a little bit of light brown sugar to garlic pepper, black pepper, and onion powder. – Johnny Trigg • Garlic bread – it’s the future, I’ve tasted it. – Peter Kay • Garlic is as good as ten mothers. – Les Blank • Garlic is divine. Few food items can taste so many distinct ways, handled correctly. Misuse of garlic is a crime…Please, treat your garlic with respect…Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain • Garlic, like perfume, must be used with discretion and on the proper occasions. – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings • Garlick maketh a man wynke, drynke, and stynke. – Thomas Nash • Hatred, for the man who is not engaged in it, is a little like the odor of garlic for one who hasn’t eaten any. – Jean Rostand • He added that a Frenchman in the train had given him a great sandwich that so stank of garlic that he had been inclined to throw it at the fellow’s head. – Ford Madox Ford • Home-made bread rubbed with garlic and sprinkled with olive oil, shared-with a flask of wine-between working people, can be more convivial than any feast. – Patience Gray • I always get nervous before a kissing scene. I make sure I always brush my teeth and eat lots of fruit and nice foods rather than garlic. I’m terribly self conscious. – Drew Barrymore • I am very moody when I cook. I cook according to the way I feel at the moment. A little of this, a little of that, and almost always a coupcon of garlic. I never proceed by the rules. – Marcel Tabuteau • I believe in the magic of preparation. You can make just about any foods taste wonderful by adding herbs and spices. Experiment with garlic, cilantro, basil and other fresh herbs on vegetables to make them taste great. – Jorge Cruise • I do a chimichurri sauce with garlic, parsley, olive oil, and red and black pepper. You just mince the garlic and the parsley and mix it all together. Brush a little of that on a steak and it kicks it up, like, 10 notches. – Julie Gonzalo • I don’t want to sound too mystical or weird but it’s important to know what garlic smells like when it’s cooking, or what eggs look like when they’re cracked out of a shell. – Joel Salatin • I had a meal in Pizza Hut and the waitress told me I didn’t need to pay. So I decided to be a bit cheeky and ask for more pizza and garlic bread. – Gareth Gates • I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill. – William Shakespeare • I had the lunchbox that cleared the cafeteria. I was very unpopular in the early grades. Because I hung out with my grandfather, I started to bring my lunchbox with sardine sandwiches and calamari that I would eat off my fingers like rings. I was also always reeking of garlic. – Rachael Ray • I have a trainer who comes three times a week and just listens to me moan… and I keep fit and keep moving… and I do watch what I eat. I am a vegetarian… I can’t eat crazy food. I’m highly allergic to onions and garlic and spices… I’ve never had a pizza, never had a curry. – Ringo Starr • I love garlic, and I use it often. – Eric Ripert • I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I’ve never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions – which I’ll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions – and I’m going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there’s all kinds of good smells in the house. – Nancy Grace • I panicked when my son, Jett, stopped eating baby food. He’s only two but his food vocabulary is fantastic. He likes my baked tilapia and string beans with chopped garlic. But he really likes pizza. Sometimes every inanimate object to him is pizza. – Jill Scott • I think garlic is absolutely critical. Lemon is absolutely critical to boost the immune system. Olive oil is absolutely critical … just one teaspoon, it will last the whole month. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • I use a lot of fresh citrus, garlic, and fresh herbs when cooking to cut down on fat and sodium but punch up flavor. Our cupboards and fridge are full of condiments – mustards, vinegars, etc. that also add tons of flavor but are low in fat, calories, or other processed additives. – Cat Cora • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If Ive gone to the market on Saturday, and I go another time on Tuesday, then Im really prepared. I can cook a little piece of fish; I can wilt some greens with garlic; I can slice tomatoes and put a little olive oil on. Its effortless. – Alice Waters • If stakes and garlic were the top two things that could kill a vampire, ninth grade gym was a close third. – Heather Brewer • If you can smell garlic, everything is all right. – J. G. Ballard • If you like garlic, you’ll like ramps. – Jim Chamberlin • If you thought eighth grade was tough, try it with fangs and a fear of garlic. – Heather Brewer • I’m not a vegetarian, and I like filet minion which is sort of a guilty pleasure because I have vegetarian leanings. I eat that once in a while, but generally speaking I like to eat vegetarian things. I really like pasta. I really like bread with olive oil and garlic and I like salads. – Jesse Michaels • I’m particularly fond of boned chicken breasts with a little garlic under the flesh and cooked in a casserole for 40 minutes with a jar of olives, some cherry tomatoes and a spoonful of olive oil. – Maeve Binchy • In Manhasset you were either Yankees or Mets, rich or poor, sober or drunk…You were ‘Gaelic’ or ‘garlic,” as one schoolmate told me, and I couldn’t admit, to him or myself, that I had both Irish and Italian ancestors. – J. R. Moehringer • In Pizza Express you can get garlic bread with cheese and tomato. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a pizza. – Jimmy Carr • It has been said of garlic that everyone knows its odor save he who has eaten it, and who wonders why everyone flies at his approach. – George Ellwanger • It’s a comfort to always find pasta in the cupboard and garlic and parsley in the garden. – Alice Waters • It’s very freaky in Chicago.There’s something in the water there, I don’t know what it is. But the actual word Chicago means, in the Indian language, garlic. It was just garlic and mosquitoes there. And that is the roughest city on the planet, and I been to every place in the world. – Quincy Jones • Maybe it was a good thing that Bones was putting Don’s remains away instead of me. With my current emotional state, I’d probably think the only safe place for his ashes was tucked inside my clothes next to the garlic and weed. – Jeaniene Frost • Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath. – William Shakespeare • My favorite comfort food would have be braised beef. You know, beef, slow-cooked in a Dutch oven or in a slow cooker until it falls apart with simple mushrooms, some onions and lots of fresh thyme and garlic. – Tyler Florence • My favorite is the garlic press. I think it’s beautiful as an object. But the awkward part of it all is that I don’t use it much because I’m allergic to garlic. – Michael Graves • My favorite to cook is this recipe I’ve been making since I was 12 years old with my mom, and it’s an angel hair shrimp pasta with tomatoes, feta, garlic, white wine – it’s so easy but so fresh and so delicious! – Devon Windsor • My final, considered judgment is that the hardy bulb [garlic] blesses and ennobles everything it touches – with the possible exception of ice cream and pie. – Angelo Pellegrini • My mother was making $135 a week, but she had resilience and imagination. She might take frozen vegetables, cook them with garlic, onion and Spam, and it would taste like a four-star dinner. – Andre Dubus • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • My wife and I use a lot of garlic and rosemary with roast lamb. It has to be New Zealand lamb. The domestic variety is too gamy, in my experience. – Alfred Molina • Not me, paranoia’s the garlic in life’s kitchen, right, you can never have too much. – Thomas Pynchon • Of the many smells of Athens two seem to me the most characteristic – that of garlic, bold and deadly like acetylene gas. and that of dust, soft and warm and caressing like tweed. – Evelyn Waugh • Or you can broil the meat, fry the onions, stew the garlic in the red wine…and ask me to supper. I’ll not care, really, even if your nose is a little shiny, so long as you are self-possessed and sure that wolf or no wolf, your mind is your own and your heart is another’s and therefore in the right place. – M. F. K. Fisher • Our lives are full of stress. Some meditate, some walk, some sing and dance. Nature offers us garlic, maitake and hibiscus to relieve stress – Gunter Pauli • Peace and happiness, begin, geographically, where garlic is used in cooking. – Marcel Boulestin • Peppers, garlic, hazelnuts and brazil nuts make my mouth, tongue and eyes swell and itch within minutes of eating them. – Andrea McLean • piety is like garlic: a little goes a long way. – Rita Mae Brown • PORTUGUESE, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic. – Ambrose Bierce • Pounding fragrant things – particularly garlic, basil, parsley – is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chilli pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one’s being – from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil’s appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it. – Patience Gray • Raw garlic and a skin of the lemon – not only do they give you a beautiful face and skin but they also protect you from disease. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Some hours after eating this dish [lièvre à la royale, which contains 20 cloves of garlic and twice that quantity of shallots], there is a peculiar sensation of liberation in the head. and it is sensation of smell. – Patience Gray • Stop and smell the garlic! That’s all you have to do. – William Shatner • The air in Provence is impregnated with the aroma of garlic, which makes it very healthful to breathe. – Alexandre Dumas • The Brit abroad is always the voice of caution. Persons of other cultures are known to be undisciplined, prone to leaning out of car windows and cooking with garlic. – Nick Harkaway • The combination of olive oil, garlic and lemon juice lifts the spirits in winter. – Yotam Ottolenghi • The fashion industry isn’t merely content to encase my meaty flanks in skintight denim. Oh, no! That denim also has to be white, a color that attracts ketchup, wine, garlic aioli, and any other foodstuffs I might otherwise be able to enjoy if I wasn’t wearing ridiculously tight pants. – Diablo Cody • The food in such places is so tasteless because the members associate spices and garlic with just the sort of people they’re trying to keep out. – Calvin Trillin • The grotesque prudishness and archness with which garlic is treated in [England] has led to the superstition that rubbing the bowl with it before putting the salad in gives sufficient flavor. It rather depends whether you are going to eat the bowl or the salad. – Elizabeth David • The most annoying person on the BBC is Russell Brand, I’ve actually been close up to that boy. He smells like when you mix garlic with coffee and alcohol. I’m just saying when you get close to him, he could do with a bit of Sure For Men, he stinks. – Noel Gallagher • The most overrated ingredients are garlic and extra-virgin olive oil. With garlic, it’s personal; I have never been that big of a fan of its flavor. As for extra-virgin olive oil, I do use it quite often but its ubiquity serves to overshadow many wonderful oils like pistachio, walnut, argan and even grapeseed. – Lela Rose • The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don’t do it unless you’re willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps. – Jim Harrison • The strands of spaghetti were vital, almost alive in my mouth, and the olive oil was singing with flavor. It was hard to imagine that four simple ingredients [olive oil, pasta, garlic and cheese] could marry so perfectly. – Ruth Reichl • The summer has seized you, as when, last month in Amalfi, I saw lemons as large as your desk-side globe-that miniature map of the world-and I could mention, too, the market stalls of mushrooms and garlic bugs all engorged. Or I even think of the orchard next door, where the berries are done and the apples are beginning to swell. And once, with our first backyard,I remember I planted an acre of yellow beans we couldn’t eat. – Anne Sexton • There are five elements: earth, air, fire, water and garlic. – Louis Diat • There are many miracles in the world to be celebrated and, for me, garlic is the most deserving. – Leo Buscaglia • There are three things you cannot hide: smell of the garlic, fragrance of the flower and the wisdom of the teacher. – Harbhajan Singh Yogi • There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger’s origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. – Kenneth Grahame • There’s no doubt that after you eat a lot of garlic, you just kind of feel like you are floating, you feel ultra-confident, you feel capable of going out and whipping your weight in wild cats. – Les Blank • This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is – A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre’s tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. – William Makepeace Thackeray • Vlad decided that teachers’ ideas were a lot like bunches of garlic-intriguing from afar, but up close sadly sickening and, if you weren’t careful, DEADLY. – Heather Brewer • Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm. – Cyril Connolly • We have garlic days, and onion days. You know what they’re cooking. – Leslie White • What do you think? Young women of rank eat – you will never guess what – garlick! – Percy Bysshe Shelley • What garlic is to salad, insanity is to art. – Augustus Saint-Gaudens • Without garlic I simply would not care to live. – Louis Diat • You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times. – Morley Safer • You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart’s an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You’ve got garlic in your soul. – Dr. Seuss

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Garlic Quotes

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• A basic all-purpose rub: mix together one or two tablespoons equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, and onion powder. That will give you real good base for any kind of meat. Just increase the amount if you’re grilling large quantities. – Johnny Trigg • A garlic caress is stimulating. A garlic excess soporific. – Curnonsky • A gold standard is to the moochers and looters in government what sunlight and garlic are to vampires. – Herman Cain • A good hamburger mix: add equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, onion powder and some chopped onion. And mix in a little barbecue sauce, which will add even more great flavor. – Johnny Trigg • A plot without action is like pasta without garlic, like Dolly Parton without cleavage, and like a writer without his similes. – Dean Koontz

• After waking up, I take my vitamins and eat fruit or, sometimes, bread with garlic, which is good for your health. – Jordi Molla • And if you worry that not finishing the food on your plate is a slap in the face of all the hungry people everywhere, you are not living in reality. The truth is that you either throw the food out or you throw it in, but either way it turns to waste. World hunger will not be solved by finishing the garlic mashed potatoes on your plate. – Geneen Roth • Animals have rights, to be smothered with garlic and butter! – Ted Nugent • As a rule they will refuse even to sample a foreign dish, they regard such things as garlic and olive oil with disgust, life is unliveable to them unless they have tea and puddings. – George Orwell • Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain

  jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Garlic', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_garlic img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Beetroot, garlic, lemon … and buy a bottle of olive oil. All these things are very critical. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Danger is to adventure what garlic is to spaghetti sauce. Without it, you just end up with stewed tomatoes. – Tom Robbins • Do not eat garlic or onions; for their smell will reveal that you are a peasant. – Miguel de Cervantes • Do you guys have any raw garlic? – Shailene Woodley

• Following the Rumanian tradition, garlic is used in excess to keep the vampires away… Following the Jewish tradition, a dispenser of schmaltz (liquid chicken fat) is kept on the table to give the vampires heartburn if they get through the garlic defense. – Calvin Trillin

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • For a rub with sweet tang: mix just a little bit of light brown sugar to garlic pepper, black pepper, and onion powder. – Johnny Trigg • Garlic bread – it’s the future, I’ve tasted it. – Peter Kay • Garlic is as good as ten mothers. – Les Blank • Garlic is divine. Few food items can taste so many distinct ways, handled correctly. Misuse of garlic is a crime…Please, treat your garlic with respect…Avoid at all costs that vile spew you see rotting in oil in screwtop jars. Too lazy to peel fresh? You don’t deserve to eat garlic. – Anthony Bourdain • Garlic, like perfume, must be used with discretion and on the proper occasions. – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings • Garlick maketh a man wynke, drynke, and stynke. – Thomas Nash • Hatred, for the man who is not engaged in it, is a little like the odor of garlic for one who hasn’t eaten any. – Jean Rostand • He added that a Frenchman in the train had given him a great sandwich that so stank of garlic that he had been inclined to throw it at the fellow’s head. – Ford Madox Ford • Home-made bread rubbed with garlic and sprinkled with olive oil, shared-with a flask of wine-between working people, can be more convivial than any feast. – Patience Gray • I always get nervous before a kissing scene. I make sure I always brush my teeth and eat lots of fruit and nice foods rather than garlic. I’m terribly self conscious. – Drew Barrymore • I am very moody when I cook. I cook according to the way I feel at the moment. A little of this, a little of that, and almost always a coupcon of garlic. I never proceed by the rules. – Marcel Tabuteau • I believe in the magic of preparation. You can make just about any foods taste wonderful by adding herbs and spices. Experiment with garlic, cilantro, basil and other fresh herbs on vegetables to make them taste great. – Jorge Cruise • I do a chimichurri sauce with garlic, parsley, olive oil, and red and black pepper. You just mince the garlic and the parsley and mix it all together. Brush a little of that on a steak and it kicks it up, like, 10 notches. – Julie Gonzalo • I don’t want to sound too mystical or weird but it’s important to know what garlic smells like when it’s cooking, or what eggs look like when they’re cracked out of a shell. – Joel Salatin • I had a meal in Pizza Hut and the waitress told me I didn’t need to pay. So I decided to be a bit cheeky and ask for more pizza and garlic bread. – Gareth Gates • I had rather live with cheese and garlic in a windmill. – William Shakespeare • I had the lunchbox that cleared the cafeteria. I was very unpopular in the early grades. Because I hung out with my grandfather, I started to bring my lunchbox with sardine sandwiches and calamari that I would eat off my fingers like rings. I was also always reeking of garlic. – Rachael Ray • I have a trainer who comes three times a week and just listens to me moan… and I keep fit and keep moving… and I do watch what I eat. I am a vegetarian… I can’t eat crazy food. I’m highly allergic to onions and garlic and spices… I’ve never had a pizza, never had a curry. – Ringo Starr • I love garlic, and I use it often. – Eric Ripert • I love to cook. In fact, at this exact moment, I am trying something new: I am cooking a whole chicken in my crockpot, which I’ve never done before. I browned it with garlic powder, salt and pepper, and I put a bunch of celery and onions – which I’ll have to hide from the children because they claim to hate onions – and I’m going to make homemade mashed cream potatoes. I always, before I leave for work in the morning, have supper cooking. That way, when I come home and they come home from school, there’s all kinds of good smells in the house. – Nancy Grace • I panicked when my son, Jett, stopped eating baby food. He’s only two but his food vocabulary is fantastic. He likes my baked tilapia and string beans with chopped garlic. But he really likes pizza. Sometimes every inanimate object to him is pizza. – Jill Scott • I think garlic is absolutely critical. Lemon is absolutely critical to boost the immune system. Olive oil is absolutely critical … just one teaspoon, it will last the whole month. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • I use a lot of fresh citrus, garlic, and fresh herbs when cooking to cut down on fat and sodium but punch up flavor. Our cupboards and fridge are full of condiments – mustards, vinegars, etc. that also add tons of flavor but are low in fat, calories, or other processed additives. – Cat Cora • I used to like eating frozen corn straight out of the bag. But I also love microwaving frozen corn and adding butter and sugar and garlic powder and chili powder to it. And sometimes I just like to microwave it and add a little bit of hot sauce to it. My friends always laugh at me when they catch me eating it. – Thu Tran • If Ive gone to the market on Saturday, and I go another time on Tuesday, then Im really prepared. I can cook a little piece of fish; I can wilt some greens with garlic; I can slice tomatoes and put a little olive oil on. Its effortless. – Alice Waters • If stakes and garlic were the top two things that could kill a vampire, ninth grade gym was a close third. – Heather Brewer • If you can smell garlic, everything is all right. – J. G. Ballard • If you like garlic, you’ll like ramps. – Jim Chamberlin • If you thought eighth grade was tough, try it with fangs and a fear of garlic. – Heather Brewer • I’m not a vegetarian, and I like filet minion which is sort of a guilty pleasure because I have vegetarian leanings. I eat that once in a while, but generally speaking I like to eat vegetarian things. I really like pasta. I really like bread with olive oil and garlic and I like salads. – Jesse Michaels • I’m particularly fond of boned chicken breasts with a little garlic under the flesh and cooked in a casserole for 40 minutes with a jar of olives, some cherry tomatoes and a spoonful of olive oil. – Maeve Binchy • In Manhasset you were either Yankees or Mets, rich or poor, sober or drunk…You were ‘Gaelic’ or ‘garlic,” as one schoolmate told me, and I couldn’t admit, to him or myself, that I had both Irish and Italian ancestors. – J. R. Moehringer • In Pizza Express you can get garlic bread with cheese and tomato. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s a pizza. – Jimmy Carr • It has been said of garlic that everyone knows its odor save he who has eaten it, and who wonders why everyone flies at his approach. – George Ellwanger • It’s a comfort to always find pasta in the cupboard and garlic and parsley in the garden. – Alice Waters • It’s very freaky in Chicago.There’s something in the water there, I don’t know what it is. But the actual word Chicago means, in the Indian language, garlic. It was just garlic and mosquitoes there. And that is the roughest city on the planet, and I been to every place in the world. – Quincy Jones • Maybe it was a good thing that Bones was putting Don’s remains away instead of me. With my current emotional state, I’d probably think the only safe place for his ashes was tucked inside my clothes next to the garlic and weed. – Jeaniene Frost • Most dear actors, eat no onions nor garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath. – William Shakespeare • My favorite comfort food would have be braised beef. You know, beef, slow-cooked in a Dutch oven or in a slow cooker until it falls apart with simple mushrooms, some onions and lots of fresh thyme and garlic. – Tyler Florence • My favorite is the garlic press. I think it’s beautiful as an object. But the awkward part of it all is that I don’t use it much because I’m allergic to garlic. – Michael Graves • My favorite to cook is this recipe I’ve been making since I was 12 years old with my mom, and it’s an angel hair shrimp pasta with tomatoes, feta, garlic, white wine – it’s so easy but so fresh and so delicious! – Devon Windsor • My final, considered judgment is that the hardy bulb [garlic] blesses and ennobles everything it touches – with the possible exception of ice cream and pie. – Angelo Pellegrini • My mother was making $135 a week, but she had resilience and imagination. She might take frozen vegetables, cook them with garlic, onion and Spam, and it would taste like a four-star dinner. – Andre Dubus • My perfect last meal would be: shrimp cocktail, lasagna, steak, creamed spinach, salad with bleu cheese dressing, onion rings, garlic bread, and a dessert of strawberry shortcake. – Joan Rivers • My wife and I use a lot of garlic and rosemary with roast lamb. It has to be New Zealand lamb. The domestic variety is too gamy, in my experience. – Alfred Molina • Not me, paranoia’s the garlic in life’s kitchen, right, you can never have too much. – Thomas Pynchon • Of the many smells of Athens two seem to me the most characteristic – that of garlic, bold and deadly like acetylene gas. and that of dust, soft and warm and caressing like tweed. – Evelyn Waugh • Or you can broil the meat, fry the onions, stew the garlic in the red wine…and ask me to supper. I’ll not care, really, even if your nose is a little shiny, so long as you are self-possessed and sure that wolf or no wolf, your mind is your own and your heart is another’s and therefore in the right place. – M. F. K. Fisher • Our lives are full of stress. Some meditate, some walk, some sing and dance. Nature offers us garlic, maitake and hibiscus to relieve stress – Gunter Pauli • Peace and happiness, begin, geographically, where garlic is used in cooking. – Marcel Boulestin • Peppers, garlic, hazelnuts and brazil nuts make my mouth, tongue and eyes swell and itch within minutes of eating them. – Andrea McLean • piety is like garlic: a little goes a long way. – Rita Mae Brown • PORTUGUESE, n.pl. A species of geese indigenous to Portugal. They are mostly without feathers and imperfectly edible, even when stuffed with garlic. – Ambrose Bierce • Pounding fragrant things – particularly garlic, basil, parsley – is a tremendous antidote to depression. But it applies also to juniper berries, coriander seeds and the grilled fruits of the chilli pepper. Pounding these things produces an alteration in one’s being – from sighing with fatigue to inhaling with pleasure. The cheering effects of herbs and alliums cannot be too often reiterated. Virgil’s appetite was probably improved equally by pounding garlic as by eating it. – Patience Gray • Raw garlic and a skin of the lemon – not only do they give you a beautiful face and skin but they also protect you from disease. – Manto Tshabalala-Msimang • Some hours after eating this dish [lièvre à la royale, which contains 20 cloves of garlic and twice that quantity of shallots], there is a peculiar sensation of liberation in the head. and it is sensation of smell. – Patience Gray • Stop and smell the garlic! That’s all you have to do. – William Shatner • The air in Provence is impregnated with the aroma of garlic, which makes it very healthful to breathe. – Alexandre Dumas • The Brit abroad is always the voice of caution. Persons of other cultures are known to be undisciplined, prone to leaning out of car windows and cooking with garlic. – Nick Harkaway • The combination of olive oil, garlic and lemon juice lifts the spirits in winter. – Yotam Ottolenghi • The fashion industry isn’t merely content to encase my meaty flanks in skintight denim. Oh, no! That denim also has to be white, a color that attracts ketchup, wine, garlic aioli, and any other foodstuffs I might otherwise be able to enjoy if I wasn’t wearing ridiculously tight pants. – Diablo Cody • The food in such places is so tasteless because the members associate spices and garlic with just the sort of people they’re trying to keep out. – Calvin Trillin • The grotesque prudishness and archness with which garlic is treated in [England] has led to the superstition that rubbing the bowl with it before putting the salad in gives sufficient flavor. It rather depends whether you are going to eat the bowl or the salad. – Elizabeth David • The most annoying person on the BBC is Russell Brand, I’ve actually been close up to that boy. He smells like when you mix garlic with coffee and alcohol. I’m just saying when you get close to him, he could do with a bit of Sure For Men, he stinks. – Noel Gallagher • The most overrated ingredients are garlic and extra-virgin olive oil. With garlic, it’s personal; I have never been that big of a fan of its flavor. As for extra-virgin olive oil, I do use it quite often but its ubiquity serves to overshadow many wonderful oils like pistachio, walnut, argan and even grapeseed. – Lela Rose • The only advice I can give to aspiring writers is don’t do it unless you’re willing to give your whole life to it. Red wine and garlic also helps. – Jim Harrison • The strands of spaghetti were vital, almost alive in my mouth, and the olive oil was singing with flavor. It was hard to imagine that four simple ingredients [olive oil, pasta, garlic and cheese] could marry so perfectly. – Ruth Reichl • The summer has seized you, as when, last month in Amalfi, I saw lemons as large as your desk-side globe-that miniature map of the world-and I could mention, too, the market stalls of mushrooms and garlic bugs all engorged. Or I even think of the orchard next door, where the berries are done and the apples are beginning to swell. And once, with our first backyard,I remember I planted an acre of yellow beans we couldn’t eat. – Anne Sexton • There are five elements: earth, air, fire, water and garlic. – Louis Diat • There are many miracles in the world to be celebrated and, for me, garlic is the most deserving. – Leo Buscaglia • There are three things you cannot hide: smell of the garlic, fragrance of the flower and the wisdom of the teacher. – Harbhajan Singh Yogi • There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger’s origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes. – Kenneth Grahame • There’s no doubt that after you eat a lot of garlic, you just kind of feel like you are floating, you feel ultra-confident, you feel capable of going out and whipping your weight in wild cats. – Les Blank • This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is – A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace; All these you eat at Terre’s tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse. – William Makepeace Thackeray • Vlad decided that teachers’ ideas were a lot like bunches of garlic-intriguing from afar, but up close sadly sickening and, if you weren’t careful, DEADLY. – Heather Brewer • Vulgarity is the garlic in the salad of charm. – Cyril Connolly • We have garlic days, and onion days. You know what they’re cooking. – Leslie White • What do you think? Young women of rank eat – you will never guess what – garlick! – Percy Bysshe Shelley • What garlic is to salad, insanity is to art. – Augustus Saint-Gaudens • Without garlic I simply would not care to live. – Louis Diat • You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times. – Morley Safer • You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart’s an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You’ve got garlic in your soul. – Dr. Seuss

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