#murders. and then springing him when he gets lonely. and th

[macroglossus]

will graham wiki. hello

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: I loved doing this one guys, and I hope you love it too. Might do a part 2 not sure yet, as always commissions are still open until 3/10 message if your interested- price list is here

- Okay this is the ship guys this is it-

- This is like Hades and Persephone type of love

- Everyone thinks that Regulus is someone to be feared because of his family, and everyone knows they dabble in the dark arts

- And everyone is so caught up in his family-

- In the estate, and those dark rumors, and their dark magic-

- That no one see’s Regulus is just a boy-

- A lonely boy with no real friends, not really

- It’s worse now that Sirius has been disowned

- He’s got people around him, boys who’s parents are aquatinted with his

- But they don’t really like him

- They just hang around because they want a flicker of his power

- Of that ancient dark magic everyone’s convinced he’s got

- Everyone except you that is

- You’re this beautiful, cheerful, precious thing

- He meets you when you’re lost, looking for the bathroom

- “Sorry to bother, but do you know if it’s down the hall?” You ask, he’s seen you a few times; in class, or around the corridors

- Playing gobstones with your ever growing group of friends

- He would be jealous if he wasn’t so surprised that you’re speaking to him at all, aren’t you a muggle born?

- Shouldn’t you be afraid of him?

- Just like everyone else?

- “It’s in the next hallway, that one is moaning Myrtle’s bathroom” he says quietly

- He watches you nod enthusiastically

- Looks like you’ll be on your way now, probably for the best, he wouldn’t want his parents to know -

- “Would you mind showing me?” You ask

- And it’s awfully pushy, but somehow Regulus can’t turn down that bright smile of yours

- You talk to him so easily, like you’re not afraid of him at all

- And it irritates him a little.

- Honestly, even the professors are a little afraid of him

- Everyone is

- So why aren’t you

- “Do you-“ he stops in the middle of the corridor, and you walk a few steps forward before realizing he’s not beside you anymore

- “Do you know who I am?”

- You must not, that’s the only explanation

- When you find out you’ll go as pale as the moon, and afterward you will regale the tale for your many friends, how you barley escaped the fearsome Regulus Black, right before he was about to curse you with his dark magic.

- But you only offer a quizzical expression and a smile

- “You’re Regulus Black”

- You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world

- It only makes him upset, but he doesn’t know why

- In fact since the moment he met you there’s been this burning irritation lingering in the back of his mind, and he just can’t seem to pin point why

- But regardless of the reason, it seems to be boiling over right now, in an empty corridor in the middle of the night

- “Shouldn’t you be afraid? I could curse you right here if I wanted”

- But the smile on your face remains

- “Maybe, but you won’t” you muse

- He laughs

- “Why because you think I’m afraid getting expelled?”

- Honestly his parents would welcome him with a feast if he came home for attacking a muggle born

- It would be a sign he wasn’t going to become like Sirius after all

- Because that’s the worst thing a person could be according to his parents-

- A blood traitor

- But instead of quaking in your shoes you flash him a quizzical smile

- “Nah, I just don’t think you’re that kind of person” you shrug

- The words echo in his mind long after you’ve said them

- And though he’s looked at you before

- He’s only really looking at you now, the easy way your lips curl into a smile, the sparkle in your eye, the glow around you-

- Like you’re made of sunlight

- Like you breathe life into all things wherever you go

- Like an ancient witch he heard of , heralded as the goddess of spring

- Like Persephone

- Ah, so that’s it

- It’s not that he hates you

- It’s that he envies you

- Because seeing how natural it is to see you do good, makes him hope -  it makes him yearn to be like that too

- To be more than an heir to his family’s dark legacy

- “I could be wrong though” you shrug, you can count on one hand how many times you’ve been right about something

- But still, you just don’t buy that the shy kid in front of you is some evil prodigy bent on destroying the world

- “No” Regulus’s voice cracks, and it’s soft, so soft you almost don’t hear it.

- But your turn to him, eyes jumping from one of the many paintings in the corridor to his pale face

- His eyes seem glossy as they look into yours, and it’s not just because of the light from the torches

- “No, I’m not that kind of person” he says with a bit more strength this time, and you grin

- And while you feel that there’s something important about the moment, you don’t realize the monumental significance this chance meeting holds for Regulus

- “Oh, we passed the washroom” he realizes after a moment, he was so caught up in talking to you he hadn’t realized

- “Ah, that’s okay I didn’t have to use the bathroom anyway” you say with a wave of your hand

- Huh?

- Noticing his expression you get a sheepish look on your face

- “Well I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, but you’re always with people-“

- Yeah he’s sure his “friends” would give off an especially murderous aura if you ever tried to approach them

- “So when I saw an opportunity, I just took it” you admit with a slight laugh

- “I wanted to see what everyone was talking about when they mentioned the ‘Dark Prince’ “ there’s a teasing flint in your eye, and the nickname alone is enough to make him flush red

- “And what’s your assessment?” he manages to ask, a smile stretching across his face

- “Very underwhelming, I came expecting several hexes and a duel, and all I got was a cute boy with pretty eyes”

- This time he really does flush bright red, eyes trained on his shoes

- You laugh, you were mostly teasing

- But he is quite cute isn’t he?

- What’s everyone so scared of anyway? He’s like a shy kitten

- He watches you walk to a particular portrait, whispering a word before it swings open

- “Well see ya around Mr. Dark Prince” you say, sending a teasing wink his way

- Regulus is glowing red, even when he’s tucked in bed, in his common room hours after the meeting. the mere memory of the words you said send his heart racing again

- “They said I’m cute” he’ll recall with a goofy smile spreading across his face

- After that, things are brighter for Regulus

- You pull him into your group of friends, quite literally

- “I-I don’t think this is a good idea” he manages, catching the terrified glances of passerby’s as you tug him forward by his arm 

- What a sight you must be, the literal personification of spring pulling the Dark Prince  himself by the arm through the castle

- The aforementioned Dark Prince having a rosy tinge on his cheeks, which most of the other students misplace for Fury instead of what it actually is:

- Embarrassment with a healthy dash of attraction to aforementioned personification of spring

- “Nonsense, everyone’s dying to meet you Reg”

- When you use his nickname his flush darkens

- No ones ever called him that-

- No one except Sirius and Andromeda

- He likes the way it sounds coming from you

- And you’re right, your friends accept him into their fold immediately

- “You know any curses?” One of your friends asks, it’s in a jovial manner that anyone could tell they’re just teasing but Regulus flinches

- “No, not really” he admits, not any he’s good at anyway

- He did see his parents do something akin to a sacrifice when he was younger with an alter in the full moon, but he really wouldn’t know where to start with that

- “What about gobstones, you know the rules to that?”

- Regulus nods

- “Well lets play then!”

- Before he knows it, it’s like this was always his life

- Laughing with you in class, games of gobstones with your friends and trips to Hogsmeade on the weekend

- Regulus didn’t know that he was yearning for this

- How often had he wished for something like this,

- A place that feels like it’s full of sunshine, where everyone feels accepted, and no one has to feel sad

- This is the happiest Regulus has ever been

- But all dreams must come to an end

- The end of the semester comes around, and he has to go home for Christmas vacation

- You’re standing side by side on the train platform waiting for the train, your trunk lying next to you

- “You’re not taking anything back with you?” You ask

- Regulus shrugs

- “There’s no point, everything I need is at the manse”

- You’ve always been a bit curious about what the Black manor is like

- Probably something grand, large library’s, they probably have one of those record players with the gold horn thing

- And a ballroom

- It probably makes Hogwarts look like a pile of dirt

- But the way Regulus’ face darkens when you ask him about it tells you that- yes they probably do have a ballroom, but there’s other things too, things that are far less pleasant 

- And when he starts talking about his home life, how it’s worse - lonelier- Now that Sirius is at the Potter’s all the time, and there’s no one around to stand between him and his parents

- He notices your heartbroken expression and rushes to comfort you

- “It’s not so bad, Mum’s got her tender moments every so often and-“

- “Regulus” you cut in, and the sound of his whole name leaving your mouth makes him stutter to a stop

- “You’re supposed to feel safe and loved all the time not just sometimes”

- It’s such a basic thing, but when Regulus hears this, he feels like he’s being allowed something

- He feels, for the first time, he’s allowed to be safe and happy

- He’s allowed to be good

- “Why don’t you come home with me for Christmas? It’s probably not as grand as you’re used to-“

- You fidget awkwardly, maybe it’s silly, the prince, Regulus Black, himself sitting on your worn sofa, holding yarn while one of your family member’s knits

- You can picture it though

- You can picture a big smile across his face, indulging the younger children in your extended family in their requests for piggyback rides and for him to participate in their games

- “I want to,” he says, really the fact that you’re offering is enough, more than he could ask for

- “But I can’t”

- And it’s the truth, after Sirius, he can’t make any mistakes, his family won’t stand for it

- He especially doesn’t want to think what would happen to you if they found out he had been spending all of his time with you, a muggle born

- He doesn’t want to think what curses they might inflict you with

- He doesn’t want you to ever be hurt because of him

- “You’ll write to me?” You say it with the fervor of a demand, and it makes a smile curl onto his mouth

- “Everyday” he promises

- And things are exactly as they always were at 12 Grimmauld Place, his mother is distant, only livening up when one of the other ladies shows up for tea

- His father is squirreled away in council meetings

- His cousins are no fun, not really, and Andromeda’s not around anymore since she ran off with Ted

- He likes Ted, though he would never admit it to his family

- Ted is a lot like you, someone with an infinite amount of kindness

- He wonders how they’re doing

- He wonders how Sirius is doing

- He’s probably happy, he always looked happy when he was with his friends

- And so- with a picture of you discreetly kept on his desk, he writes three sets of letters

- The first is for you, to assure you he’s fine, and live vicariously through your spring, through your lovely Christmas moments and imagine himself there too. 

- The second for Andromeda, to ask if she’s doing alright, and to tell her he misses her

- And the last, is for Sirius

- Asking how he is, and hoping he’s well.

- And to say that he understands what Sirius was saying all those years, in their childhood and then into adolescence, Regulus understands now- 

- And he wants to be good too

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Guardian of creatures; AU! Queen x oc female x reader Chap. 7.1

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well do I have an update for you now this chapter is PRETTY LONG so I apologize in advance, which is why this chapter has been broken up into 2 parts. Now I would like to thank some users who have helped me with the face cast decision in each of the family members and I think it’s safe to say for certain characters some of you will already get (hehehe). Now like I said this is a lot because it contains background info on our two main leads John and Serafina and now for the warnings.

WARNINGS: Fluff, angst, child abuse (WHICH I THINK IS VILE which is why I’ve put a trigger warning in my taglist below so anyone with that blocked from their suggestions may not be able to read this chapter).

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@ixchel-9275​

@simonedk​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queensdivas​

@queen-paladin​

@dancingcoolcat​

@geek-and-proud​

@queendeakyy​

@kinole009x​

@wormzteef​

___________________________________________________________

Chapter 7

The truth of Serafina Black and John Deacon

*May 28th. Nighttime 3rd Person POV*

It was a full moon tonight; the spring wind softly blew against the trees outside and across the grand lake which rippled in the wind’s direction.  Inside the manor however was a different story.

At around 1:30am, the walls began to tremble, almost as if it were crying.  The moving pictures soon became fearful as they felt their portrait homes shaking with the walls.  The wooden snake décor along the stairs was now hiding itself down on the ground trembling in fear.  The lights soon came on one by one down a certain hallway and a long snake like tail slowly slithered down the hallway.

Freddie had come up from the basement, sensing and knowing just exactly what was behind the house acting like this, especially since this wasn’t the first time to happen.  He slowly continued down the hallway and faint whispers from the pictures began to echo out.

“Back to bed. All of you. Stop gawking and back to bed. Come on now back to bed.” He told the pictures as he slithered past them till he saw Brian standing at the last door.  When the Naga now stood beside the Elf lord, Brian opened the door and inside they saw the culprit behind the house’s anxiety.

Lying in her bed was Serafina, tossing and turning as her whole body was caked in sweat. Whimpering frightenedly like a lost puppy.

“This is the worst I’ve seen her.” Brian whispered softly.

“It’s another big milestone this year Brian. Those are always the hardest for her.” Freddie merely replied. “As always do not let John come into this room, and also keep our Knight away from this wing. They don’t need to see her like this.” Freddie soon slithered into the master bedroom of John and Serafina.

When the tip of his tail entered the room, Brian closed the door and stood guard of it.

Inside the dark bedroom, Freddie slowly slithered towards Serafina, all the while looking at the walls as they began to burn and boil up like sores.  

He then stared at the young witch who was still tossing and turning, trapped in her own mind like a caged animal.  His forked tongue tasting the air as he could literally taste the heat in the room as well as Serafina’s fear and anxiety rising higher than he ever saw before.

When he got right up to her bed, his hand slowly reached out for her and as he touched her wrist, he was suddenly hit with a vision.  All around him he saw nothing but fire.  A blazing hot fire surrounding a cozy little home.  

He also heard various levels of screaming.  Ranging from ages of either a full grown men, women, young adult men and even small children.  They were filled with nothing but pain and sorrow.  

Flashes of green lights also shot up at him and Freddie knew all to well just what that green light meant.

As Serafina kept whimpering and panting away, Freddie tried to call out to her trying to get her to snap out of her nightmare.  Then with one final call, he managed to get Serafina to wake up and the both of them were now gasping for air.  Freddie lying across Serafina’s legs exhausted from the vision he had seen while she looked up and saw Freddie lying before her.

“I—I s-saw it. I could…..feel their pain…….hear their screaming.” She choked out frightenedly.  Freddie composed himself and stood beside her.

“It was only a dream.”

“No. It was a memory. Like your visions I—could see everything. Feel. Everything.”

“Visions like mine have dire consequences. Now you are indeed the most powerful witch I have ever known, your powers of the mind alone can convince anyone—”

“No Freddie it’s not my powers, I know what it is. Just like last year these memories continue to burn into my brain. And they’re getting worse!” she pleaded to the Naga.  “I thought the Hydra test cured me of this.”

“It did. Instead of degrading yourself with your guilt every day you’ve only resorted to doing it once a year. And you know it wasn’t you’re……”

“You don’t know what it’s like to be the last of your family by murder! To know that you were forced to stay alive while your own family dies!”

“Actually, I do.” Freddie told her in a low, serious but velvet-like voice.  The young witch looked at the Naga as he continued, “For the very same bloodline that took your family away from you, took mine as well. One man, slaughtered my entire race. And I was forced to live with that.”

Serafina’s eyes filled with tears as she lay back down, her back facing Freddie and her hand clenching her pillow.

“I should never have let John take me away from home.” She whimpered out as tears dripped down her face.  There was a moment of silence in the room, except for the faint sobs that came out of Serafina’s lips.  She soon felt coils beginning to wrap around her.  She was taken out from her blanket and soon found herself wrapped up in Freddie’s coil.

Instead of squeezing her nearly to death like he’s done to millions of others in the past, he kept a comforting embrace around her as he now wrapped his arms around her.  Holding her like a parent holds a crying child.  Looking down at her, he could see that she had now mentally reverted to the frightened child she once was when she first had to deal with this.

“Being the last of your family is a lonely, dark path.” He gently cupped the side of her face while the tip of his tail tucked the strands of hair that stuck to her face out of her eyes. “You will learn why it was you that survived. And when you do……you will know peacccce.”

She looked up at Freddie and saw as his eyes began to shift in a hypnotic pattern.

“You can mourn in the morning. For now, ssssshhhut your eyes. Ssssslip into sssilent ssslumber.” her eyes slowly began drooping tiredly as she couldn’t look away from Freddie’s gaze.  Finally her eyes shut and the house was now at ease.

Freddie kept her in his coils for the rest of the night and stood guard over his young red witch.  He looked out of the balcony up to the stars and for the first time in what felt like eons, a single tear slipped down Freddie’s face as he stared at a specific constellation in the sky.

*2nd Person POV. The next morning*

After you wake up and make up the bed, you walk down the stairs to see that for the first time since you moved in, breakfast hadn’t been made. In fact no one was in the kitchen.

“Serafina? John?” you walk through the house but in each room you could see that no one was there. “Hello?” you then go out into the backyard.  Thinking that maybe they could be in the gardens, after all it was a beautiful day today for gardening.

“(Y/n)?” you turn around and there stood Brian.  His face looked shocked to see you out here in the garden.

“Brian there you are. Where’s everyone else? Was there another problem at the club?” you ask him.

“N-no. No. I—I thought you had your internship today?”

“I only work Monday through Friday. Today’s Saturday Brian.”

“Bollocks.” He muttered.

“Is—everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. No need to worry your head dear one.” He tried his best to assure you.

“Great cause I was hoping Serafina could teach me how to do some transfiguration. John told me she was always the best at it and even taught him. I’ve always wanted to change into my favorite animal. Where is she?”

“Umm (Y/n). I don’t think today’s a good day for a magic lesson. Let alone the rest of the week for that matter.” He muttered the last part.

“Why?” you question with a tilt of your head.  Brian looked towards the gardens and sighed heavily.

“We didn’t want you to see this but…..there’s no use in hiding it.”

“Hiding what? Brian you’re starting to scare me here.”

“There’s no need to be frightened mellon. But just promise me that when we find Serafina you won’t speak a word to her. In fact don’t even let your presences be known to her.” His tone that always filled you with warmth and comfort now gave you anxiety.

He places a hand to your shoulder and guides you deep into the garden.  Further than you ever went before until your eye caught the sight of Serafina and Roger standing close together under a large willow tree.

Play video

Roger had an arm wrapped around Serafina but this didn’t seem like Roger trying to make a pass at her.  It was almost like he was trying to comfort her or something.  Brian presses his finger to his lips as he gestures for you both to move closer.  You both crouch down behind the shrubs and through the green curtains of the willow you could see Serafina in a state you had never seen her before.  Normally she always appeared motherly, welcoming, and caring to those around her.  Like she was the kind of woman who would never betray your trust or break you down.

But all that stood before you now was a shell of the woman she was.  Her red eyes were now red with shedded as well as unshed tears.  Her mind seemed to be elsewhere as she just stood there frozen in time in that broken state of hers.

Roger tried his best whether nuzzling her or even giving her a comforting kiss to get her to snap out of it.  But she was long gone.  Lost in her mind.

You turn to Brian confused and sad wanting to ask why Serafina was this upset but he once again pressed his finger to his lips before pointing back towards them.  It was then John soon arrived at the Willow tree.  His expression solemn and eyes full of regret as he stared at his wife.

Roger turned to John and glared at him but before he could do anything, that’s when Serafina turned to John.  Her expression never changing as she stared at him with solemn, broken eyes.  Roger backed off as John slowly walked towards her.

The couple stood silently before each other.  Not one of them saying a word.  It was then John fell to his knees, his head bowing in shame before Serafina.  He stayed in that position and you watched as Serafina just looked down at him.

She then raised her hand up and a red beam of light started to form from her palm as she looked like she was about to strike John down. Your heart began to race with anxiety, was she really gonna strike him when he was unarmed? Not even wanting to fight? And why did John seem to want this to happen?

But when you saw Serafina’s hand tremble and shake you knew then she wouldn’t do it.  And it was only confirmed when she closed her hand into a fist before turning away from John as more tears seeped down her face.  Her biting her tongue to keep from sobbing.

That’s when Roger came back, this time in his horse form. Serafina wrapped her arms around Roger’s powerful stallion neck and he lowered his head onto her shoulder.

You and Brian were now back at the mansion in the living room. A cup of tea was in your hand as Brian prepared himself his usual cup of wine.

“I’ve never knew Serafina could be so broken like that.” You muttered solemnly.

“She tries to keep her optimistic and motherly nature. But on this day, she can’t help herself. Be thankful she’s only managed to keep it for this day. When I first met her, she was like that almost every day.” Brian said before taking a sip of his wine.

“What happened to her that made her so broken?”

“Today is the 900th anniversary of the day she and I had something in common.” Freddie’s voice spoke up.  You quickly turn and surprisingly for the first time since you’ve been here, Freddie had come out from the cave of the basement and was now slithering towards you all.

“And what is that?” you ask the Naga.

“To tell you that would take forever. But if you wish to truly know, follow me and you will see what I’ve seen.” He slithered away.  You turn to Brian completely confused.

“Does he always speak like that?”

“Nagas always love to speak in riddle-like manner. It’s just their nature. But you should go with him. He can tell you more than even I ever could.”

“You really think I should go with him?” he nodded. You let out a whine as you stand up and you muttered. “I don’t want to though! He nearly killed me last time I was alone with him.”

“But he didn’t. Trust me if Freddie really wanted to kill you, he’d never let you know.” Brian said sternly before trailing off in a darker tone.

Swallowing the last bit of your tea you set the cup down and walk in the general direction that Freddie had slithered off to.  You heard his voice in your head telling him to come up to the attic.

When you got there, all around there were additional shelves filled with even more ancient trinkets, spell books, weapons, and even some wizard photographs (apparently when wizards take pictures with a camera, the pictures move about in that moment in time).

You then see Freddie standing right before a beautiful fountain.  The bottom of it was pure stone and trailing up towards the top was an intwining pattern that resembled tree branches twisting and turning over each other.  A silver bowl encompassed the top part of the fountain, shining as bright as a star in the sky.

“A gift of the Eldar. Brian’s grandmother’s mirror. This shows you things that were, things that are, and some things…..that have not yet come to pass.”

“Is this how you see the future?”

“I’ve been seeing the fates of all creatures long before this fountain was created. But when Brian was able to bring this along, with a little bit of my magical knowledge, I helped improve on just what this fountain can do.” He pulled out a tall silver pitcher and poured the water that was inside it into the fountain, while with his tail, it reached over to one of the shelves and took out a small vile with barely a quarter of what looked like water.

“What’s in there?” you ask him.  He put the pitcher down and took the vile from his tail and responded.

“The key to you seeing what all has been in the lives of your teachers. This my darling, are the tears of Serafina Rhea Black and John Richard Deacon.” He then opened the vile and tilted it over the fountain and soon the two teardrops fell into the fountain.

He turned to you and gestures towards the fountain.  Slowly you walk towards the fountain and look at Freddie.  He gives you a soft nod telling you to look into the fountain.  You look down at the water to see ripples forming and expanding throughout the entire fountain.  Smoke began to form from within the water and all of a sudden it felt like you were being pulled in.

It was so fast and so quick you almost didn’t even know what was happening.  Until finally you landed before a large forest.  The sun was shining high above the sky, birds were chirping and flying about through the forest trees.  Suddenly you heard the sound of a child’s giggle.

Coming out from the trees was a young girl around 5-6 years old.  She had very long black hair, right about to her mid-back and she was chasing a butterfly. Her bright brown eyes gleaming with child-like innocence as she chased after the butterfly.

“Hey wait! Come back! I just wanna play!” she called out to the butterfly before chasing after it once more.  For some reason this child looked familiar to you but you couldn’t place your finger on it.

“She looks different. Especially to how you know her now but it is her.” Freddie’s voice said beside you.  You look to him before turning back to the little girl.  Your eyes widening in realization!

“Wait that’s….that’s Serafina!?”

“Indeed it is.”

“But her hair’s not red, nor are her eyes.”

“All will be explained further on. Keep watching. This was the day that changed both their lives forever.” You both continue to watch as little Serafina run after the butterfly before crouching down in the tall grass as it now landed on a boulder before her.

“The mighty huntress……has cornered her prey.” Serafina whispered lowly.  You watch as gets into pouncing position and she leaps over the grass but over shoots her mark and soon knocks into someone.

A boy around a year or 2 older than her.  He had short brown hair but there was no mistaking from those eyes of his.  That mix of blueish grey, this was John Deacon as a little boy.  The two of them rolled around till Serafina ended up on top of him and the two of them groaned in pain.

“Sorry. I—get a little enthusiastic when I chase after butterflies.” Serafina apologized.  You saw as little John Deacon just stared up at little Serafina in pure awe.

Like she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

A light blush blossoming across his chubby face.

“What’s wrong? Can’t you talk?” little John’s stunned face continued to grow redder. “Hey, I don’t bite.” Serafina told him assuringly before getting off of him. “My name’s Serafina. What’s your name kid?”

“Pretty.” You hear him whisper.

“Pretty? What kind of a weird name is that?” Serafina asked with a tilt of her head.

“Wha? No. No I mean……my-my name is-it’s I meant to say. John. My name is John Deacon.”

“You’re part of the Deacon family!? My daddy says I need to be careful around you.” she said stunned before trailing off lowly.  You watched as John’s expression grew sad and he lowered his head in shame.  And you thought you saw tears in his eyes but that’s when Serafina suddenly exclaimed. “I like you!”

“What? But didn’t you hear my last name?”

“Yeah I did. My cousins Fred and George Weasley say that they’re stuck up trolls that don’t know how to have fun. But you seem like you do.” She then poked him in the chest before jumping back from him. “Tag you’re it!”

She jumped in circles around John who just looked at her confused.

“What are you doing?”

“Wizard tag. I tagged you now you gotta come tag me!” Serafina giggled happily as she continued to hop around him. “C’mon don’t you know how to play?” when John looked down once again, Serafina stopped hopping and stood in front of him. “Ohh.” She said solemnly.

“Mother and Father don’t allow fun.” Serafina then began to ponder for a moment before she exclaimed.

“I got it!” she took his hand and dragged him out of the forest.

“Wh-where are we going?”

“To the masters of fun. They’ll show you how to have fun!” they soon disappeared from sight.

You and Freddie stood there and you say to him.

“She was pretty resilient as a child wasn’t she?”

“Serafina always did want to get her way. And being the only child from her mother and father she did get that. But it was a good thing she persisted in wanting to being friends with John. His family is……to put it lightly. Not a great bunch of characters.” The scene then faded away into smoke and now you stood before a large mansion of some kind.

Unlike the mansion you currently lived at, this one was dark and gloomy.  Hardly any light came in through the windows (even though they stood as high as the ceiling).  A large fireplace was to your right and up above you a large diamond crystal chandelier.

Suddenly coming around the corner was John who looked much older this time (roughly around 11 or 12 years old) but you watched in horror as a woman dragged him by his ear before tossing him down to the ground and she hissed out.

She seemed to be around her 40’s maybe 50’s and wore a long black raggedy dress with a black corset around it.  Her hair was dark brown like John’s, and it reminded you of Brian’s to a degree but her hair was almost unkept and madded around her face like a rat’s nest.  What really frightened you the most were her eyes.

Her dark brown eyes that almost appeared black were just wide with insanity.  Even the most insane person that had ever been convicted and had those same crazed eyes couldn’t compare to the eyes of the woman before you.

“You’ve been with that filthy half-blood again weren’t you?”

“No I—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!!!” she screamed at him.  Hearing her voice was like hearing nails running down a chalkboard.  It almost made your ears bleed and send fear up your spine. “You know it’s never good to lie to mummy Johnny boy.” Whoa wait what? This crazed psychotic woman was John’s mother?!

You turn to Freddie, your eyes filled with shock and he nodded once to you.

“So why don’t you tell me again, were you with that filthy half-blood?” she hissed at her son’s face all the while holding a knife!? A freaking knife at her own child!

“What is with all the shouting now Bellatrix?” a deep baritone voice echoed through the walls.  Soon a very tall and lean man soon came into the picture.  His posture showed that he held great status and power with his hands behind his back as he slowly walked towards the woman known as Bellatrix and John. He had long platinum blonde hair that went down to his back and piercing blue eyes.

“Ask your son Ronan. I caught him gallivanting with that insult of a witch Serafina Black!” Ronan soon turned to his son.  John fearfully turned to his father who only looked down at him like he was an insect.

“And what were you doing together?” he asked John.  When John refused to answer his father all he got was a hard slap across the face sending him to the ground.

Alright that’s it! You race towards John’s father to tackle him to the ground when Freddie’s tail wrapped around your waist.

“Let go of me I’ve got to help him! They can’t do this to him this is child abuse Freddie!”

“These are the shadows of things that have been. The past cannot be altered nor changed not even erased. No matter how much we try to bury it.” You slump down and watch helplessly as John tries to pick himself back up.

“They were skipping along holding hands making lovey-dovey eyes at each other. And I even saw John give Serafina a thistle.” Soon a young teenager that almost resembled his father to a T said as he came strutting in the manor. “Honestly it made me feel sick to my stomach.”

“Well done Draco.” Bellatrix whispered to the teenager’s ear almost seductively.  You made a disgusted face as you turn to Freddie, questions buzzing through your mind like a swarm of bees.

“His older brother Draco. And Bellatrix is incapably of showing real motherly love as you can see. She’s unquenched by her bloodlust and any love she may try to show comes out as lust. Like for her eldest son whom she molded into the perfect killing machine.”

“How could John have remained the type of person he is today with a family like that? If that had been me I would’ve been locked away in some asylum or thrown in prison for the crimes I would’ve committed.”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Freddie told you.  You pondered and pondered till it finally came to you.

“Serafina.” He nodded and the world around you vanished once again into smoke and a new picture was formed.

This time however it was a large field in front of you. Nothing but green as far as the eye could see.  A little farm was just to the corner and you could hear the sounds of horses, cows, chickens, ducks and pigs.  When you turned around you saw what looked like a stack of houses on top of one another.

Wooden and all with many doors, windows and finally the stereotypical triangle-shaped roof with a little chimney on top.  The sun was high above the sky on this beautiful sunny day but there wasn’t any people around or showing up yet.

“Where are we?”

“Welcome to the Burrow. The home of Serafina and her entire family.”

“Just how big is her family to live in a house like that?”

“Remember darling they’re wizards. Not everything is as it seems.” Suddenly something landed behind the two of you and drove right through you both.  You at first were startled as you tried to make sure you were still there but then you remembered what Freddie said.  That this was in the past and nothing could see or hear us, so it would make sense that nothing could really touch you.

“There they are right on time.” Freddie said. “This happened the next morning after what you just witnessed.” The carriage soon came to a stop and coming out of it was Serafina and John along with two teenage boys.

Identical twins with the brightest red hair you had ever seen on anyone else.  It came down just short of their shoulders and they grabbed John’s stuff from the carriage while Serafina checked John over before taking his hand and leading him towards the Burrow.  The four young wizards walked quietly towards the house when you turned to Freddie.

“Go see.” You follow behind them and when you entered inside, it was like visiting a cozy cottage.  Antiques of pottery stacked along the shelves, a cute little table was set up with a plate of biscuits at the center.  And of course like Freddie said the house did seem to be bigger on the inside.

Not as big as John’s manor home but it was homey enough. Like being wrapped up in warm hugs homey with enough space to walk about.

“Do you think it’d be alright if we had some of these?” Serafina whispered.

“Yeah mum will never know.” whispered one of the twins. The three of them take the biscuits but Serafina grabs two and hands one to John.

“I—know it’s not much. But it’s home.”

“I’ve been here before Serafina. And I love it every time I come here. Thanks for getting me out of there.” He reached out and took the biscuit from her hand but allowed his fingers to linger on her hand a bit longer which made Serafina blush.

Oh my god how can these two kids be sooo cute together!? It was then you heard the sound of frantic footsteps and soon coming out from the corner of the stairs was a stout woman with long ginger hair.  Her eyes slightly narrowed as she spoke with a shrill in her voice.

“Where have you been!?” immediately Serafina and the twins hid their helpings of biscuits behind their backs as they stared like a deer in headlights at the woman before them.  When her eyes turned to John, they softened up and she came around as she spoke in a real motherly voice. “Oh John. How wonderful to have you back dear.” She then turned her attention back to Serafina and the boys, her hands at her hips as she lectured them. “Beds empty! No note! Carriage gone! You could’ve died! You could’ve been seen! Of course I don’t blame you John dear.” She spoke softly to John.

Her face then turned immediately concerned as she saw the bruising around John’s face.

“Oh, dear what happened to your face?” she walked up to John and cupped the side of his face, gently stroking the bruise which made him softly hiss in pain.

“He hit him again Aunt Molly. And they put bars on his window.” The twins nodded in agreement.  Molly continued to look John over and sighed.

“Alright, I’ll overlook this just this once. But be thankful I’m not your father cause otherwise you’ll have bars up your window Serafina Black.” The twins stared down at Serafina wide-eyed. “Come now John. Little bit of healing and then time for a spot of breakfast.” Serafina’s aunt guided John to another part of the room when her voice suddenly called back. “And you three put those biscuits back on the plate less you get the swaddle!”

Immediately you saw Serafina and the twins put their biscuits back on the plate and race back up the stairs.

As the scene went on you watched as Serafina’s aunt pampered John at the table telling him to tuck in as a large breakfast was now being set down along the table.

Another set of footsteps came walking down the stairs and soon a beautiful young woman with the same ginger hair color and honey brown colored eyes came down and she said.

“Molly have you seen my wand?” she asked in a warm, soft voice.

“Yes sister it was on the cat.” Molly told the young woman. When she saw John sitting beside Serafina at the table, her eyes slowly widened in fear.

“Hello Mrs. Black.” John greeted her with a smile.  Wait so was this…….Serafina’s mom? No wonder where she got her beautiful looks from, this woman was beautiful.  Ethereal almost like an angel.

“Young lord Deacon. What-what-what a surprise to see you here.” She then immediately raced off out of the kitchen.

“Did I do something wrong?” John asked confused.

“Don’t worry about my mum. She’s always been freaked out a lot lately. In fact I think it was around the time we met. But I wouldn’t worry about that. She can sometimes act a little crazy at times. This one time Fred and George slipped this garden snake into her pillow and she refused to sleep in her bed for a month. My dad was not pleased about that.”

“Now, now Serafina don’t go insulting your mother like that. She loves you and you know it.” Her aunt Molly lectured her.

“Morning everyone!” a man’s voice called out. Soon coming through you was a stout man wearing the a green cloak and the traditional pointy wizard hat on top of his head.  It was the same color of dark green as his cloak but was worn down after probably years of being worn.

“Morning dad! Uncle Arthur! Arthur!” you heard everyone in the room chorus out.

“What a night! Nine raids. Nine!” the man known as Arthur said excitedly as he crossed across the kitchen to set his stuff down and take off his cloak and hat.

“Raids?” John questioned to Serafina.  She swallowed her food and said.

“You remember John, my uncle works with the Ministry of magic. In the Muggle artifacts office.”

“He loves muggles.” Said one of the twins that was with Serafina earlier.

“Thinks they’re fascinating.” The other twin joined in. Arthur went up to his wife and kissed her cheek before taking his seat at the head of the table.

“Well now,” Arthur said as he took his seat.  When he took notice of John sitting next to him he said, “Oh well John Deacon welcome back lad.”

“Morning Mr. Weasley. Hope I didn’t come at a bad time.”

“Nonsense. Besides I was wondering when your next visit would be, when did he get here?” Arthur waved off nonchalantly before digging into his breakfast.

“This morning.” Molly answered as she turned around from the oven. “Your sons and niece flew that enchanted carriage of yours to Leicester and back last night.”

“Did you really?” Arthur said in awe.  He then turned to his twin boys and asked enthusiastically, “How’d it go? Was it…..” as the twins began to talk over about how it worked out well, their mother stepped into the conversation.

“Arthur!” Molly scolded him as she slapped his arm and giving him a lecturing look.

“I mean……that was very wrong of you children! Very wrong indeed!” Arthur said in his best lecturing voice.

You saw as John and Serafina look at each other before smiling secretly at each other holding in their laughter.  Now that you’ve got more questions you stepped outside the house to see Freddie right by the pigpen.

“No wonder where she got her motherly side from. She’s almost exactly like her aunt. Serafina’s got a great family.” You heard Freddie softly laugh before it grew and he was now laughing hysterically.

“Great? Great is a loose term when describing families.”

“Well at least they treated John like one of their own. They were way better nurturers than his poor excuse of parents!” you exclaim at the Naga.

“That is true but Serafina’s parents weren’t any better than John’s were. I assume you’ve met her mother in there correct?” your anger faded as you say outloud.

“She did seem pretty freaked out about John. And Serafina said that it happened right after they met when they were little. So what is this really a Romeo and Juliet situation?”

“To a degree. It’s not so much as rivalry families. When one of John’s many great grandfather’s became the Sorcerer supreme, he sought out a hierarchy based line. In which Pureblood were respected and revered almost like Gods, while everyone else of either Half-blood or hybrid blood, in their case anyone born with a muggle parent, were deemed less worthy. But if you had a certain skill set then you were seen with a slight more advantage than the other families. But only by much.”

[weavefate]

redcrimes:

           𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 is etched into the scarred contours of the demi-god’s face. No inkling of his willingness to listen brought forth by the pleas of the pitiful woman cowering before him — pitiful but an asset of enormous worth.

          ❛ You can explain how you escaped, but before you tell me the why, ❜ he counters, his voice as strict as his demeanor.  ❛ Let me offer you a reminder. Since you were ten, I provided you every basic need. Given you shelter that protects you from the harm that might befall you in the outside world. ❜

         Arms, still crossed over his broad chest, come partially unhinged so a hand can reach for and grasp the end of the necklace set around Rosie’s neck. He pulls on its length just enough so a tug will be felt. This power-infused trinket should also serve as reminder for what he provides — it keeps the voices at bay.

       ❛ I have kept you sane. And this is how you repay me, by running? ❜

       She shakes uncontrollably under his gaze, unable to meet his eye. Tears run freely, just showing how pathetic she was. But how could one not be scared in the presence of the Red Dragon leader? By his order, he has killed millions and just how many did she help put in the ground? Countless? unknowable? Her hands were just as bloody and yet at first, she did not know better. Was innocent, did not know what he would do with the things she told him. But as she grew, she learned, witnessed the murders. The first time she had witness a murder from what she had uttered was when she was seventeen. 

       The shock and bile had risen so fast. Could not sleep for weeks. But without Daegon, without the Red Dragon, she would have been a rotting corpse long ago. At first, she could not form a reply. Rosemary was not a brave woman and all the courage and defiance that had built up over the years had vanished.

       She owed him everything. By his wishes did she continue to breathe. Daegon and Rosie had lived longer than any Earthrealmer. But she was still a child compared to him, compared to so many long-lived beings. For a century she has lived under the Red Dragon. Told him of her visions, the horrors that haunted her and the spirits that tormented her. Was ‘forced’ to summon spirits and compel them to spill their secrets. The smell of death was said to be sickening sweet. They did not truly know how right they were.

       When he had tugged at her necklace, did he get a response. It was one born of fear. Rosie did not know what she would do without the necklace. Hands came to rest on the chain. Her eyes pleading as her lips tried to form words. But she did not dare to tug back.

       “Pl-please n-no!”  Rosie pleaded. “I…I…c-can’t!” She felt like she was going to collapse. Legs trembling as terror formed a knot in her belly. “C-caged! Th-the walls were choking m-me!” She remembered the note she had left.

          A bird dreams of flight.

       Her words sounded like an excuse, but she did not have it in her to tell the complete truth. Rosie’s existence was a lonely one. She felt like she could not bear it anymore and when an unexpected power failure had happened. She took a chance. The very moment after the phone call for her to stay put did she spring into action. The first thing she had to do was painful. The wound was still tender. Rosie had taken a knife and went to her bathroom. Knowing that the tracker was still working. The cowardly woman had sliced and cut the tracker from her arm. Leaving the bloody knife in the sink and setting the small device on the counter. The rest was a blur as she gathered what she could.

       Perhaps the smarter idea was to trash her own home to make them think a struggle had happened. But the movement of her tracker would not add up, so she left. Not knowing how much time she had until someone came to check up on her.

       “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Rosie cried. “I…I was lonely! Please don’t take my necklace!”

@redcrimes​  from {x}

[beyondtheciouds]

.29.

Part 1 of 3

Heavy rain descended from the sky swallowing up the last ounce of hope. The black clouds were staggered; swollen red from the heat of the day. The world outside is flipped upside down; black is white; white is black and all is red.

Her head aches with the shift in color; the logic of her accommodations rather painful. She gasps, her throat hoarse and still raw from screaming for hours on end. Tears slide down off the bridge of her nose and she can't close her mouth fast enough. A salt lick of a tear hazardly grazes her tongue; the clear liquid tasting like bottled anguish.

In her mind, she remains back at the Institute with her family. She braces and steadies herself for the worst.

The cold, steel manacle around her neck chokes her and makes it difficult to breathe. Chains, wrapped around her lithe body curl around and over her; tucking her away between their links.

The rusted chains rattle as she moves from left to right in a rhythmic sway; an attempt to crash through the door.

Velocity. Volume. Vantage.

Her nostrils flare with determination then deflate with defeat when her body doesn't pick up immediate speed.

Her long brown hair is loose from it's tight chignon; the ribbon torn in half. Dirty and tangled; the snarls of her hair half drag across the dusty floor of the tin can coffin.

Hanging upside down from the ceiling in her undergarments is Tessa. Her hands are behind her back held together with simple, normal rope. The rope is knotted in several places with sailors knots and elegantly tied to the rope around her feet. Both ropes are linked by a chain that is attached to the manacle around her neck.

Tatiana smiles vicious and hateful watching Tessa struggle. She enjoys the fact she can literally see the blood rushing to her enemy's head in the whites of her eyes. "Moving only makes the blood run quicker."

Tessa grimaces, a wave of dizziness and nausea washing over her. "Now you tell me."

Tatiana smiles that heinous smirk and shrugs. It lasts only a second, but something about the casual confident roll of her bony shoulder reminds Tessa of Gabriel. In the shift of a second, Tessa sees a glimmer of the person Tatiana used to be; a Lightwood-- confident and capable. This was the person Tatiana had been long before Rupert was murdered and her world broken.

Tessa allows the moment to pass; her regret left unsaid to the woman who perhaps could have been if not a friend an ally in another life. The moment clears the way for another idea. Tessa is willing to take a risk. Watching Tatiana closely, she feels she might be able to manipulate Tatiana into releasing her.

The door of the metal shack creaks open, a squeak of a mouse echoes as the bright red light becomes a beacon in the darkness. Ghostly fingers begin their smoky dance; the ghosts beckoning Tessa to join them in the afterlife.

Belial's silhouette becomes visible as the smoke dissapates. He is slouched precariously against the wall. He reminds Tessa of a criminal with his arms crossed over his chest. The red cherry of a cigar is a pulse beating in the dark. Tessa can't take her eyes off it.

"Are you ready to behave, my dear? Or should we continue with the torture?"

Tessa struggles, her fear turning into fury; refocusing. "You will never have James and Lucie at your side no matter what you do to me. You may be their grandfather, Belial but you are not family."

"Oh, love how foolish you are." Nate says and steps out of a dark corner. " I thought after living like one of them," He hisses the word as he crosses the room. "you would start acting like one." Nate flashes an unlimited amount of teeth at Tessa before briefly stepping into the beacon of light.

Tessa's heart breaks. She wanted Nate to look like the boy she'd grown up with. The brother she loved. The shock reverberates in her veins that Nate is now only a decaying mass of flesh and teeth; silhouetted and hollow like long dead bones. He should be burnt and buried.

Tessa had turned her eyes to the sound of his voice. She tries to turn her head but her neck is stiff; shackled in place. "Nate, please." She begs, her body rocking then swinging.

Nate stands in front of Tatiana and even she recoils, pushing herself away from him. His face is clawed; red streaks spiraling disease sporadically and oozing with infection. One clear blue eye pulses like a noncompliance heart; beating rapidly and out of rhythm. The next minute the eye is springing out of its socket; the other drooped and distorted what was left of his face.

The wooden chair creaks and scrapes the floor as Tatiana is dragged backwards into the darkness.

Belial smiles, his teeth twisted twinkling stars. The smoke from the cigar curls around his silhouette; mysterious and inviting in his hand. "Oh, my darling Theresa. How foolish you are indeed. I am not after your precious gifted children. I am after your only grandchild." Belial laughs quietly and whispers, "Quod sanctum puerum. De Trinitate."

Tessa gasps, her anger surfacing like a forgotten shipwreck. "NO. NO. NO."

Belial laughs again, louder as the soles of his boots step into the cold darkness. "Quod aurea puer. Et trifecta spiritualis vitae pertinent."

Tessa's eyes are wide as she whispers, following Belial's cruel smile. "The trifecta. Angel. Demon. Fairy."

Belial grins.

Tessa's face is burning.

The color of Belial's eyes changes, glowing red in the shadows as he inhales and exhales the smoke into the shadow of a child. "My ticket to freedom."

****

The ride to Fairchild Manor had been far from interesting, at least from James's point of view. The carriage was not his own, but a hansom cab for starters. The quarters were musty smelling and too cramped to get comfortable. Cordelia was seated closely beside him and he could smell the scent of rosewater on her skin. The weather was cold and the elbows of their heavy coats touched and their hips grazed one another when the road turned bumpy.

Cordelia had been quiet for some time with her nose stuck in a book. Her dark eyes swept across the page; darting under her long lashes along every romantic line of Pride and Prejudice. James had to smile to himself as his gold eyes finally settled on Cordelia as she drifted away in her story. Sometimes he forgot how much alike they actually were; how compatible compared to others.

For weeks he had tried not think of her as his sister's best friend but as his bride-to-be.

The boys were right and James was hesitant to admit the situation was serious. The specific runes; the sealing vows were sacred and similar to that of a parabatai. A bond between two people that was not easily broken.

He glanced down at the silver circlet around his wrist; Grace's bracelet. The metal burned the inside of his wrist. He imagined the bracelet imprinting the Blackthorn moto on his flesh tying him to them.

James frowned. He felt this tremendous impact on his chest that he thought meant that he owed Grace.

Was he making the right choice? Only time would tell. James couldn't think straight and despite his lack of sleep, it wasn't the girl he was looking at who was in his thoughts.

Another girl was on his mind. Thomas had warned him that morning Grace was up to something devious and devoted to destroying Lucie.

Cordelia had told him as much the night before. Still, James couldn't help but think that Thomas's caution might be mistaken for paranoia. He also detected that Cordelia was overly jealous.

James didn't disagree outloud, but he didn't believe Lucie was in danger. Not for a second.

The only person who he believed was in danger was his mother. Will was vigorously and vigilantly working to save her and James wanted to be there when his father did.

The only thing James could do to help right now was be at Lucie's side and get her through. All either could do was wait.

Wait for life; wait for death.

Christopher and Thomas sat across from them, each preoccupied in their own space.

The former had spent most of the ride untangling a scientific equation that James decreed was the equivalent to opening a glass jar.

When Christopher speaks, there are crickets--dead silence in the carriage and even Cordelia glances up from her book. "What are the odds that we could send Matthew a message by launching a bottle into the sky?"

The latter is a wanderer. He is daydreaming and James can tell that Thomas is filled with anxiousness; categorizing his own neurotic suspicions under the guise of appearing somber. "Like a cannon?"

James blinks, his inky eyebrows furrowed. "A cannon?"

"No. More like a message in a bottle attached to a...a...something. Then we launch the something into the air by striking a match to a series of ropes soaked in kerosene."

James's interest peaks, "Kerosene?"

Thomas turns away from the sublime serenity of the Idris countryside long enough to crook an eyebrow at Christopher. "Are you proposing another exploration of explosions?"

"Gunpowder. We're going to need a lot of gunpowder." Christopher says excitedly, his lavender eyes wide. The gears in his head start turning.

"No gunpowder," James says, shaking his head. He has to be the voice of reason with this crazy idea because it is obvious that Thomas is not listening. "and no explosive devices."

"I know...no. No, well I..." Christopher trails off, his thoughts unraveling like the blueprints to his inventions. Henry would have understood, he reminds himself.

Thomas huffs, unhappy with Christopher's idea. He turns back towards the landscape, silent. He doesn't glance over at Christopher or James. None of them say a word.

James finally sighs, placing his hand on the seat close enough to graze Cordelia's gloved fingers.

The carriage would be at Matthew's front door by nightfall and James was not ready for the confrontation. For the first time in their friendship, James had no idea how to approach his parabatai on a subject as sensitive as fatherhood.

As they passed a lone cemetery, he closed his eyes and prayed to Raziel that they were not too late.

***

The clouds gathered overhead, the sky a darkening gray. A stray dog barked in the distance and Lucie pulled the wool coat tighter around her docile frame. "Why are we here Grace?"

The two girls are in the snowy cemetery; sitting upon a cobblestone hill facing a vast expanse of headstones. A cardinal flutters in the tree branches above; red in a world of white.

Grace is understanding in the quiet; almost complacent and comfortable among the dead. "Shhh. The sun is going down."

On the horizon, placed before them like a slice of golden fruit was the sun slipping into the snow capped hills.

Lucie is the opposite of Grace. Her powers hum inside, keeping her on edge with her instinct wavering. She glances nervously around and feels the priceless prickle of despair crawl into her heart. "Can we go now Grace?"

Grace shakes her head. "Not yet."

A carriage rolls by and Lucie catches the shape of a dark haired boy in the window.

She hopes it is James.

[holdthosebees]

Reasons: A Study

So. I want to talk about anchors, and parallels, and That Line from mag 167. 

MARTIN: So, when you say Gertrude wouldn’t have been able to go on without a reason-- JON: Yes, Martin, you are my reason. 

First, while we’re all melting down about the adorable queerness of this exchange, I want to nail down exactly what they mean. 

On one level, it’s a declaration of romantic devotion. It seems pretty clear also that what Jon is alluding to is that, without Martin, he wouldn’t be going to the panopticon; he wouldn’t be trying to fix the world at all. Instead, he would be “resigning” himself to “ruling [his] domain,” which is a fancy and way of saying ‘going full Beholding, turning full monster, and spending the apocalypse siphoning the suffering out of his victims. In short: having Martin around, having someone prompting him keep moving in a semi-linear fashion towards a concrete goal, and having a relationship he cares about protecting is what’s keeping him human. Or, as close to human as he can get, anyway. This is... complicated. There are people who are reading it as super romantic, and I get that! I don’t in any way want to say that they’re wrong, and this post isn’t about how Jon and Martin’s relationship is secretly Bad and Doomed or whatever. But TMA has consistently shown itself to be a show willing to dive into the messy bits of relationships between traumatized people, and ‘this one person is the only thing keeping me from spiraling into monster hood’ is definitely messy. 

There are a few parallels that immediately spring to mind, and I’d like to go through them one by one.  First: the obvious parallel, and the one that most people are drawing, is to Martin’s line in 158:

[MARTIN]: And then Jon came back, and suddenly I had a reason...

This is a line I see quoted out of context a lot, in the ‘tumblr likes to take bits of text and mash them together to make moodboards’ way. Often, in more Jon/Martin-y contexts, the sentiment behind it is filled in based on the line that came before it: “Maybe I just thought joining up with you would be a good way to get killed.” The implication drawn, then, is that Martin is saying that Jon coming back gave him a reason to live.  That is, however, not actually what he’s saying! This quote is actually rarely quoted in its entirety; what Martin actually says, specifically, is

[MARTIN]: And then Jon came back, and suddenly I had a reason to keep your attention on me. Make you feel in control so you didn’t take it out on him. And if that meant drifting further away, so what? I’d already grieved for him. And if it meant now saving him, it was worth it.

By drifting further away, he doesn’t just mean from Jon--he’s talking about his choice to keep working with Peter, to keep pushing himself into the Lonely. Jon coming back, in context, didn’t so much give him a reason to live as it did give him a reason to sacrifice himself. He was still aware that he was losing himself, and might wind up dying; Jon being around just made that feel meaningful.

This, I feel it should be noted, is exactly what Elias was counting on. Martin made the choice to continue on his own, to try to jump on the grenade without telling anyone that it was there, and this turned out to be a huge mistake. It was one heavily influenced by grief, by trauma, and by the impact the Lonely had already had on his mind. 

It was also the exact opposite of what Jon’s saying now--except for the ways in which it isn’t. They both cite one another as their reason for working towards a goal that they know might be impossible, because the act of protecting each other gives meaning to a potentially meaningless existence. For Martin, though, that meant courting avatar-dom, while Jon is trying to push it away. For Martin, this singleminded devotion turned out to be unhealthy; his prioritization of what he thought Jon needed from him over his own wellbeing wound up causing both him and Jon a lot of grief. And as for Jon...

Well. We don’t know yet. Jon and Martin are alone together in a horrific apocalypse landscape, so singleminded devotion is kind of par for the course. Martin is literally the only good thing Jon has left in the world, so I’m not going to say that he’s wrong for using Martin as a grounding point. And we know, from previous seasons, that focusing on building positive, trusting relationships is one of the things most effective in maintaining humanity! 

At the same time, though, there’s another parallel I’d like to talk about--and that’s the parallel between Jon and Martin’s relationship and Daisy and Basira’s.  The first thing that “you are my reason” pinged for me, right off the bat, was the memory of Elias calling Basira Daisy’s last tether to humanity in season 3. Their relationship for the latter half of season 3 mirrored Jon and Martin’s season 5 relationship in a number of ways; mainly, the more monstrous partner (Daisy, Jon) who’s thrust into the thick of things (fighting monsters, trying to manage the Beholding) to protect the human partner (Basira, Martin), who meanwhile is anchoring said monstrous partner to their humanity while basically hanging out and making big picture plans anti-Elias plans. 

It’s not a perfect parallel, obviously, but the dynamics are there. They’re both avatar-human relationship based around that idea of a single anchor point--and, whoo boy, did Daisy and Basira problematize that dynamic. Daisy killed people, and Basira turned the other way. The fact that Daisy was so reliant on Basira to act as her moral compass means that, in the cases where Basira didn’t interfere, her own moral compass degraded. Her reliance on Basira to anchor her meant she wasn’t anchoring herself, and, combined with Basira’s enabling, that lead her down an extremely slippery police-brutality lined slope. 

Why is this relevant to Jon and Martin? Because the justification Martin gave when trying to convince Jon not to feel guilt after Not!Sasha--that it’s fine to kill monsters, as long as you aren’t going after innocents--is extremely reminiscent to how Basira and Daisy justified Daisy’s actions for a long time. 

In Mag91, when preventing Daisy from murdering Jon, Basira tells Daisy that she’s always known what Daisy’s been doing, but she was alright with it, because she thought Daisy just killed monsters. Like Martin turning Jon’s tape over to the archives crew, she steps in once she realizes that someone she thinks of as a person is also in danger. Later, when confronting Jon, she seems to draw a firm line between Daisy’s actions, which were compelled and so required no guilt, with Jon’s actions in going after innocents. Compare this line from Martin, in Mag166:

[MARTIN]:  This isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are - th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then - then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!

Once again, we’ve got a clear black and white moral boundary: if you want to kill monsters, that’s fine, because the things you’re killing aren’t human. There’s the differentiation between compelled attacks on innocents, and the choice to go after things that are evil. Both Martin and Basira brushed aside their partner’s guilt, on the basis of compulsion; both Martin and Basira encouraged them to use their powers to go after monsters, which they considered morally justified. The circumstances are different--Basira didn’t want Daisy to die, while Martin wants Jon to stop blaming himself for the end of the world--but the choices they’re making are in some ways very similar.  

We know where that goes for Daisy and Basira. Basira, while initially Daisy’s reason for staying human, also becomes her reason to return to the Hunt. She, like season 4 Martin, makes the choice to give up on her humanity to save the person she’s anchored to; unlike Martin, nothing stops her before she goes through with it. We’ll have to wait until the Hunt episode of this season to see how it ends, but it’s definitely not going to be happy. 

All of which is to say--it was a sweet moment that shows some great development in their relationship, but if Martin is Jon’s one reason for staying grounded, we have historical reason to believe that this isn’t necessarily a good thing. It is, at the very least, a complicated thing, and something that probably won’t escape the same exploration of codependency, us-vs-them mentality, self destructive behavior, and interpersonal responsibility that has shown up in almost every relationship in the podcast. This time, though, the stakes are even higher--if Jon loses himself, he doesn’t just kill a few people, he becomes what the Beholding intends for him to be. 

(This also isn’t even getting into the weeds of codependency in regards to Martin’s caretaker trauma, and what it means to be relied upon as the sole person keeping another human being grounded and together, or how that ties into the ways in which trust in their communication seems to be slowly eroding over time and under--but that’s another post entirely.)

[dailyaudiobible]

11/07/2020 DAB Transcript

Ezekiel 16:42-17:24, Hebrew 8:1-13, Psalms 106:13-31, Proverbs 27:7-9

Today is the 7th day of November welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian and I guess this…well…it’s the 7th day of November, so I guess it’s our first full week that we’re about to complete in this 11th month of the year. So, let's dive in. We’re reading from the Evangelical Heritage Version this week, which is today. Ezekiel chapter 16 verse 42 through 17 verse 24.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word, we thank You for this first week of this new month that we’re in as we continue our journey with You. And what a journey it has been. We began a journey thinking that we were going to go through the Bible and then we found each other, and we were going to the Bible in community. And then we…we learned things that You were speaking to us as a community and as individuals, only to find out You have been with us the whole time. You have been guiding and directing and protecting us the whole time. Even when we were Your enemies You still loved us. And, so, it's been a year of discovery and this year, this disruptive year has forced to us to reconsider the old ways, and to reconsider where we’re going. And we can consider all we want but what we deeply want to consider is where You’re going because that's where we want to go. That's where we want to be. We want to be a part of what You are doing. And we thank You for Your word because it leads us on that path, it teaches us, it makes us aware of Your presence in our lives. And, so, we continue to be aware. Come Holy Spirit, well up from within as we become aware that You are within us, leading and directing and guiding us. May we see it clearly. We ask this in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it’s the website, indeed where you find out what's happening around here. So, stay connected.

And as we say often, the Community section is a place to go to get connected. It’s is where the Prayer Wall is and lives. You can also check out the Shop. The Daily Audio Bible Shop is full of resources that…yeah…they are made to accompany our journey here. So, check that out as well.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that dailyaudiobible.com also. There is a link on the homepage. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner, or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174. And I thank you humbly and with all of the gratitude that I can use out of my vocabulary. Thank you for your partnership. We wouldn't be here if we weren't in this together. Thank you.

And, of course, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top, that looks remarkably or at least hopefully like a Hotline button. So, you can hit that no matter where you are the world, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey DAB it’s __ J calling from Cleveland Ohio just saying hello to everybody wishing everybody well today. I know it’s been so many things going on. __ I’m praying for you all. It’s been a minute since I’ve called in. Been a heavy, heavy year. I shared with you guys some time ago that I had lost my mom __earlier this year in April. So, it’s been a tough, tough year but at the same time it’s been a wonderful year filled with joy. So, I’m reaching out to just pray for everybody today. A lot of polarization going on across our country our faith is polarized our passions are polarized the politics are polarizing the pandemic is polarizing but I…I…I chose today to turn that polarization into praise. Praise God for life for health for strength that Jesus Christ died on the cross for our sins. Thank God we don’t have to die on the cross when we have a cross to bear. God bless you all and stay safe and keep Jesus lifted up for He said he would draw all men unto him. Bye.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family this is Kimberly calling. We…guys I’ve been listening to this podcast since I began teaching…well…since…I’ve been teaching for a long time…but since I’ve been…started teaching first grade back in 2012. It has just been the mainstay of my morning. It has been the meat of my morning to help guide my day and my week successfully through my teaching career and being able to prioritize the Lord. It’s just been a great…it’s just been a godsend. I listen to it while I…when I get up in the morning and when I’m getting ready and then on my way to work. So, anyway, I guess I’ll get to the point. The point is it’s that I’m very, very grateful for this program and we are supposed to be going back to a hybrid plan…we’re going to a hybrid plan on Monday. So, I just really covet your prayers. Of course, I teach little first-graders so it’s gonna be really interesting to see how we do with our masks and how we do with just being safe and respectful and being able to create a classroom community when we can’t be really close. And how in the world am I going to teach first-graders from a distance? So, please pray for me. I’m sure there’s just a lot of creative teachers out there who have that handled but doing first grade from a distance is not the most effective teaching strategy and it’s not best practices. I love, love, love, my job. I love teaching. I feel like that’s what the Lord put me on this earth to do. So, I pray that that shines through and I pray that we can come together as families and teachers to be able to best meet all of the needs of the whole child during this upcoming season. I covet your prayers over our…

Hi, this message is for Danny from Southern Oregon. It is November 3rd and I just heard your call about your grandson playing hooky from school with his friends and his best friend killed the boy. Oh…it just really broke me down and I was just so compelled call in. I wanted to let you know that I’m gonna be praying for you. Danny I’m praying for your grandson Christopher. I’m praying for the young man who was murdered and his family. I’m praying for Tony who was next to the young man who got shot. I’m praying for Dustin who’s also the accused murderer. Oh my, Danny…I’m…I’m thankful that you’re a woman of God and I know that your prayers have helped to keep your grandson covered. I’m praying for all the family members and all the friends. I couldn’t imagine being a parent to any of the kids involved. It’s so heavy and I’m just praying that our Lord Jesus Christ bless these kids and bless the families. In Jesus name. If you all pray with me. So, Danny I wish you the best in your family. Keep your son…keep your grandson Christopher…keep him in prayer, keep him covered. And again, I’m just praying for all the kids involved. DAB family thank you so much for praying for everybody. I don’t call in. I’ve been a listener for year but this call…just hearing this call today just really got to me and I was just compelled to call him. So, I wanted to let you know Danny that I’ll be praying for you and everyone involved. Take care and God bless.

Hi this is Dorothy out in California October was pastor clergy appreciation month. I just wanted to thank Pastor Brian and his team for all their sacrifices they have made for them to make this possible for the world community. You are saving lives and I know you saved mine when I was…felt alone, I was lonely. When I felt like I couldn’t go another day I would turn on DAB and I felt I had community. So, I just want to thank you and…and this family. Okay. May God bless you and make His face shine upon you and be gracious unto you and give you peace. I __ that up but anyway. Thank you. Bye.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible this is Denise. I’m calling for my friend Amy. I heard you on November 4th about your heartbreak and your pain that you’re having in your marriage. I called a few weeks ago about the loneliness that I was experiencing in mine and I know the heartbreak and the pain and the suffering of being in a relationship that’s just not seemed to be panning out and the loneliness that you feel. And again, Covid doesn’t help at all now that it’s the holidays. So, Amy I’m letting you know that I know how you feel, and I relate to you and just as I called in and asked for prayer many people at Daily Audio Bible prayed for me. I want to do the same for you. So, God is greater than this situation and He’s gonna renew, restore and even multiply the blessings. Dear heavenly Father I pray for my sister Amy Lord where she is right now. Comfort her heart like you comfort mine. Give her peace like you gave mine. Wrap your arms around her like you wrap your arms around me and let us both know that we were not alone. Lord I pray for her marriage and I pray for restoration. I pray for complete and total peace in that relationship God. I rebuke turmoil and I rebuke loneliness and heartache and I speak life on that relationship. I speak life at Amy. Lord let her fall totally and completely in love you with You as I’m trying to do God and watch over us both as we go forward in Your name. Amen. You’re gonna be all right sister. And I’m gonna be alright too. God bless.

[hiddleloki]

Masterpost of Dadneto and Quickson fics

Because let’s be real, we all need them. They fill my heart with warmth and joy while the movies continue to tear it apart.  UPDATED AS OF 19TH JULY (the newest/latest included fanfics are at the bottom of the post)

Somewhere Like Bolivia by iberiandoctor (jehane), Words: 8175 (COMPLETE) After Cairo, after the school is rebuilt, Erik has every reason to leave. Charles and Peter think about giving him a reason to stay.

To Boldly Dress (Like Those Who Might Have Gone Before) by iberiandoctor (jehane) (COMPLETE) Erik doesn’t do Halloween costumes. Peter and Charles try to change his mind.

Humanity by palmtreedragons, Words: 3676 (COMPLETE) Peter and his father were as different as two people could possibly be. But, heck, they're still family, and family sticks together, or whatever. Spans pre-FC to post-XMA

Immediate Family by Glass Shoe, Words: 175534 (COMPLETE) This is the story of how Peter Maximoff loses his mother, reconnects with his father, and finds something that he didn't know he'd lost in the first place.

That’s My Boy by oneiromancer242, Words: 1113 (COMPLETE) Erik is terribly proud of his son - as Charles and Raven are about to find out.

Peter Maximoff: a Loving Son Who Couldn’t Have Brought Up That Fact Sooner by Blueci1234, Words: 4848 (COMPLETE)  Peter was a tiny bit angry that he was going to die before telling Magneto that the all powerful ex-horseman-of-the-Apocalypse-and-a-giant-frienemy-slash-love-interest-of-Charles-Xavier named Erik Lehnsherr contributed as a sperm donor (not really) to the birth of the great-not-so-great Quicksilver circa 1960 c.e., the time of mutants.

Erik Lehnsherr and His Rotten Luck with His Children by Blueci1234, Words: 2208 (COMPLETE) - SEQUEL TO PETER MAXIMOFF: A LOVING SON WHO COULDN’T HAVE BROUGHT UP THAT FACT SOONER What do you do when your children die?

Vati by naasad, Words: 254 (COMPLETE) Erik Lehnsherr is a man of many names.

A Million And One by Sam the Wise, Words: 1186 (COMPLETE) Peter tells Erik the truth, and that changes things.

Best - Laid Plans by rebecca-in-blue, Words: 2046 (COMPLETE) "Erik recognizes him immediately: the silver-haired mutant boy who broke him out of prison." My take on Erik, Mystique, and Peter post-Days of Future Past.

Peter, I Am Your Father by Queen_Valkyrie, Words: 5576 (COMPLETE) Peter Maximoff knows he should tell Magneto, big-bad-but-not-that-bad-all-the-time-I-can-sense-there-is-good-in-him-Charles-always-insists-terrorist-guy, that he's Peter's father. But it's painfully difficult to bring himself to do so.

A Knife In The Gut by Queen_Valkyrie, Words: 3081 (COMPLETE) - sequel to Peter, I Am Your Father "Every smile Peter warily offered him, every joke made at his expense, every midnight conversation pained him like a knife twisting in his gut." After Erik finds out the truth about the young man who once helped break him out of the Pentagon, he tries to connect with his son. Things don't exactly go according to plan.

That Whole Father/Son Thing by mysterytour, Words:  3054 (COMPLETE) Part of Erik doesn’t wasn’t to climb out of the well of depression and live in the world without Nina and Magda. How can he smile or laugh again when they can never smile or laugh ever again? He feels like ash caught in the chimney stacks. Everything is exhausting. Peter and Erik bond over food. Erik and Jean bond over tomato plants. Jean and Peter bond over prog rock.

Bad With Names by Cyane, Words:1469 (COMPLETE) Erik sighed. "Pietro-"He froze. Jesus Christ, did he just call him Pietro?!

The Day will Dawn by Cyane, Words: 11227 (COMPLETE) Four times someone else was there for Peter, and the one time Erik was.

We Live in a Beautiful World by Cyane, Words: 8405 (COMPLETE) His heart was screaming at him, telling him that he couldn't save all those people. He couldn't save his precious Nina, he couldn't save his lovely wife. He couldn't save any of them- he didn't. He lost that chance. What remained of his family was dead. Everyone. But he had the chance to save Peter.

The Five Times Peter Called Him Dad, And The One Time He Meant It by thecattydddy, Words: 5183 (COMPLETE) Peter Maximoff has known that Erik is his dad for a while now, but knowing something and admitting something are two very different thing.Classic Exactly What It Says on the Tin.  

Silver by thecattydddy, Words: 1609 (COMPLETE) Peter's about to die and as he stares up into the face of death, he can't help but wish they had been wrong about his father. That they had just misunderstood, but it was becoming apparent by every second ticking by that they had been right. Erik Lehnsherr - Magneto - was nothing more than a monster.

Woodstock 83 by blarfkey, Words: 7373 (COMPLETE) Peter's mouth runs just about as fast as his legs. No secret is safe from him! Except his own, apparently. The Universe hands him opportunities to confess on a silver platter and Peter just cannot freaking spit it out.

The Sun Will Shine When Morning Comes by blarfkey, Words: 5352 (COMPLETE) - SEQUEL TO WOODSTOCK 83 If Erik and Peter were a Venn diagram, their circles would not intersect. Erik thanks God every day for it. Peter has no temper. He has no rage, no tragedy. He is light where Erik is a shadow. Right now he is moaning piteously on the couch because his medicine has worn off and his headache has returned. “I’m dying,” Peter croaks. “Dad, I’m dying. I’m not gonna make it. I’m going to the spirit in the sky.” Erik rolls his eyes. There is a certain twisting in his gut, both thrilling and painful every time Peter calls him “dad.” It snags like a hook.

Jail Break by blarfkey, Words:  Words:5717 (COMPLETE) It's totally normal in Suburban America for the dad to pick up his rebellious teenager from jail, right? Even when it's the Pentagon instead of the local police station, and your dad is a Mutant Supremacist Assassin and America's Most Wanted who didn't post bail so much as murdered all the guards? Whatever. Peter will take what he can get at this point, even if it means the most painfully awkward road trip in the history of the universe.

Two Lonely Souls In A Fish Bowl by blarfkey, Words: 14033 (COMPLETE) - SEQUEL TO JAIL BREAK There are tons of fun activities in Peter’s new life at Westchester. You know, like the never ending cleaning and dusting of all four floors of that gigantic mansion, trying to arrange Charles’ old clothes into outfits that wouldn’t get Peter’s ass kicked in a theoretical high school, getting home-schooled by a genius telepath who always knows when Peter cheats, and Peter’s favorite: midnight visits from his crazy terrorist father who may not be as awful or crazy as Peter thought.

Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right by blarfkey, Words: 15735 (COMPLETE) - SEQUEL TO JAIL BREAK & TWO LONELY SOULS IN A FISH BOWL “Look man,” Peter says, “you don’t wanna fuck with me, ‘kay? My – my dad’s gonna find me, he’s gonna kick your ass. He’ll kill everyone in the building. He’s fuckin’ nuts.” The Man smirks. “Aren’t you a little old to be depending on your old man to save you?” Before Peter can give a witty retort, The Man pats his cheek and leaves. No one is going to come for him. He is going to die here. Alone.

Shine On You Crazy Diamon by blarfkey, Words: 24335 (COMPLETE) - SEQUEL TO JAIL BREAK & TWO LONELY SOULS IN A FISH BOWL & CLOWNS TO THE LEFT OF ME, JOKERS TO THE RIGHT Five years later, Peter has gotten his college degree and settled into life as a P.E. teacher at Charles' school. He's got his whole routine mapped out: combat training with Erik and Raven in the mornings, running the Baby Mutants ragged on the field until they start planning his assassination in the afternoons, mixed in with calling Hank every variation of "nerd" American slang can provide and staring at Raven's butt when she's too busy to kick him in the throat. After all the crazy shit he's had to go through, he finds comfort in this new-found stability, even if it means he's officially a Boring Adult who shops for prunes and wheat bread. And then Wanda blows up a car.

Luke, I am your father! by PalauMaggot, Words: 2365 (COMPLETE) Okay seriously. He could have done so much better than that. Facing off with his father who gave him the best line to come clean about being related to him and he goes and says, ‘I’m here for family too.’ Yeah it’s serious and the truth and vague and everything else but come on. The guy had his wife and only child (that he knew about) killed in front of him. So he guessed that springing the whole “You have a son!” on him during the ending of the world probably would have done more harm than good. Erik might have thought they were trying to manipulate him or something. OR: How Peter tells Erik that he's sort of his long lost son.

Like Father, Like Son by leahx, Words: 4191 (COMPLETE) Peter Maximoff might not have his father's name, but evidently, he has more than enough of the infamous Lehnsherr genes, including the ones that will one day be responsible for Charles' inevitable breakdown. Or the time, after the Apocalypse, when Peter screws up and accidentally ups the population of Lehnsherr/Maximoff-ville to plus one. And Charles isn't amused.

7 Tries by krispool, Words: 741 (COMPLETE) The 7 or so tries it takes Peter to talk to his father.

And from the ashes of their world, we’ll build a better one by AryYuna, Words: 25946 (COMPLETE) “She’d never really allowed herself to think about coming back to Westchester, lest she’d end up abandoning everything in exchange for the safety of that place. The mission was too important, more than her comfort, more than everything. Safety was for the others, for the dreamers like Charles, for the kids she rescued, but someone had to live in the real world so that others could hide – her brother, Erik, Hank.” Apocalypse has destroyed everything, but they can repair it. Together.

Late Again by Bravo_48, Words: 70931 (COMPLETE) The "Apocalypse Incident" has taken its toll on Erik Lehnsherr as the aftermath of the battle has left him hollow and lost on what to do with his life. He's been from a wanted terrorist to playing the role of a henchmen to a god, but nothing felt as important to him as being a father, but even that ended with tragedy. Bless Charles' heart of gold for helping him piece himself together, but he still feels so lost........ Peter Maximoff has always lived for the thrill (and speed) of life, but that doesn't mean he can always handle it. It took him a week for his brain to register that "Magneto" was his father and a month to fully accept it. The guy didn't seem so bad. Without Erik, Peter would have never found out how to break into highly secured prisons or how great it is to be an X-Men! Too bad Erik doesn't know how much of an impact he created in Peter's life... Funny part is that even with his ludicrous speed, Peter always seems too late to tell him so. (And always picks the worst times to try.) Especially when his life decides to turn upside-down in the process.

It’s Not So Black And White by Nishloo, Words: 6913 (STILL UPDATING) Peter Maximoff is an already complicated kid - boy turned x-men, a plethora of night terrors, and the inability to look his father in the eyes. When can a guy get a break? or Peter is an angsty teen with some major PTSD who can't tell Erik he's his son.

Grace Under Pressure by IreneADonovan, Words: 604 (COMPLETE) Father- son bonding over good music and bad beer. Set at least a year after Apocalypse.(The album Peter's listening to came out in September of 1984.) Peter has finally told Erik he's his dad, and Erik has returned to the mansion to see him.

Better Men and Better Beer by IreneADonovan, Words: 451 (COMPLETE) - sequel to Grace Under Pressure Bonding, act two.

Power Windows (aka The Road Trip) by IreneADonovan, Words: 226 (COMPLETE) - Sequel to Grace Under Pressure & Better Men and Better Beer Just a little set-up scene for the road trip...

Manhattan Project by IreneADonovan, Words: 1548 (COMPLETE) - Sequel to Power Windows Erik and Peter make their first stop of the road trip in Hell's Kitchen...

Grand Designs by IreneADonovan, Words: 507 (COMPLETE) - Sequel to Power Windows & Manhattan Project Erik and Peter share a moment on the road...

Emotion Detector by IreneADonovan, Words: 566 (COMPLETE) - Sequel to Power Windows & Manhattan Project & Grand Designs A little more father/son interaction, post-XMA... 

Peter is Going To Tell Erik, Really...by ChasingAfterMidnight, Words: 4702 (COMPLETE) Peter thinks the secret of his parentage is safe, until Charles announces that Erik is going to be living at the mansion from now on. How long can Peter keep Erik from knowing? Just until the time is right... He'll definitely tell him. Totally.

Glowing Embers by Magnolie, Words: 5719 (COMPLETE) How do we move on from a shattered life? How do we rebuild bonds, trust and friendship? How do we go on, carrying those we have lost with us? There is no one right answer to these questions, but returning to those we love, endowing them with small acts of kindness and finding ways to fit in again is. Picks up right after the end of X-Men: Apocalypse and follows Erik, Charles, and the rest of their new-found family as fathers and sons grow closer and feelings that have long been forgotten slowly begin to bloom again.

Bonding by ontaunt, Words: 710 (COMPLETE) Peter finally tells Erik.

Let Yourself Fall Ill by valancysnaith, Words:  23763 (COMPLETE) Narrative blank spaces/missing scenes post-XMA. Erik comes down from a metal-high, gardens. Jubilee deserved better. Raven drinks too much, spills secrets. PSYLOCKE.

Hanging in the Stars by porcelainsimplicity, Words: 49769 (COMPLETE) note: if you want a good father/son bonding moments, along with the revelation, this one’s for you As En Sabah Nur faded from existence, Erik slowly floated down until his feet hit the ground and he could finally let go.

What Would You Have Me Do? by WhatTheWentz, Words: 860 (COMPLETE)

Peter Has Daddy Issues by Forever_A_Thief, Words: 10807 (COMPLETE) X-Men Days of Future Past through Peter Maximoff's eyes. Peter doesn't know who his dad is, but when guys show up talking about a guy who can control metal, he knows he has to check it out. But Peter definitely has some issues with the guy that turns out to be his dad...

Things That Travel Faster Than the Truth by d__aia, Words: 1597 (COMPLETE) Elizabeth meets Erik’s son.

You ARE the Father by Justbrowsing, Words: 862 (COMPLETE) Erik learns that Peter is his son.

whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one by murdershewrote, Words: 442 (COMPLETE) That day in Cairo, Peter can’t bring himself to introduce himself to his father, so instead he tells Magneto about his daughter.

Timestretch (Close Your Eyes And Count To (Mach) 5) by Marvelite5Ever, Words: 68838 (COMPLETE) Time stretches, reality alters, and Peter tries to tell Erik that they're related.

Something Rather Wonderful by GinnyGinger, Words: 2585 (COMPLETE) "So you'll rather go your whole life wondering?" Erik asked and damn if that wasn't a question Peter had asked himself enough already. Peter Maximoff has for months been trying to work up the courage to tell Erik the truth. Maybe today is the day.

Here For My Family (here for you) by PotterheadAvengerDemigod, words: 1364 (COMPLETE) “I’m your son!” Peter squeaks out. “Don’t kill me!”

I Miss You, I Miss You, I Miss You More by afrocurl, Words: 2108 (COMPLETE) It's only so awkward to divulge a big secret in the middle of other emotional trauma, but that's the only option Peter sees right now.

Peter’s ‘Terrible but Some Good Kind of Comes Out of it’ Day by SuperAwesomePandaKitty, Words: 20164 (COMPLETE) Set two weeks after X-Men Apocalypse, Peter's leg has finally healed. The Professor has a mission this evening but Hank doesn't want peter to go on any missions just yet as he still wants Peter to take it easy for at least a week so he's on babysitting duty. Wanda has no powers in this one, there's also a ten year age gap between them.

Peter’s Stepdad by nzeedee, Words: 30043 (COMPLETE) Peter takes his time to observe and learn more about Erik as he works up the courage to make a family connection. Soon he realizes that Charles is a valuable asset in Erik's life and they may come as a unified pair.

A Million Little Gods Causing Rainstorms by Inkjade, Words: 25704 (COMPLETE) Charles rolls forward for another few feet, looks back. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had better options,” he says quietly. Then he waits. He doesn’t need to say more: the weight of all that Erik owes him is pressing against the very air. “Verdammt,” Erik mutters, but follows.

Birthday Gift by still_lycoris, Words: 1109 (COMPLETE) Peter doesn't mind if Erik doesn't come to his birthday party. Honest. 

Sweet Dreams (aren’t made of what you’d think) by rimle, Words: 32484 (MISSING LAST CHAPTER) Charles convinces Erik to stay and train the x-men. He soon finds himself falling for his old friend. Meanwhile, Peter is trying to spend more time with his father, struggling to tell him the truth about his lineage. Erik misunderstands the boy's attention as somethings else, and eventually turns to Charles for help.

Little Monster by Quicker Than Silver, Words: 48387 (COMPLETE) When Peter goes missing his mother contacts Charles who in turn contacts Erik in the hopes of convincing his friend to carry out a rescue. What happens however when Peter's true parentage comes to light? How will the other mutants, especially Erik, react to the news? Set after XM-DOFP

Patience by RobineBlack, Words: 1450 (COMPLETE) It was a well-known fact that Peter Maximoff didn’t do patience. Or slow. But he knew that when he would tell Erik that he had another family, patience would definitely be needed.

Holiday Dadneto by Queen_Valkyrie, Words: 4589 (COMPLETE) Through Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, Peter and Erik get to know each other a little better and build their relationship as father and son.

Crystal Ball by oneiromancer242, Words: 1131 (COMPLETE) Magda gives Erik something very precious to take care of.

Daddy Issues by glanmire, Words: 7170, (COMPLETE) I have a son," Erik says from the rubble. He truly is the master of dramatic entrances. or, That time Erik got wasted and crashed into the side of the mansion.

Daddy Killed The President by mokonahapuuuuuu, Words: 937 (COMPLETE) It's not everyday the guy who shot the president's your dad.

Running Time by mokonahapuuuuuu, Words: 460 (COMPLETE) Time was running out. Well, more for Peter than for him...

Fathers, Sons and Brothers by thefuzzyone123, Words: 105619 (COMPLETE) Dadneto fic! Erik aka Magneto discovers he is a father. Set a year on from X-men: first class. Can Erik rescue his son from imprisonment before it's too late?

Get him! by oneiromancer242, Words: 2704 (COMPLETE) Mistakes can be very destructive when made in a houseful of superpowered kids, and sometimes, everyone finds that out the hard way. Pure silliness.

Premature Grays by monkeygirl77, Words: 4557 (COMPLETE) Having Peter as your son is no easy task. However, Erik finds that he would never trade it for anything in the world, even if the boy insists on giving him grays before the age of 40.  Or, the many moments of Erik and Peter; where they are most certainly Father and Son.

Sick Day by oneiromancer242, Words: 6666 (COMPLETE) We all get sick, some of us needing a little more TLC than others. Lucky that Peter has his devoted Dadneto to look after him.

Sins of the Father by movieholic, Words: 11425 (COMPLETE) In which Erik Lehnsherr learns that he is, in fact, the father.

Strangers by oneiromancer292, Words: 24298 (STILL UPDATING) Erik isn't usually the first to figure things out - but just for once, when a boy comes to rescue him from the Pentagon, he gets there first. Slight AU from a reader prompt, plenty of Dadneto and Teen!Peter.

Tested by oneiromancer292, Words: 1645 (COMPLETE) Erik doesn't think his son is ready for combat. The only way to find out is to try out his moves in the training room himself. Short, not entirely serious Dadneto one-shot for a reader prompt.

The Beginning Of Something Familiar by HawkDramione, Words: 10705 (COMPLETE) Post Apocalypse. Quicksilver paid Magneto a quick visit before he left, struggling to save his relationship with his father and to fix his troublesome family.

Best I can by oneiromancer292, Words: 1643 (COMPLETE) There's nothing worse than being by yourself and feeling left out on a special day. Erik tries to make it right.

Protection by Neocolai, Words: 389 (COMPLETE) Thoughts on what might have been running through Erik's mind during the scene with En Sabah Nur and Quicksilver.

Broken Wing by Neocolai, Words: 1973 (COMPLETE) In the aftermath, Erik tends to the wounded and Peter almost confesses. (Part 2 in the Protection series)

Troublesome Patiens by Neocolai, Words: 894 (COMPLETE) Peter doesn't take well to lying in bed all day. Magneto accidentally helps. (Part 3 in the Protection series)

Stay by Neocolai, Words: 652 (COMPLETE) Peter doesn't want him to go. Erik doesn't have time to argue. (Part 4 in the Protection series)

Called Back by Neocolai, Words: 1640 (COMPLETE) Magneto had no intention of returning to the academy. Plans change. (Part 5 in the Protection Series)

Strike Out by Neocolai, Words: 463 (COMPLETE) Erik tries to appreciate Peter's effort. He really does. Some kids just can't take constructive criticism. (Part 6 in the Protection Series)

Oblivious by Neocolai, Words: 383 (COMPLETE) Erik still doesn't get it. (7th in the Protection Series)

Little Misfits by Neocolai, Words: 1314 (COMPLETE) Charles finally intervenes. (8th in the Protection Series)

Safe by Neocolai, Words: 1612 (COMPLETE) Erik checks up on his newest charge. (9th in the Protection Series)

Little Lost Bird by Neocolai, Words 931 (COMPLETE) Peter wants to know about his little sister. (10th in the Protection Series)

Newspapers and the Uses Thereof by Neocolai, Words: 783 (COMPLETE) Erik takes up the role of father. Peter is not happy. (11th in the Protection Series)

Differences by Neocolai, Words: 1492 (COMPLETE) Peter is impatient. So is Erik. (12th in the Protection Series) 

Little Genius by Neocolai, Words: 2463 (COMPLETE) Peter does the math. Literally. (13th in the Protection Series)

Jaded by Neocolai, Words: 7414 (COMPLETE) Peter discovers the memorials for those killed in the Apocalypse, and Charles is forced to mediate between two self-righteous parents. (14th in the Protection Series)

Family DIscussions by Neocolai, Words: 1541 (COMPLETE) Erik plays catch and remains oblivious. (15th in the Protection Series)

Torn From The Nest by Neocolai, Words: 6570 (COMPLETE) Peter has a no good horrible really bad day. Good thing Magneto's looking for him. (16th in the Protection Series)

Welcome to Mutant High by Neocolai, Words: 950 (COMPLETE) Charles thinks Erik should introduce his son to the newest member of the team. Erik wants to trip up his wheelchair. (17th in the Protection Series) 

You Have More Family Than You Know by Natileroxs, Words: 624 (COMPLETE) “Oh, my, god, Peter!” She hissed. “Just tell him!” X-men Apocalypse Canon Divergence because Peter should have told Erik the truth. Or at least, someone should've.

Tel Aviv by Glass_Shoe, Words: 5760 (COMPLETE) Peter leaves Cairo in shock, not because he's surprised that the incredible clusterfuck of a rescue operation cooked up by Raven and Hank and the rest of team Prevent World Destruction actually sort of worked, but because he's actually in shock, like, he's shaking and sweaty and pale. You know: shock, because you can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs and you can't save the world without someone getting their knee completely shattered by a bald blue demi-god. A prequel to Immediate Family

Sometimes It Helps To Scream by SunnyMimi, Words: 1733 (COMPLETE) Peter was tired of it. For three years in the same vicious circle. Every day these damned missions against the Brotherhood. He was fed up. So, yes, it was time to scream at Magneto.Or...An overdramatic Peter, who thinks it would be a good idea to yell at his diva father during a fight against him.

How to Spend Time With Family by RockerRema13, Words: 27265 (STILL UPDATING) Erik is having a difficult time accepting that his tragic and cursed life now includes a long lost son. Meanwhile, Peter (his son!) seems to be getting along with everyone else at the mansion.

Sweet Dreams Are Made Of... by talkativefangirl13, Words: 34493 (COMPLETE) Peter didn’t instantly jump into conclusion when he saw Erik from afar, he’s probably having a relaxing swim or a soothing ‘me time’ contemplating about life and his stupid choices while facing down on the water, literally not moving. Nope this guy’s dying. Or where Peter always saves Erik and that one time Erik tries to saves him.

Never Gonna Be Alone (I Knew I Loved You) by Redrink91, Words: 15417, (COMPLETE) In which there is hurting and healing, and many song lyrics, as Charles and Erik move forward together. 

Boogie Woogie Woogie by BananasofThorns, Words: 118 (COMPLETE) "I have a song stuck in my head," Peter said, appearing beside Erik. "Wanna hear?" 

hold your head up (to prevent whiplash) by zedille, Words: 18981, (COMPLETE) Peter makes it to Poland in time to save his stepmother and sister. Not that he knew they existed. This is the last place Peter expected Magneto to be. No wonder he’d never found him in all his time searching. Why isn’t Magneto out agitating for mutant rights, or trying to kill Reagan on live television, or living it up at a Renaissance Faire with his cape and armor and helmet, or shacking up with women under a false name and having children — Right. Well.

Revealed by Sophie21011995, Words: 3026; (COMPLETE) After the events of "X-Men Apocalypse" Peter finally finds the Courage to tell Erik that he's his son.

The Great Mix-Up by fairyScorpicus and kraefandoms, Words: 2255, (STILL UPDATING) Erik knows Peter is related to him. All the facts are there: they have the same type of colorblindness, they have the same blood type, Erik's got it all figured out. "Charles." Erik says, sitting up in his bed at three in the morning. "I've figured it out about Peter. I've connected the dots." Charles groans, not bothering to open his eyes as he uses his telepathy. "You haven't connected shit." "I've connected them!" Erik protests. "Peter is my nephew." "No."

From the Ground Up and the Foundations Down by cjr2, Words:  21853, (COMPLETE) While rebuilding the mansion, Erik realizes he's just starting to come to terms with the guilt of having been the one to put Charles in that chair. He's also just starting to come to terms with the fact that something about Charles in a wheelchair is the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

better off without by olivemartini, words: 1743, (COMPLETE) If Erik had thought what his long lost son would look like, he probably wouldn't have thought that they would look like this. Or that they would have a kleptomaniac streak a mile wide. Or that his son's best friend would be blue, and with a tail. But then again, children very rarely match what their parents intend them to be. Erik doesn't think that Peter is overly impressed with the dad he had been dealt, either, so maybe they're even. ~or~the one where Peter finds Erik leaving the academy and stops him by telling him that he's his son

Insult to Injury ft. Dadneto (Peter Maximoff - X-Men) by whumptasticwednesday, Words: 6299 (COMPLETE) If there’s anything Peter Maximoff knew in this moment, it was that not being able to do the one thing your body was genetically enhanced to do, sucked. A lot.

What'd Ya Do? by fairyScorpicus, words: 22688, (STILL UPDATING) Peter was a loser, but losers couldn't break into the Pentagon so if he could maybe he wasn't a loser. Erik isn't dumb. The boy was clearly his son, and looked so much like Magda it hurt. "They told me you can control metal." says the boy. "You know, my mom knew a guy who could do that." and yeah, Erik believes him. ----- Basically: what-if Erik had more than one braincell and figured out Peter was his son?

5 Times People Found Out Peter Smoked, and One Time Peter Told Someone by Isapunk, Words: 2595, (COMPLETE) Peter may seem like a chill calm and collected mutant and even though he seems alright he isn’t always. *Takes place a year after Apocalypse NO Dark Phoenix spoilers! NOW completely edited*

Five Times Quicksilver Doesn’t Tell Magneto He’s His Son and the One Time He Does by evilauthoroverlords, Words: 11855, (COMPLETE) It's not like Peter doesn't want Erik to know that he's his father. He wants to tell him, really ....Next time.

Hermes, god of...Sweet Dreams & Thieves by Webbtrinsic, Words: 10633, (COMPLETE) In which Erik is a good dad, who'd do anything to bring his brainwashed sixteen year old home. And kill Stryker and the freakish doctor who took advantage of his son along the way.

realisations. by steelatoms, Words: 1550 (COMPLETE) Dark Phoenix sort of Fix-It where I actually give these two their well-deserved storyline.

Running. by NaomiPT, Words: 2079 (COMPLETE) Peter was always running from his problems, granted most of them began with 'Erik' and ended in 'Lehnsherr'. After his encounter with Jean, Peter finds himself avoiding people more, but perhaps all he needs is the person he's been avoiding the most. Or better put: Dadneto! Dadneto! Dadneto!

don't go wasting your emotion by zedille, Words: 2894, (COMPLETE) Peter has a few things he'd like to say. (XMDP crackfic/parody/fixit where Peter shows up in New York to call out Erik & give Jean a pep talk)

Mistakes were made. by Quill18, Words: 1214, (STILL UPDATING) DARK PHOENIX SPOILERS! Kurt and Hank Mcoy bring an injured Pietro to Genosha. Magneto reflects on his son and realizes Pietro is best off staying with him. AU/Slight Fix-It Fic.

The Eagle and the Hummingbird by DigestedHuman, Words: 5851, (COMPLETE) "Let's say they get a really special delivery, not like some dirty feathers or dead worms. From a bird god. That's cool. A really cool bird with rainbow feathers with a colorful basket full of eggs, that would grow up to be another bird, any kind of bird that they couldn't have ever thought of and- maybe a big stinky surprise by a lizard, or a puny little-“ “What has that got to do with anything you want to tell me?” Erik was fully annoyed at this point. Peter was talking to him like a child having the talk about bees and butterflies for the first time, and he didn’t like it. Erik clearly wanted to get over with this quickly .---In which Peter thinks he’s prepared, but Erik is not.

More Family Than You Know by leahx, Words: 11116, (STILL UPDATING) “Hank, where are we going?” “You don’t want to know.” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it was the truth. Had Peter known where Hank was headed before he had boarded the jet, he strongly doubted he would have joined him on this journey. “Why not?” Peter’s alert gaze was fixed on Hank as he waited for his response. Hank sighed, enjoying the last moments of peace. "We're going to Genosha." ...or the fic where Peter, instead of being in a coma for the entire movie, joins Hank on his revenge quest to Genosha, where he's forced to face none other than his father, who may or may not already know the truth about the cheeky speedster.

[nish-s-random-writing]

Growing Up

USUK! Cardverse Fic (1/?)

Summary: Alfred met Arthur in the orphanage. He was determined to make this new, older, grumpy kid his new friend, no matter how much he’s being pushed away. But somehwere, miles away, the king and queen have just been killed and the kingdom needs replacements. 

ff.net link  || Chapter 2>>

There was always a king, a queen, and a jack. A chain of three that bound the kingdom together.

In the Kingdom of Spades whose emblem glowed blue, in its castle with a million rooms, in its limestone towers and gold-lined walls, in its vast ballroom with crystal chandeliers, in its exquisite throne room which radiated wealth, in the chambers of the king and queen, in the royal blue silks of their bed, lay the bodies of the two, who now lay at rest.

Two old men, bound by the Spadian symbols blooming from entwined palms, were now watched over by the young jack as their bodies lay unmoving.

Yao, but a nineteen-year-old boy from the east, having served under the two old monarchs for scarcely three years, now felt overwhelmingly vulnerable. For so long, he’d looked too them for guidance and strength; they were his anchor. He’d felt so small under their gaze—gazes that were so proud and ever comforting. Now, they were gone, and a new king and queen would take their place.

Would they be kind? Wise and old? Would they be young, and innocent, to be brought up in spoiled wealth and empty palace halls?

Whoever they might be, Yao would watch over them. He would fulfill his duty as jack. He would not let something akin to this happen ever again.

“Clean the blood,” he said to the maids. “Take the arrows from their chests,” he said to the servants. “Open the gallows,” Then, with narrowed eyes said to the guards, “And execute the murderers.”

Ooo000oooO

When Alfred heard that a new kid would be moving into their orphanage, he expected somebody exactly like him and his friends. Well, they weren’t all alike. They were unique snowflakes, all of them, like Miss Amelia always said. But they were all around the age of six or seven, some shyer than others, some a bit louder. They were all friends and they all played together. They loved candy and running and joining Miss Amelia’s sing-a-longs on Thursday nights.

But the new kid, Arthur, he was… well, he was a stick in the mud.

Now, Alfred knew that sounded mean, and he would never say that out loud, but truly the new kid was exactly that.

Alfred was the first to see him. He’d gotten a good amount of candy from his seventh birthday just a day before so he saved a bar of chocolate as a gift for the new kid.

He crept down the stairs on the morning of July 6th, and peaked out the corner into the homely lobby.

Miss Amelia was conversing quite bubbly with a woman who was a bit shorter, whose hair reached her knees and eyes covered with glasses. By her legs stood a tall boy, perhaps nine years old, looking tired and grumpy and had the largest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen.

His hair was blond, like his own hair but lighter, and his eyes were green like the forest in the spring. Like gems gleaming quietly in the firelight.

Alfred decided he liked his eyes, and resolved to tell him so.

So when Miss Amelia waved goodbye to the other woman and led her to the door, Alfred bounded from his spot and met with the new kid, who now stood alone in the middle of the lobby.

He looked surprised at first, then questioning at the chocolate bar waved in his face. Then he scowled at Alfred. “What do you want?”

“Hi! My name’s Alfred. I heard you’re the new kid, right? Anyway, it was my birthday two days ago and I got a bunch of candy so-“

“I don’t care about your birthday. What do you want?”

“Oh,” Alfred blinked, taken aback. “I uh, well, I wanted to give you this chocolate bar!”

Arthur regarded him cautiously, a scowl still plastered on his face. Alfred shifted, but he would not be deterred. Maybe the new kid was just grumpy, is all.

“I don’t want your chocolate,” he finally said.

Alfred’s tiny heart must’ve broken. He was only trying to be nice! Why was this kid mean to him?

Miss Amelia came back, then said something about it being nice meeting Arthur.

Arthur? That must be the new kid’s name.

She took the older boy by the hand and led him around the corner, but not before telling Alfred to go upstairs and sleep for it wasn’t even breakfast time.

Alfred felt upset. But then, maybe it wasn’t the new kid’s- Arthur’s fault. Yeah, he must be upset too. Alfred would just have to make him happy. Miss Amelia said he was a hero; he could make anyone happy! And that was just what he was going to do.

Ooo000ooO

“Arthur! Arthur!” Alfred cried, speeding between crowded breakfast tables and sprinting past children to reach the kid with huge eyebrows who sat sulkily under an apple tree, all alone.

“Arthur!” Said Alfred, out of breath, holding up a chocolate bar in triumph. The new kid scowled up at him, but did not move.

“You again? I said I didn’t want your chocolate!”

“But why? Don’t you like chocolate? I saved it especially for you, and I was hoping we could be friends, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. And kids like you will never be my friend. Now sod off and leave me alone!”

When Arthur yelled, Alfred jumped back. Just a bit. He wasn’t afraid.

Arthur was practically growling now, but Alfred did not want to give up. The new kid was definitely not shy, so maybe he was just nervous? Sometimes kids get angry when they’re nervous. It happened a lot of the time, when aspiring parents came around looking for children to adopt.

Or maybe Arthur was just upset that he was now an orphan. Maybe his parents died or something. Alfred would be gentler this time, a bit more soft-spoken though he knew that wasn’t like him at all.

“Hey,” Said Alfred with a gentle smile. “I know this place might be weird and new to you, but it would be really good if you made some friends. We’re all really nice here and we get along together, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who wants to be friends with you. I promise, I’ll be really nice to you, Arthur! So what do you say?”

Alfred held out the chocolate bar again, hoping against all hope. “This chocolate bar’s the really good kind! You don’t have to take it, though. Just say so.” He smiled, but Arthur didn’t.

“I told you to sod off, brat!” Arthur huffed. He stood, taller than Alfred, and sneered down at him. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. But I know your kind and I’m not trusting you one bit. Now leave me alone!”

He stomped off, back into the mess hall, leaving Alfred close to tears with a lonely chocolate bar. Why was Arthur so mean?

Alfred didn’t believe that bullies existed, even though he’s heard of them. Maybe Arthur was a ’bully’ but just needed some love. That must be it. That had to be it. Alfred wouldn’t give up until he made a friend of Arthur. He would be sure of that!

Ooo000oooO

“Alright class! Open your workbooks to page fifteen and answer the questions!” Miss Amelia’s voice was a happy chirp. She bounced over the heads of cross-legged children sitting in the grassy garden, excitedly flipping through their books ready to answer questions about The Princess and the Pea, a legend old as time from the kingdom of Clubs.

“Psst, hey, Arthur,” Alfred called to the tall boy who sat close to him. Well, he sat close to Arthur in the first place, even though he was at the very back of the crowd and Alfred usually liked to sit at the very front.

“Arthur, Arthur!”

“What?” The other hissed. He had his pencil in an iron grip.

Alfred offered an apologetic smile. “Hey, do you know what, um, eks—excuse- no. Um, this word, ex-”

“Exquisite.” Arthur grumbled.

“Wow, you can pronounce that? What does it mean?”

“It means really fancy or really nice or something like that. Now, go back to your work or I’ll tell Miss Amelia.”

“Miss Amelia’s nice,” Alfred said with a thoughtful smile. Arthur didn’t yell at him this time! “Do you like her?” he asked.

“She’s too nice. But everyone likes her, I suppose.” Sighed the elder boy.

Alfred blinked, once again bewildered. “Suppose? What does that mean? Gee, Arthur you sure do know a lot of words! You’re really smart, you know.”

It may or may not have been a blush, but Arthur’s cheeks seemed to redden just a tad. His scowl, however, deepened somehow, yet his words did not match his expression. “T-thank you. It’s just a basic word! Nothing to fret over. And uh, that means ‘I guess’.” The words were strings tumbling out of his mouth. Flustered and timid, he went back to his workbook.    

Hmm, maybe Alfred had somehow broken through this time. He smiled. It would only be a matter of time before he could truly call himself Arthur’s friend. “Hey, Arthur? What does, um, this mean? A-ack, a-quick, uh- aching-”

“Acquire!”

Ooo000oooO

“Wooh, thanks, Art! I would’ve totally failed that thing if it weren’t for you!”

“Shut up, Alfred. And why are you still following me?”

Alfred looked around and noticed that they were out of the orphan mob having lunch in the mess hall. They were outside, watching from a distance; Arthur with his tray of food making for the lone apple tree in the garden.

“Hey! Don’t you want to eat with the others?”

“I don’t like crowds.” Arthur answered simply. “Please, just go back to your friends.”

“Eh, they’ll be fine!” The younger boy waved his hand dismissively. “I want to hang out with you.”

Arthur looked a little less than pleased at his answer, but this time, he didn’t tell him to ‘sod off’.

Progress.

He took his seat under the shade, back to the trunk, and Alfred sat across from him. The breeze was cool and the grass was dry and the roses by the door smelled a million times closer. Alfred hummed pleasantly and began to bite into some bread.

“Yuck.”

“Wha?” Alfred’s head sprang up, filled with food and confusion.

“One bite and you’ve gotten sauce all over yourself! Dear Spades, don’t you have any manners?”

“Manners?” Alfred swallowed with a loud gulp.

Arthur’s frown twisted into an expression of disgust. “Ugh. Wipe that off! You look like a clown drowned in ketchup,” He stated, but the corners of his lips were tilting up, and Alfred knew that despite his reprimanding, he was getting enjoyment out of this.

“Heh, am I a funny clown?” Alfred pushed. “‘Cause then I can make you laugh!”

He smiled, then giggled, then laughed openly, and not a second later Arthur shook his head with what might’ve been a tiny, tiny smile gracing his lips.

“You’re a buffoon, Alfred.” Was all Arthur said before throwing a napkin at his face, the younger boy still laughing with gleeful abandon.

Ooo000oooO

Given three days with a sulky, older kid, Alfred liked to think that he’d begun to warm up to Arthur. He liked his accent, and he’d told him so. Arthur blushed and called him a ‘git’ but refused to explain what that word meant.

He didn’t push Alfred away when they went to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner under the apple tree together and he didn’t scowl at his incessant ramblings. He may have cracked a smile or two, and maybe even thanked him for getting him food.

But what left Alfred confused was how he seemed to enjoy belittling him an awful lot.

He called him a pathetic kid. He called him small, innocent, impatient, and irresponsible every chance he got. Alfred was the gullible kid; childish, and ‘utterly helpless’ on his own, whatever that meant.

But Alfred didn’t see what was wrong with that—he was a kid, after all. Kids were a lot of those things, and he thought, so should Arthur, but then Alfred found that Arthur was different like that. Maybe it was because he was older. Still, he was only nine years old! Then again, Alfred had never really spent any time with a nine year old, as most orphans had already left the orphanage by the time they turned eight years old.

Maybe that’s why Arthur was so stuffy. Maybe he just wanted to be adopted, like the rest of them. Maybe, but Alfred wouldn’t bring it up for now; it was still too risky, and he had yet to gain Arthur’s complete trust.

He would prove that he could be an awesome friend! Really, he would.

Again, after Miss Amelia’s lessons, they made their way through the noisy mess hall. Children laughed and snorted, and threw food all over their tables. Miss Amelia however sat listening to the radio with her small plate of food by the door.

Alfred strained his ears to hear. Sometimes, they’d have action-plays, or even some music! He enjoyed the radio during those times. Unfortunately he found today to be just another silly news broadcast. How boring.

“-ing and Queen of Spades, King Kurt and Queen Ram have…. in their bed…. died hand in han…. Jack Yao of Spa-…”

“Stupid static!” Said Miss Amelia, wrestling with the spindly wires on the metal box.

Alfred left her to follow Arthur.

“Hey, Arthur,” Alfred said, plopping down in front of him as they sat under the apple tree. “Who was that lady that brought you here? Was she someone you knew?”

Arthur hummed in thought, picking at the grass by his foot. He wasn’t a particularly cheery kid, either. “Her name was Miss Alice. She ran the orphanage I used to stay at.” He mumbled, voice low.

“You were from another orphanage?” Alfred’s eyes bugged out wide. “What happened?”

“Well…” Arthur hummed again, deep in thought. He was tossing the idea about in his head—Alfred could see it, in the jittering manner of his hands, his half-lidded eyes, his lips pulling into a thin line. Finally, the boy sighed, and his eyes darted back to meet Alfred’s.

“The place was going bankrupt,” Arthur stated. “As I heard, Miss Alice couldn’t keep all the kids, so she started looking for places to send them to. I was one of the last to go, and Miss Amelia said she could only take one kid because of how many you already have. I suppose Miss Alice was getting quite desperate, you know, to get all the children out before they begin to starve.”

“Oh, well that sucks,” Alfred remarked with a pout. Arthur let slip a small smirk and then Alfred was smiling too.

“Believe me,” said the elder. “This place is way better than that old misery shack.”

“Oh, is it because of me?” Alfred grinned with a wiggle-waggle of his eyebrows.

“Well,” Arthur tilted his head. “It certainly has something to do with the company.”  

Alfred counted this as a victory. If Arthur didn’t yell, and he smiled quite bit, then it counted for something, right?

And then Alfred talked, well into the hour. Arthur would sometimes nod, sometimes stare into the grass like it held the most interesting little questions when in fact, Alfred had the questions. He asked and asked, and Arthur’s answers were scarce. But Alfred loved them. He loved his voice.

He didn’t mind the occasional snide remark, nor the commentary on his apparent ‘stupidity.’ When Arthur smiled, smirked or hummed, when he let out a single chuckle or looked at Alfred with a hint of amusement, he found Arthur to be very much worth it.

“Hey, come on,” Alfred finally said. “Miss Amelia will be roundin’ us up soon, you know. Let’s go.”

Then he stood, and held out his hand. Arthur stared.

It was at that moment Alfred realized he’d never actually touched Arthur before. Not even a single elbow rub. Now, he was offering his hand for Arthur to clutch. Would he even take it? He still seemed to dislike Alfred. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe Arthur wouldn’t want to be friends for his sudden forwardness.  

“Oh, alright you impatient twat,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes.

Alfred might have smiled so wide that it hurt.

And then Arthur took his palm, fingers sliding over Alfred’s in a firm hold, then hauled himself up effortlessly despite the boy’s small stature.

“Well, then.” Arthur blinked. “You’re quite a strong lad for your- ah, ow!”

It was like a bat hitting Alfred’s palm with a firm slap, painful and sudden, and the two boys jolted back. Then a pinprick of needles began to work its way down Alfred’s arm, coating his fingers, his wrist, down to the crook of his elbow. He realized with some horror that the same thing was happening to Arthur.

Blue—blue vines so vibrant they seemed to glow on his skin. Spiky leaves and tiny roses bloomed over Alfred’s forearms, like a living tattoo swirling this way and that, all connected to a single blocked symbol right in the center of his palm—the Spade of his kingdom.

“Alfred! Arthur!” That was Miss Amelia; she was running to them, staring at their arms. She looked torn between whether she was to scream or cry; and then she sobbed, hands over her mouth. “You two… the king and queen.”  

(a/n): BOOM 3,000 words of pure 3 am fire, baby! I already have chapter 2 in the works and boy oh boy is this gonna be a wild ride. I actually have an inkling of where this is going and a plot in my head--it’s a right miracle, my babies! I’m h y p e d for this!!! 

[wendylewis-blog]

05.14.2020 /MamasDay+M-Th

Mamas’ Day

My friend Annie sent me a link this morning. I’m embarrassed that I never knew the actual history of Mothers’ Day.  I’ve made the grave mistake for years, it appears as of this morning, dismissing the event as just another Hallmark holiday created to ramp up national consumerism—out of sincerity or duty. Actually, the bigger story has been omitted from American history. The patriarchy (not YOU, men I love) strikes again! There is real feminist significance attached to this day, which deserves not only our attention—but also, our reverence. 

Teaser. “Mothers’ Day”—with the apostrophe not in the singular spot, but in the plural—actually started in the 1870s, when the sheer enormity of the death caused by the Civil War and the Franco-Prussian War convinced American women that women must take control of politics from the men who had permitted such carnage. Mothers’ Day was not designed to encourage people to be nice to their mothers. It was part of women’s effort to gain power to change modern society.  

Thank you, Heather Cox Richardson. I suggest following her with an easy click at the end of the link and/or follow her on Twitter. She posts daily, is politically savvy and keeps it concise/in-depth/readable. 

After canceling the initial Mothers’ Day plan with H/G/bbE/K because of bad weather, which would have put us inside the house, Kitty ended up in CF anyway to grab items I’d purchased for her at Costco. We spent an hour outside in the chilly grey afternoon by the fire pit after gathering kindling and firewood. She brought me brownies, a herby Italian verde sauce she’d made and a bottle of rye whiskey. H/G/bbE surprised me an hour later with a request via text to come into the yard in five minutes and brought tomato and pepper plants (woot!) for my garden. We all watched Ezra TV in the driveway for an hour. We especially enjoyed the episode featuring him teething on the steering wheel. Creative work, little man! 

After they left, I poured myself a stiff drink and stared out the studio window into early evening. A gentle rain was falling. I let circumstance go, let sadness and angst go. I washed my turgid blackboard down and tried to embrace some peaceful emptiness. I was in bed long before 10pm, sliding willingly into the time warp sleep provides for me lately. It was another bittersweet time with my people—not touching, not sitting at a table together, not able to relax into each other the way we would have a couple months ago. But, they are my family and it is never a diminishing return to be with them. Thank you for driving down to see us even though we had called the gathering off. It was a good Mothers’ Day. I love you all more than I can express!

My dreams that night were flush with all things post-apocalyptic. I was in an office building transformed into a flophouse of endless lonely cubicles, bare mattresses thrown down on synthetic grey carpet, bland tan fabric divider walls too short and porous to provide any privacy, a random empty chair here and there—askew, the bathroom’s flickering florescent light pulsing numbly through its plastic diamond-textured ceiling panel. I felt a disconnected calm inside me—a dead calm as I moved through the building. Everyone I saw in there was a stranger—except for an old bandmate I ended up in bed with— so impossible and surreal. It wasn’t the act, gratefully omitted, but the aftermath scenario instead—exposed, mannequin-esque bodies, no desire, no connection, no tenderness—only his crushing possessiveness after I explained that I had many other lovers even though I knew they didn’t matter either. I turned his noise off undramatically, easily as his panic escalated—the click of a switch—like turning off bad radio. He vanished, seemed to dematerialize on the dark street, leaving only strangers hanging on the corners, propped against buildings, inert yet somehow, guardian—but I felt nothing—nothing at all. Alive but dead inside. 

Mon

I woke up at 4:30AM. Shared dream details with B before he headed off to a fresh pot of coffee and work. I always benefit from his insightful (often hilarious) perspective on my intrepid darknesses, asleep or awake. In a previous issue of Lockdown, I’d queried how the virus and physical distancing might affect our intimacies going forward, the dream standing as the latest metaphor. I laid back down, folding into the quiet of my bed and may have slept awhile longer, still rising before dawn. 

Hours were spent in my garden that morning turning over soil in the crisp air, laying straw tiles separated from the bale in the wheelbarrow after cutting the blue plastic string. I laid them over the mulch that had cooked over the summer of 2019, which I’d lovingly spread a few days prior, prepping the ground for seeds that are en route to me: bush beans, marigolds, arugula, mustard, zinnia and nasturtium seeds from my sister, cilantro and basil from Etsy and those MD tomato and pepper seedlings from H+G. It’s been difficult to find non-GMO seeds around here—the same way it’s still hard to find TP, hand sanitizer, and lately, yeast and flour. I planted cilantro, Mexican tarragon, and basil plants I’d found in Northfield in pots, thyme and mint along garden edge that meets my front stoop. 

The morning felt hushed, orderly—my act of civility engaging with living things that don’t speak but offer company and require only my willingness to share a piece of earth with them. Before the sun reached over the garden, I decided to put in one cherry tomato plant because a tomato cage represented future sustenance. I could imagine the little plant growing tall to fill the cage, yellow flowers appearing before the fruit. It felt romantic and I succumbed. I watered everything, filled the bird feeder and headed off to Redwing to run an errand.

It felt good to drive the winding two-lane roads between overwintered, as yet unturned spring fields, slipping down the bluff lines along the Cannon River, the sun all full of itself. The sky was cerulean blue with tiny cotton ball clusters of clouds. The world beyond my windshield seemed serene and normal—even pastoral—a momentary ruse worth believing against the numbing dripdripdrip of our internment. Returning home, I cleaned the kitchen with a similar communion felt with the garden and highways. FaceTimed with a friend and planned a fire pit hootenanny with him and a few friends soon, walked the dog and sat on the stoop overlooking the yard. We ate soup from B’s mama for dinner (thank you, Helen), brought in the tender herb pots for the night and was ready to sleep before 8:30, a rarity for me. I have to say, it felt like a pretty good day! I count them all, good or not. 

Tues

It dipped just below freezing again last night and I really thought that sweet li’l cherry tomato plant that looked so sturdy yesterday could handle it but, ooof!—it’s droopy, quietly murdered overnight. Another casualty of Corona Times, like a broken promise, a breach of trust. I jerked it out of the ground without any tenderness and tossed it into the yard where it will eventually make love with mower blades and clipped grasses. I was mad at myself, of course. It’s just one tomato plant and I have more perched on the radiator under the south facing window, lined up like fresh recruitments ready for service. Still, each seedling, especially this year, feels like an individual. 

I’m alarmed with the message being conveyed by the White House in recent days—normalizing the loss of life, the US population being at least encouraged and possibly forced back into a virulent world with the expectation that we can save the collapsing economy. The grim reaper is leaning casually on his sickle next to my dead tomato plant, the one I exposed to the elements too soon, the one I planted with careless impunity to serve my immediate desire. 

Please listen to this conversation on Pema Chodron’s book When Things Fall Apart. I ordered it after years of intending to and it’s on the way. I will set it on the bookshelf next to my worn copies of Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet, the Tao te Ching and Dillard’s For the Time Being. Reference books for being alive, human and uncertain. 

JFTR. On Being continues to win me over. Here’s another one if you decide to check it out. She’s really smart and this guest, Ocean Vuong—brilliant. 

Wed 

A beautiful essay penned by Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s son Rodrigo. Thanks, C, for sending—and for the seeds which arrived today. I didn’t plant more today because still freezing overnight. 

My college roommate long friend Toni linked me to this article over the weekend. It was SO fkn HELPFUL. It breaks down how the virus gets spread in a very practical way that you can use every day. This article is exactly why my fam and I reeled ourselves back from having lunch inside my house on Mothers’ Day. Everyone agreed.

Colbert has been killing it, as always and this one—so spot on. Also, Seth Meyers’ latest episode—I mean, please! Trump’s Mothers’ Day bit is truly—uhhnbelievable. Waking up to the absurdity of what is happening right now as it rolls and rolls. I also truly live for these socially distanced performances with Jimmy Fallon and The Roots. They make me joy-cry. 

There are good ppl out there doing their best. We are all trying to do our best, even on our hardest days. Beating the zombies back one by one. Don’t believe that the angry gun-toting ppl are coming for us. They are few. We are many. It’s time to activate.

I’ve noticed lately I’m getting a sense for when Jimmy Fallon or Stephen Colbert, for example, might be having a bad day. They aren’t on stage anymore, they don’t have a responsive audience to pump them up, they are people like we are, broadcasting from their homes. They struggle with life under the pandemic just the way we do. I can feel when they are having to get up for another broadcast from home or lapsing in attention, disengaging or losing the thread with someone they are interviewing. It’s an subtle nuance to notice, and it makes me feel as if I am getting a brief peek into their humanity instead of simply watching them put on the show.

I’ve also been making... um, haha... bread—the kind of bread you have to knead and let rise and punch down and knead and let rise again and so on. I finally got some active dry yeast and made two sandwich loaves a week ago. On my second round yesterday, I pushed my 20+ year old Kitchen Aide stand mixer beyond its limit. Smoke drifting from the housing, dough hook seizing up, goodbye trusty appliance. 

While the dough was going through its rising process, I searched DIY fixes which were plentiful and also searched for parts through the Kitchen Aide website, discovering they—are—not—selling—them. Really? Boo on you, Kitchen Aide. You won’t force me to buy a $400 mixer ever again. Double boo on you, assumed capitalism. Until I’m able to find the parts I need via Etsy or wherever (NOT Amazon ever again), I’ll use the mixer my mother-in-law offered me since she doesn’t use it much and remind myself of the days when I used to knead bread by hand—that ancient task. Again—get it together, Lewis! 

I’ll leave you with this brilliant essay from The Paris Review called Fuck the Bread. The Bread is Over. Thank you, Byrdie, for tagging me on this one. I’m still gonna make the bread one way or another because it saves money but I’ll keep the wise words from the authors mother closest to my heart, which translates loosely into stop holding on so tight to what you think you need.

Thurs

So, I’ve been writing today and editing and writing more and editing more. It’s all about thinking and re-thinking everything with nothing on my plate but time staring up at me. There is a strange blessing that has a chance to bloom inside this isolation. 

Go gently, my friends, family and any strangers who may be stopping by. Thanks for being here with me. I really appreciate you, wherever you are today.

Stay safe. Be strong. Fall apart. Know you aren’t alone. Lovelove. 

[gopunksphilly-blog]

Welcome to the sad, sorrowful truth of Gem's life and Philadelphia's Underworld, 1985...in 'PUNKS' the novel...

“NEXT STOP….ALLEGHENY….ALLEGHENY…NEXT STOP!!” ……the garbled, scratchy early morning voice of the engineer bellows through the gnarled, subway car speaker.  Gem springs up from her comfortable quiescence, nudging me along. “C’mon cutie, our journey continues.” Wrapping my arms comfortably around her svelte waist, I sandwich her between the pitted, rusty subway car stanchion and my body’s full weight.  “Mmmmmm, now this is why I still like to nuzzle,” Gem purrs.

           The incessant brake squealing makes it hard to even think and after a few quick lurches and jerks occur before our car comes to rest at the stations platform, the doors barely release, allowing for our escape before hurriedly making our way through the turnstiles.  It becomes an obstacle course navigating the steps again with an overabundance of exhausted souls using them as beds and a gauntlet of spent hypodermics to circumvent.  “Watch out for those needles Robbs, they seem to be everywhere,” Gem cautiously whispers.

A very young punk with golden, warrior spikes lies in a comatose state at the top of the graffiti strewn vestibule.  Newspapers, empty coffee cups, and food wrappers have piled up around him but he’s too gone to notice.  The smell of spray paint lingers and there are traces of silver around his nostrils and mouth.  He’s been huffing and from the looks of the two shiners under his eyes, someone decked him pretty hard before the inhalants took him out even further.  

           “Is he even making any sounds, Robbs?”  Gem inquires sheepishly before I get close enough to hear his short, labored breaths.  “He’s alive babe, but he’s hurtin’ pretty badly.”  With Gem’s help, I manage to lug him up the steps and out into the crisp, autumn air.  He’s still pretty shot in the ass to help very much but at least he’s not lying in a puddle of piss anymore.  Our young junkie is a microcosm of the bigger picture plaguing the Kensington and Allegheny section of Philadelphia.  Once a large, blue collar manufacturing region, the only industries growing amongst the dilapidated factories and tattered, brick rowhomes were drugs and prostitution.  Surveying the landscape in front of us was a harrowing experience, to say the least.  On every corner, in every alley, down every sidewalk were despondency, destruction and hopelessness.  The fall foliage, blue skies and regal sunlight from above can do nothing to liven up the misery on display here.

            Even at this early hour of Saturday morning, the drug and skin trade was in full effect further away from Broad and West Allegheny.  Dealers and pimps peddle their wares to the suburban “Masters of the Universe,” who travel far away from their lush lawns, pedigreed wives or girlfriends residing in gated communities, to sample the pleasures of pure decadence behind the doors of filth ridden tenements overrun by rats and littered with soiled cots stained by numerous body fluids.

            In the hazy lust for the pleasures of the flesh and the warping of your mind, cleanliness and decorum seem to fall easily by the wayside in the lives of the so-called powerful and entitled, although the preppie bastards in their ‘Bimmers’, Audi’s and Benz’s are arrogant enough to think they hold some semblance of clout here until the bullets start to fly, or when the Brody’s finally decide to raid the Avenue, thus reducing the trust fund, jetsetters to literally wail like infants for forgiveness in their presence.  In the rare instances that either happen, it’s an entertaining, joyous sight to behold watching the upper crust grovel to whom they on any other day deem as the bottom feeders of society.

           Extracting the thermos of coffee from my backpack, I get a couple of muffins out of the pouch, handing one of them to Gem as we both lean on a freshly stripped, new, red Cadillac Eldorado convertible that was torched and left in a overgrown, debris filled lot to die its lonely death amongst the ruins of capitalism gone awry.  Gem shakes her head, tossing her hair from side to side, hoists the thermos cup and offers a toast.  “Welcome to the American underworld, baby boy, in its entire rancid, horrific splendor. You’re witnessing the fall of a modern day Roman Empire and punks like us have the soundtrack for its destruction.”

           Taking residence on the Cadillac’s torn up, burnt frame; I try to absorb the amassing, broad daylight chaos which reminds me so much of the stories written about the South Bronx when I was still in New York. “Gem, is this where your family lived before you moved up by the Yamaguchi’s?”

           “This is it, Robbs, the junkie proletariats’ Rodeo Drive. Take a walk with me.  It’s a number of blocks to East Allegheny, the alphabet blocks and the El and yes, it’s quite depressing but it’ll give you a glimpse of how your girl grew up and where my evil father earned his street reputation.”  A beater car full of little shit punks rolls by blaring The Clash’s, ‘Working for the Clampdown,” as they wail on the horn and wave to Gem.  It’s another place where I quickly find out in our travels that the presence of Gemma Stinson still holds a mighty amount of sway.  

            Sharing another muffin, I ask Gem about how they finally got Lena away from the total street life existence.  “Icy got really shook up when Trix murdered Stace.  Hell, how many young girls do you know who’ve watched three of their girlfriends die within a year or so of one another?”

           “Not too many, love.”

           “Mister Yamaguchi found her a good paying job at the Budd Company and in return, she promised him that she’d at least finish high school to earn her diploma.  Listen Robbs, ‘Icy’ still has a lot of her street ways, as do I.  

           I’ve tried to take mine down a notch but it’s not always that easy because the lure of the street is very tempting……it can be very hard to turn away from.

           You witnessed how fast Lena can become a handful of trouble for someone by the way she acted in Fairmount just recently. She would’ve torn those skinheads to shreds if they’d laid a hand on you and even Yuka got a taste of what street life was like by hanging around with us in high school.  Her fists are quick, Robbs.  I’ve seen her deck a few people really hard.

           Even you have a street brawler mentality, mixed in with some pretty lightning quick fist work.  It’s just wicked to watch you have a go at people, but admittedly I’m much happier when we don’t have to fight anyone.”

           “No argument there, Gem.  Peaceful is much better but it’s nice to know we won’t take any wankers shit either.”

           We travel further through the chaos and as dangerous as this part of town can be, there is a weird sense of security being around Gem here.  There’s an odd acquiescence taking place in the bowels of Allegheny.  Wherever Gem seems to travel here this morning, there is almost deference to royalty approaching and she becomes more annoyed by the attention.  “They know who I am, Robbs.  No harm will probably ever come to me up here because of who my asshole father was. Even in fuckin’ death, he holds a level of fear over people.

           Only after he was killed did people in the K & A begin to hear the animal that he was at home.  They already knew the brutal enforcer he was on the street….the stone cold killer who could charm you with his handsome smile, right before he beat you within an inch of your life with his iron fists, just because you owed money to the Italian or Irish mobsters who retained his services.  

Even my mother was feared by most when she was younger and not all strung out. If my father ever did get himself caught up in shit from time to time, she’d think nothing of putting a gun to your neck or in your mouth.  It really was a demented way to live and makes you wonder why in the hell they’d ever bring a child into this kind of world.”  

Another group of middle age roughs step aside when Gem and I approach, bowing their heads either out of a shallow respect or the trepidation that still apparently exists when a Stinson travels through these broken streets filled with one residence more neglected than the other.  She smiles ever so slightly but grunts mildly in disgust.  “God, it’s so fucking humiliating that the bastard still holds that kind of sway down here.”

Remaining silent, I can’t imagine the burden it must be for Gemma to return to these badlands of pure hell.  Whereas she is revered, loved, respected and feared ONLY by those who are up to no good in our punk enclave of South Street and its environs, you can bear witness to the pain it causes her to see the denizens of her old place of birth still reacting this way.  “Let’s backtrack and pick up the pace, Robbs,” she says as the SEPTA Elevated roars above us while some street urchins add their tags to the volumes already existing on the steel girders below.              Retracing our steps through the human and bricks and mortar rubble that have become North Philadelphia we eventually pass the entrance for the Broad Street Line.  “We’ll be back soon enough to take the subway, Robbs but there’s one more place I need to see before I depart this sorrowful landscape.  Hang tight, we’re almost where I want to take you,” she sighs heavily, lamentably.

           Turning onto North 15th Street, Gem slows the pace down to a crawl, eventually pointing across the street to a derelict row house, covered by overgrown shrubs, thick, weed trees and lathered with crude graffiti. The faded words “DEMON” and “RAPIST” are splattered across the splintered, wooden front door.  Gem asks me for a Red; I comply quickly, blazing it up before she takes a long drag and sighs heavily.  “There it is, Robbs…3250, North 15th…..where my life of hell with Allan and Gabriella Stinson began.”

           “Gem, you really don’t have to do…..” but Gem admonishes me with a mild rebuke.  “Yes, I do have to face my demons, Robbs. That’s why I needed you here by my side….the only person who can help me do this.”

Calmly, I take hold of her hand, lifting it towards my lips.  “I’m here for you, no matter what, Gem.”  

           “This is where Allan Stinson, a machinist by trade, coming from the hard working stock of German, Dutch, Scotch, Irish and the Cherokee tribe brought his bride, Gabriella, a tall, slender, lovely woman of Italian, French, Icelandic and Russian lineage to live and die; and on the in between years, they decided to copulate and bring an unwanted little girl into their boozer, junkie world.

            I can’t find it in my heart to forgive them for what they did to me since they seldom tried to love me, even when times weren’t so bad for them.  They were too worried about being stone cold junkies or drunks.  My father was too worried about being the enforcer who’d crush skulls in for non-payments on ‘debts’.  They were too worried about partying their asses off and leaving their daughter to fend for herself.  They laughed when I was beaten, they laughed when I was a young girl and they spiked my orange juice with vodka to get me drunk…. The list of their evil goes on and on, Robbs.”

           A stiff breeze suddenly whisks through the street, sending debris swirling into the air like dry, fallen, autumn leaves.  Gem swings her hair to and fro while tenaciously approaching the house through increasingly ferocious, heavy winds, before suddenly stopping, balling up her fists so violently that she doesn’t even notice one of her talon-like nails has dug into her palm, sending slow drips of blood to the pavement.  The winds die for a moment but pick up stronger than before, a minute or so later and the superlative beauty of the sun has increasingly disappeared, only to be replaced by menacing, gray clouds, making the fetid landscape of this part of town even more ominous.

           Gem’s eyes darken in a way that I’ve never seen before, as if summoning up forces from above to do her bidding against this place of evil.  “Hold my hand, Robbs…no matter what I say, don’t stop holding my hand.”

           My grip on her is viselike.  “I’m not going anywhere, so say what you have to, Gem,’ who glares at the house again while the wind whips her auburn hair in all directions, making it look flame-like.  A wicked smile crosses her face and she emits a low growl.  “You know that I’m back again, after all this time, don’t you, Al and Gaby?  Did you think you could keep me away forever?  Did you think people wouldn’t know what you two assholes did to me?

           I see your shithole of depravity got tagged for the whole neighborhood to see.  Icy and Stace said they were gonna’ do it, and I’m glad they did.  They should have included MURDERERS, because you broke Uncle Ronnie’s spirit, hastening his painful death and God knows how many people you sent to their untimely deaths by your other monstrous actions.”

The winds begin driving against us even harder but Gem remains undeterred, letting loose a surge of venom against the howling gusts. “You two pieces of shit can send all these torrents of wind at me, trying to drown out my voice but I WILL say what I have to!  I HATE YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME….FOR WHAT YOU LET BE DONE TO ME BY OTHERS…ALL I WANTED WAS LOVE….ALL THAT ANY LITTLE GIRL WANTS FROM HER MOM AND DAD!!!

           She starts to whimper as tears hit the ground but the ferocity of Gem returns in spades.  “YOU both hurt me beyond belief but now I will be strong in your presence, because this house of hell represents the two of you!!  DEAD and BURIED ….it’s where you belong so you can’t hurt anyone else! I just want you to know that I’ve found LOVE and HE’S WITH ME RIGHT NOW…he’s brought a smile to my face ….and a song to my heart….AND BECAUSE OF HIM…YOU WILL NEVER HURT ME AGAIN!!!!

           NEVER!!!!   NEVER!!! Never….never….” Her grip lightens up, as light sobs have joined Gem’s fury.  Picking up a loose brick from the ground, it’s heaved through the only glass pane left on the derelict structure.   “FUCK YOU…GABY AND AL!!!!  NOW, YOU’RE TRULY DEAD TO ME!!” she bellows as the glass explodes, sending shards flying violently in all directions.   The wind still whips feverishly around us while Gem pulls me closer; with tears falling like rain, she locks stares with me.  “I…. love you so much, Robbs.  Kiss me….just kiss me…I am madly in love with you….kiss me and tell me it will all be all right…”

An excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!) upcoming, fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’, Chapter 18, ‘The Underworld’.....

“What are we gonna’ do now?”.....The Clash, ‘Working for the Clampdown’

huffing....

Broad Street and Allegheny Avenue, coming up from the Broad Street Line...

Trainspotting...could’ve been shot in Kensington and Allegheny at any time in the past thirty years....

The needle and the damage done....

Gemma ‘Swan’ Stinson’s old stomping grounds....

North 15th and Allegheny....where the rough and tumble, sorrowful childhood existence of Gemma began....

Allegheny Avenue, Philadelphia....Gemma’s old neighborhood of tough times and sorrows...Sadly,not much has changed in thirty years....

[readingontheedge]

Title: Carbon Replacements

Author: Reily Garrett

Genre: Romantic Thriller

Publication Date: September 9th, 2018

Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR 

Blurb: The killer held a knife to her throat—the ultimate decision locked within a dark and deviant gaze.

 Determined and dedicated, forensic pathologist Remie Tallin validates her talent by detailing a victim’s last moments of life. Returning to Portland signified her new beginning where a psychopathic stalker designates her a pawn in a seductive game of intrigue.

 The lines between predator and prey blur in hunting a medical genius bent on resetting the laws of nature. Evidence has never failed to point Remie in the right direction, yet conflicting discoveries mock the legal system and defy the scientific arena for clarification.

 Detective McAllister’s return from leave includes a new assignment along with a partner well versed in subtle sarcasm and innuendos. Discovering the new medical examiner unconscious at the scene of a grisly murder forces him to unite with his brothers against a world of chaos where reality shifts according to a psychopath’s desire.

 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40776871-carbon-replacements 

Author Bio:

Reily is a West Coast girl transplanted to the opposite shore. When she’s not working with her dogs, you can find her curled up with a book or writing her next story. Past employment as an ICU nurse, private investigator, and work in the military police has given her countless experiences in a host of different environments to add a real world feel to her fiction.

 Over time, and several careers, many incidents have flavored the plots of her stories. Man’s cruelty and ingenuity for torment and torture is boundless, not contained by an infinite imagination. Witnessing the after-effects of a teenager mugged at knifepoint for a pair of tennis shoes, or an elderly woman stabbed repeatedly with a screwdriver for no apparent reason, left an indelible impression that will forever haunt her subconscious. In counterpoint, she has observed a woman stop her vehicle in severe, snowy weather to offer her own winter coat to a stranger, a teenager wearing a threadbare hoodie. Life’s diversities are endless.

 Though her kids are her life, writing is Reily’s life after. The one enjoyed after the kids are in bed or after they’re in school and the house is quiet. This is the time she kicks back with laptop and lapdog to give her imagination free rein.

 In reading, take pleasure in a mental pause as you root for your favorite hero/heroine and bask in their accomplishments, then share your opinions of them over a coffee with your best friend (even if he’s four-legged). Life is short. Cherish your time.

 Author Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2GFyOAn

website: http://www.reilygarrett.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/reilygarrett/

Reily blog  http://bit.ly/22HIwrk

Twitter: https://twitter.com/reily_garrett

Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2oGbKeC

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/11126619.Reily_Garrett

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/reily-garrett

 Buy Link:

Digital Velocity: https://amzn.to/2wwz8yO

Bound by Shadows: https://amzn.to/2C3PiEV

Inconclusive Evidence: https://amzn.to/2PSOHsA

Carbon Replacements: https://amzn.to/2NDUgJQ

Excerpt:

“Wendy, I’m t-tellin’ you, the man’s a serial killer. He has the body of a Greek God, but his mind is full of squirming maggots.” Gena stifled a sob with a shaking hand, her body wedging back against the driver’s door after twisting to face her roommate beside her. “He’s more depraved than any fucker we’ve ever crossed, and he’s going to find me.” Aftereffects of the adrenaline rush magnified tremors in her fingers and lips while increasingly shallow breaths expelled carbon dioxide faster than her body could produce it. No doubt, the by-products of dizziness, cramps, and weakness crept into her awareness. Fear-sweat on her forehead glistened from distant flashes of lightning.

“Hey, slow down. Take a deep breath. You’re new to this and easily spooked. Just because men are pigs doesn’t mean they’re murderers. Take the money he gave you and don’t see him again. Change your number. Lay low for a bit.” Wendy startled with the repetitive crash of thunder reverberating in the Honda’s dark and eerie confines. “Can I at least see what’s got your panties in a twist?” She reached for the black cloth covering her friend’s evidence only to be pushed away.

“Oh God, Wendy. I shouldn’t have dragged you and Remie out here tonight. The creep knows I’m a sophomore, but I didn’t tell him which college. I don’t want him to find either of you.”

“Shit, Gena. I may be a student, but I can take care of myself.” A note of uncertainty snaked through Wendy’s voice.

From the back seat, Remie contemplated the wind’s increasing fury, so like her own, sweeping, all encompassing, erratic. Parked along a deserted back road hours before dawn didn’t equate to a tranquil setting when listening to accusations of murder. I should’ve brought my dog. Buckeye would’ve waited in the SUV. She’d just moved back to Portland and lacked the normal discreet channels of investigation derived from time-developed working relationships. Not that I’ve figured out what the problem is yet.

Small raindrops pattering the passenger window progressed to a heavy deluge that silvered with the dashboard’s ambient light. It was a perfect night to snuggle under a blanket with a cup of cocoa and a scary book. Living the scenario brought the rancid taste of bile scalding Remie’s throat.

“Girls, you know I’m a doctor, not a cop, right? What happened to toning life down to live like normal human beings? No more adrenaline junkie. Gena, it’s not like you need the money for tuition. Jesus, if your parents knew what you were doing for thrills, it would kill them both.” Years of schooling in forensic pathology aged Remie decades in the eyes of college girls too naïve to avoid such foolish and dangerous behavior. More than ten years difference thrust her into the role of adopted mentor to the neighborhood wild child with crazy tattooed on her brain.

“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Remie. You spent a night in the hospital last week after wrecking your car. You don’t need this.” Unspoken recriminations gathered around Gena like a smoldering blanket, the flameless combustion withering her resolve.

“I’m fine. The few scrapes and bruises have already healed.”

“I figured a few tricks for kicks, no harm. It’s not like I don’t use condoms, and we’ve only done it a couple times.”

“The harm is that there are real nutjobs out there. Deranged people you do not want to meet. Trust me. I see the results of their work every day during necropsies. It’s what I do… remember?” Visions of Gena lying on a cold slab while an ME separated the upper part of her cranium to create a removable skullcap strengthened Remie’s determination to see the situation resolved.

“Roomie, what makes you think he was a killer? Did he threaten you? Did you see a gun?” Wendy laid a calming hand on her roommate’s arm. “Hell, everybody has guns these days. I’ve got a .357 stashed in my bedside table. Let some psycho come to my dorm looking for easy targets—he’ll get a hollow-point surprise.”

Gena, the cute little kid from the farm next door with wide hazel eyes and curly brown hair had grown up with a nose for trouble, yet usually lacked affiliation with high drama. With the start of the spring semester, the risky escapades should’ve ceased.

“While he was in the can, I picked the lock on his briefcase, thinking he was some kind of lawyer or something.” If not for the frightened gaze bouncing between the proof clenched in her fingers and the nebulous woods on either side of the lonely road, Gena could’ve been any college student recounting a dicey hazing ritual. The tone and pitch of her voice increased when she unfolded the fabric covering her stolen treasure. “I saw syringes full of something, along with empty containers, and these. I also found alcohol swabs and betadine solution. Who carries betadine in a briefcase?”

“You stole from a John? Are you crazy?” Wendy snatched the wooden box with a huff and a groan.

Detailing around the container’s top edge included an intricate inlay bearing a darker grain. Similar designs decorated urns. “You better hope we can return them before he notices they’re gone. Where did you hook up?”

Wendy slid the lid back on the six-by-six inch square. The smooth glide on concealed grooves further testament to the boosted prize’s value.

Shadows shielded the contents from Remie’s view.

Wendy’s high-pitched scream rendered the burgeoning storm to white noise, instinctual awareness hurling the box’s contents against the windshield. Their arc proved too fast to visually track. Two pink lumps, small and irregularly shaped, formed the basis for a new nightmare.

The rattle and thump of the container ended when it landed perched on the steering wheel, upside down.

“Fuck! What the hell are those?” First medical school, then forensic pathology, enlightened Remie to evil’s worst-case scenarios. Her mom once said that after indoctrination, nothing new would appear under the sun. Whoever created this mayhem transcended anything evolved from humanity’s convoluted gene pool.

A sudden gust of wind and rain blew in as the driver’s door flew open. Gena lurched forward and hunched away from the torrent of slashing storm riding the invading cool blast. Her descent into hell included a flash of silver and guttural laugh.

[enkelimagnus]

Yiddish

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2385 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

Bucky takes a stroll through Prospect Park and meets a nice old lady.

TW: this contains mentions of parental deaths, cemeteries, and trauma

Read on AO3

Part 11 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

It’s incredibly easy for someone like Bucky to get his hands on slightly-left-of-legal equipment, even with his lack of internet skills. It shouldn’t be. He’s supposed to be pardoned and on a tight leash, he’s supposed to be a regular citizen.

However, he’s spent too much of his life in the shadiest corners of the world not to know his way around them.

He’s retained things from in between the wipings, turns of phrases and intimidation tactics. There is a hidden database of knowledge somewhere in his skull, that takes him through the motions with little to no conscious decision from him. That’s how he always knew how to drive a car, pilot a quinjet, assemble and disassemble a gun, no matter how long he spent in cryo or how many times they wiped him.

The human brain is a tricky little thing, and it doesn’t bow easily to the likes of Hydra, no matter how hard they try.

It’s with unsurprising ease that he ends up acquiring a fun little piece of tech that allows him to hijack cars. His plan is slowly coming together in his head. He’s not even spending too much time thinking of it, the strategic muscle works without much input from him. He’s good at this. Too good.

He gathered intel on the senator he remembered: Senator Lisa Atwood, 56, living in Lenox Hill, Manhattan, and regularly meeting shady individuals in various New York parking lots. It will take more money and work to get an exact date for a meeting, but Bucky’s nothing if perseverant.

It’s too easy. He wishes desperately it was harder for him to hit someone this high on the pecking order. At the same time, he’s quite glad he doesn’t have to do too much intensive work, that the name will be crossed off with barely more work than an accountant’s would.

He knows he’s good. Else, he’d think he was being trapped.

But no one knows about his list of amends except from the government through Dr Raynor, and she has a list of rules for him to follow in this case. Those rules are his orders for the endless mission he’s been given: repair some of the harm he’s done.

Sometimes, it feels like his leash has passed hands from Hydra to the United States government. They’re the ones giving him missions now, they’re the ones punishing him when he misbehaves, and some days, Dr Raynor feels like a breathing version of the chair. Taking his mind apart.

The path back to his house takes him through Prospect Park. It’s not his first time walking through that place, but he always has the same thoughts. It has changed, somewhat.

Gardens have changed, the carousel was rebuilt, Music Island doesn’t look the same at all. Some trees are probably the same. Trees last for longer than people, if left to their own devices long enough. He wouldn’t be able to recognize the trees though. There was one where he carved a “B + E” when he was dating that girl from shul, Esti. It’s probably faded now. And he doesn’t want to search for it. Esti’s probably dead.

The zoo has changed too, but it’s still there. Bucky remembers its opening, in 1935. He was barely 18. He and Steve had visited it as often as they could at first, when Steve got time off school and Bucky off the factory, and the money for it. He even took his sisters. There were sketches of the animals all over Steve’s notebooks, his fingers would be stained with charcoal.

There’s sun today, the cold sun of February. It’s still cold, but at least it isn’t gloomy. Prospect Park, like a lot of places in Brooklyn, feels gloomy to him when he sees them through the haze of memory.

A lot of the trees are bare, and so are the paths. A few joggers pass through the vegetation, their breaths clouding the air. In summer, it will probably be packed, with people laying on towels or jackets on the grass, sunbathing, enjoying the small pleasures of life. Bucky’s sure that hasn’t changed. For now, the vast expanses of grass surrounded by walls of trees only serve to trap the wind.

He walks past an empty bench in a patch of sunlight, somewhat sheltered from the wind.

He usually never stops and lingers. He prefers to get home quickly, hide away there. When he lingers, he can be seen, he can be recognized. There is a tactical disadvantage in lingering and he’s been trained to always have the advantage.

The bench is clean of graffiti and marks, except for a little plaque. Someone bought the bench for a family member or a friend’s memory, he guesses. Is there a bench somewhere with his name on it? He doubts it. The practice didn’t exist back in his day.

His name is carved on war memorials to the fallen heroes of the country. Maybe there was a plaque at his old shul, next to the one from the Great War. That’s the extent of the memorials. That and an empty grave at Washington Cemetery, right next to his ma’s, and his da’s. He’s seen it.

The tombstone is smooth but old. He doubts anyone has really cared for it in the last 6 years, since his name was broadcasted along with the Winter Soldier.

James Buchanan Barnes, 1917 - 1945 Died in Service of his Country and his Family

It’s still cold as he sits down on the empty bench and starts watching the people pass. It’s a strange, almost lonely sort of pastime, and he wishes he had a book to go with it. He should look into getting some books. He doesn’t own many.

The last ones he really owned were the six-pence paperbacks they sent them during the war, crates of books along with rations and cigarettes. He’d read so many things over his year and half in combat. From Oliver Twist to Plato, in various tents all over Europe, sometimes reading out loud to an exhausted Steve.

A Tree Grows In Brooklyn had been one of his favorites, and he wasn’t the only one who loved it. They’d trade anything to get a copy of it, back in the day. They passed it around until it was unreadable. It made life easier in wartime. To him, it spoke of home. He wasn’t from Williamsburg, but he knew enough people who were.

He knew the strength and tenacity of these people, because they were his people. He knew people whose fathers died from pneumonia because they drank too much, who struggled to bury their loved ones, who struggled finding work, who struggled helping their families pursue their passions.

Hell, he’d been one of these people, working himself into exhaustion every day so Steve could go to art school, because the kid was talented and it wasn’t like he could find any other job easily, with those skinny arms and weak lungs. Bucky had given everything to his family back in the day, and Steve was family. And he’d do it again.

He’d work himself to the bone for his people. If he still had people.

He should really get some books in his place, real ones. Maybe even hardcover ones like the ones in his parents’ house back in the day, that they saved carefully to buy. Books were important.

He was good at reading and writing when he was younger. He knew how to read both English and Hebrew by the time he was 13, and how to write them as well. Math was a little harder for him than words were, but he took to it too. His mind was fast. He was smart. Hydra took care of that.

He doesn’t feel as smart anymore.

People pass by and don’t really look at him, the strange man staring into the void, only the clouds of breath escaping his lips as a sign that he was actually breathing and not a statue.

Suddenly, there’s motion on his left side. He turns his head, wanting whoever is there to be in his full line of sight.

It’s an older woman, bundled up in thick clothes with a thick knitted hat on her head.

“May I sit?” she asks in a thickly accented voice and he nods, shifting a little to make sure he isn’t crowding her. There’s more than enough space on the bench anyway.

They sit in silence for some time. Bucky’s about to go when the woman starts talking.

“It is worth shleping around here, Mah Rabu,” she says quietly, and he’s unsure she’s talking to him. But it’s a mix of English, Yiddish and Hebrew that he’s intimately familiar with. His parents also added Romanian into the mix, but… it’s familiar.

“It’s pretty, yeah,” Bucky replies. “Though I prefer it in spring.”

The old lady nods, looking around. She falls silent again, but he doesn’t move.

They stay like this for a few minutes before she makes another comment, in the same mix of languages. They start a strange sort of conversation like this. The weather is the main topic. How much the park has changed too. He bites back all the remarks about the things he remembers.

He steals glances at her from time to time. She’s probably in her 80s, at least. Jewish, too. A local. She’s obviously uncomfortable talking fully in English, and he wishes he remembered enough Yiddish to make her more comfortable.

He tries, but… he can’t remember a lot. Just greetings and common words. He can understand her, he just can’t reply to anything that’s too… complex. It feels like he’s just starting to learn the language, instead of it being one of his mother tongues.

Hydra didn’t steal the language from him the way they stole most things, but you don’t go eighty years without practicing and retain all you knew.

“You know,” the lady says after a moment, reaching to put her hand on Bucky’s left arm. “You look a lot like… a kid I knew when I was growing up. James…. Jacob ben Gershom, Vina Barnes’ son. Always running around with that goyische friend of his… Steven?”

Bucky freezes at that.

He doesn’t want to be remembered by nice old ladies who speak Yiddish. He doesn’t want her to know who she is, and realize what it means. He doesn’t want her to take her hand from his left arm when she realizes it’s the prosthetic. That he’s Him . The Winter Soldier, the murderer, the weapon, the horror. The one they whisper about. He’s pretty sure there are children being raised with the Winter Soldier as their boogeyman, the one their parents threaten to call when they don’t eat their greens.

He can’t breathe, he can’t even look at her.

He tries to remember the faces of all the kids around his neighborhood growing up, the kids that would know not just his name, but his Hebrew name. A name he had almost entirely forgotten until right when this woman said it.

“Vi heystu?” What’s your name? He asks. There’s enough German in the Yiddish for his tongue not to struggle too much on it.

“Ikh heys Miriam bat Eliya,” the woman replies. That doesn’t help him much. There were a lot of girls called Miriam back in the day. It’s a popular name amongst Jews. A very pretty one, too.

“A sheyn nomen far a sheyn meydl.” A pretty name for a pretty girl. He’s not forgotten everything it seems.

Miriam has a light, cute laugh that makes her face light up. “Lobbus,” rascal , she calls him, but he just chuckles, the fear melting out of him. He’s managed to take her attention away from the kid he used to be.

They keep a small back and forth, Bucky switching back to English often, but… this is nice. She’s younger than him, he learns, by about 13 years. She was a kid when he was a teenager, lived around the block from Bucky’s home. He passed in front of her house every day going to work.

She doesn’t seem to realize that he’s more than her childhood acquaintance’s lookalike, and he’s incredibly thankful for that.

He wouldn’t know where to start to explain who and what he is now. She knew him as the Barnes son, the hard-working, always-smiling kid. She knew him as the guy who finished school top of his class, who won boxing championships and worked endless hours at the clothing factory making girls’ dresses, and a few nights at the docks, and always made sure there was meat on the shabbos table, even if he had to do extra hours helping the butcher for it.

James Buchanan Barnes was another man entirely, with slicked back hair and an easy smile no matter how tired he was.

The guy he is now… He doesn’t really smile anymore, and he wears his exhaustion on his face and on his shoulders. He’s weighed down. He’s lost everyone he used to care for. He doesn’t have anyone to go to the ends of the earth for anymore. And he’s not willing to go that far for himself.

“Un vi heystu?”

The question takes him aback. He was sure she wouldn’t ask, because she knew. She’s looking at him now with dark intelligent eyes, and there’s no doubt in his mind that if she knows, she’s not going to be the one to tell it. She’s letting him choose the name he gives to her, and that’s the biggest gift anyone has given him in a long time.

“Jacob,” he replies. “But only to you.”

[itcowcer]

Elagabalus

The following was sent to me anonymously after my original posting about PP on r/NoSleep. Strangely enough that original post was taken down shortly thereafter. For those of you that missed that posting I will include a link at the end of this story. I do not believe it is necessary to read this to understand the horror of this content. However, for those interested it may provide some context.

What I have here appears to be an excerpt from a yet unfinished, yet unpublished book by an independent author named Paul Holland. Holland went quiet some time ago and many believed this was because of some kind of self-imposed seclusion done in order to finish his latest work. This speculation was not voiced by the author’s small –time publisher Mark Gergich, who was very vocal in his belief that Holland had been abducted and was in mortal danger. Gergich was not able to tell officials the last known location of Holland, however he did direct detectives to the website of The Pumpkin Patch. The Pumpkin Patch is a cultish arts movement allegedly responsible for the ritual murders Holland was investigating. The detectives hit a wall when they found that the site was no longer available (Apparently previous actions had been made to take down the site when a buyer discovered that the artwork he purchased was painted using human blood and refuse.) As of now there are no leads on Paul Holland, although I have heard rumors that the PP website still exists on the Dark Web. If this is the case, anyone with the capabilities to reach this site will likely find more answers than I am capable. Good luck.

 Elagabalus

Paul Holland

 Chapter VI

 I had managed to find the dark place described in the journals. It was apparent that I was not looking hard enough during my first few perusals of Kathryn’s entries, because all of the clues were there. My greatest mistake was in assuming that the only important sections were those pertaining to her diabolical club. I made a point to shy away from entries that were too personal in some kind of late respect for the deceased girl. In doing so, I missed some of the more important details leading to her death; in particular the location of “The Studio.”

On August 14th, Kathryn described a penultimate meeting with her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend Brian. It was a pleasant day by the James River, but despite this, Kathryn had felt a great amount of discomfort with the meeting. It had been a few months since the two had been separated by a summer intersession. Kathryn had returned to her family home in southern Virginia, whereas Brian remained on campus. Though Kathryn tried to continue communication with the man that she loved, she found it more and more difficult to keep his attention as the weeks wore on. Eventually the two drifted apart. Even when she returned, she felt immense difficulty when re-establishing communication with the boy she had once felt so free and open with.

As Kathryn waited on a park bench overlooking the rambling rapids of the James, she could feel a heavy, sinking discomfort in her stomach. She did not know what would become of this meeting. She did not know whether the boy felt the same way about her, as he did before, or even if she still felt that way. As the minutes wore on, and he finally appeared, she could tell that everything had changed. He was not the same Brian. Although he spoke warmly to her she could tell his mind was adrift somewhere else. Even so, she decided to stick with him through the rest of the evening, under the presumption that trying was the least she could do considering all they had been through together.

The night wore on and though the evening was pleasant, the spark had been gone between the two. Both were very aware of this as they walked back to the place where her bike was chained, near the old civil war exhibit by the river. She fumbled the lock of her bike, her mind reeling over the thought that their once electric relationship would end without a word, aside from the possible wave good bye as she rode her bicycle out into the night. She thought that Brian felt this as well, which is how she rationalized his next, eccentric actions. He begged her to spend some more time with him, coaxed her to follow him to some dark place by the riverside, and convinced her that he had something to show her.

Though Brian had been acting strangely the entire day, Kathryn still hoped that there was some way they could remedy the situation and go back to the brilliant winter and spring they had shared together. She followed him to a dark place beneath a foot bridge. She had been here numerous times with her friends when they adventured to the small island situated in the middle of the James. Although she had been here often, she was surprised when Brian pushed aside some corrugated metal revealing a dark, yawning tunnel leading downward.

Brian looked at her desperately and petitioned that they both explore the creepy forgotten place together, implying that it was something they would have done before. Kathryn took one look at the tunnel and, seeing only darkness, decided she would have none of it. She left him there then, riding up to the city above while he descended alone into the tunnel. The two would officially break-up a few days later through a slew of vicious text messages, and Kathryn would push the memory of the evening off as much as she could.

That would be until a few weeks later, when Kathryn and her friends were spending a day by the river in a bid to make the most of the now dwindling summer heat. This day had been going much smoother for the girl, but she had been trying desperately to close the wounds she had felt from her breakup. She had been trying her best to show her friends she was happy. She laughed at all of their jokes, and even tried flirting with some of the boys, at the suggestion of Trisha. This seemed to work as she was beginning to convince herself that she was getting over it all. These attempts were all but ruined when she noticed a figure moving just in the distance. She could tell that the figure, even if it were just a silhouette, had been Brian.  Her stomach lurched. He did not seem to notice her, which only proved to sharpen the blow, but continued his path to the place where they had departed some time before, disappearing behind a sheet of corrugated metal.

This vision haunted her, and she would spend the rest of the outing, and the hours that followed, replaying the image in her head. She could not stop herself from thinking about it. The sight of Brian descending down that dark tunnel had struck something in her. It was like some long grey finger had reached out from the blackest part of her subconscious and scratched that part of her mind that craved the mysterious. It would scratch until she had found answers to some of her most pertinent questions. What had really happened to Brian, and by extension the Pumpkin Patch, while she was gone? Why had Brian insisted they meet by the river for their last meeting? What was Brian dying to show her that night? And why was he going into that dark place again? Why was it important to him? Ultimately this line of thought would poke and prod Kathryn Mason down the path that led to her death.

The day I decided to investigate the area by the river, the weather had been quite unpleasant. The sky was grey from clouds and, although a greater storm had been threatening, there was little but the occasional drizzle. To the south and below me roared the white capped rapids of the James, now reeling from the encroaching storm. Just beyond their cacophony stretched the lonesome island the locals called Belle Ilse, a name that I couldn’t help but notice shared some similarities to the diabolical Belial. I trained my gaze along the foot bridge where it stretched from the lonely island to my side of the water. Above it, the noisy overpass of US 301 loomed. At the end of the foot bridge was a stair way leading down to my level of the street.

Behind me Trisha was leaning on the side of her red Honda accord lighting a cigarette. She had driven me here, and was now determined to wait it out until I returned from my mission. I told her there was nothing to worry about. It was broad daylight and I felt like there was no chance of danger. Even if this place had once been the location of the Pumpkin Patch’s base of operations, “The Studio”, it would be unlikely that they remained here after the murders. Regardless, Trisha remained stubborn. According to her, any friends she knew that entered that place either died or disappeared. She did not want to lose the only other person who was still looking into the murder of her friend Kathryn. Eventually I caved, but I reiterated to her that if I did not return in an hour or two, she should go directly to the police, and not come in after me. She begrudgingly agreed.

The entrance was actually a lot trickier to find than we had assumed. It took a good fifteen minutes to find, although it would have been longer if it weren’t for the help of the lovely Trisha. Once we discovered the place, Trisha and I exchanged one last, apprehensive look. There was no telling what I would find down there, and although I was sure the place would be abandoned there was still a sense of dangerous foreboding in the air. After a brief pause to prepare myself, I fired up my flashlight and began my descent down the long dark corridor before me.

During my time at college, I studied all sorts of literature. Most of my favorite stories were myths and folklore that families historically recited to each other by dancing fire-light. These stories were often similar to each other in many areas. The tales would include some great hero, a monster, and some impossible journey to vanquish evil and return to normal life. One of my favorite stories spoke of a goddess who descended into the underworld to meet with her once forgotten sister, the keeper of the underworld. Often this story was stated to have metaphorical meaning. It was said that the underworld was truly an analogy for the goddesses’ own subconscious, and that she had to travel into this underworld to discover some kind of long forgotten, long suppressed part of herself. Her hero’s journey was only accomplished once she had communed with this part of herself and brought it to the light. She had to journey into the realm of death and return changed.

I thought of this story as I began to maneuver through the expansive tunnel system of the city. I wondered how many other cities had tunnels like these. Long forgotten passages that stretched miles beneath their respective city-scapes, containing crimes and secrets long since shunned by the people who lived above. Like some deep, primal sub-consciousness lurking at the heart of every metropolis, rarely seen or spoken of but always present and felt. It seemed to me, as I waded through the dark passage way about me, ankle deep in sludge, that there was something fermenting in this place. Something was festering down here in the darkness beneath the city, amassing itself and gaining strength before its inevitable return. Perhaps the murder of Kathryn Mason had ignited that return.

In the dead girl’s journal, she had referenced a series of glow in the dark markers which traced her way through the tunnels. At my first large intersection, I followed the dead girl’s path and trained my flashlight to the top right corner of the passageways. I only had to hold my light on the spot for a few short minutes before turning my flashlight completely off. I was both relieved and anxious when, after doing so, a symbol appeared ghostly green over the left most passage. According to my later research, this symbol was the alchemical rune for phosphorus. I continued this process at a couple of other intersections. At one place was the zodiac symbol for the Scorpio, while another was decorated unceremoniously with an upside down pentagram. My favorite had to be the enigmatic “666” scrawled out in wispy green script over a particularly fungus covered passageway.

There was only one time that I felt particularly scared within that system of tunnels. I will not lie, the whole situation was suitably creepy. I found myself fighting to press onward into the unknown place. Often I could hear the scratching of insects around me and the rhythmic drips of water from above. At one intersection, with my flashlight off, I could hear the distinct sound of something large crashing into the water just ahead of me. I quickly jumped to shine my flashlight in the direction of the sound. I probably scared the thing in the process, as all that could be seen was some furry, distinctly four legged creature retreating into the darkness away from me.

Eventually I had reached my destination just beyond an intersection marked by a glowing devil emoticon. While most of the tunnels had been cement constructs the last bit, just past this intersection, had been carefully fashioned from stone bricks. The passage continued around a bend before it opened up to a raised area just past an arched portal way of masonry. At the top right corner of this arch was a sneering glow-in-the-dark jack-o-lantern. The room itself was fairly large and musty smelling. There was still a rather waterlogged, roach infested couch sitting on the left most wall of the room. This was described in the journals. A generator was also there in the right most corner, just by the entrance. I checked to see if the thing had any gas but, unfortunately, it was empty. All in all the place looked abandoned. Although that was what I expected, I still felt the slight jab of disappointment.

There were a couple of easels propped up in random positions around the room, with one laying awkwardly on the ground, looking like some kind of dead thing. The walls were painted very darkly with splotches and patches left bare here and there. For a second I thought that the walls were just lazily covered, like the painting was done by some three year old with a crayon who was used to scribbling in a coloring book. As I got closer I realized that this effect existed because the walls were covered by a script of close together, overlapping words and sentences. This was also described in the girl’s journal, but she never properly described their effect. Perhaps she was un-phased by the design choice because she had a friend with her, or else because she was once a member of the group herself and did not fear them. As I was alone during my visit, I couldn’t help but feel the wicked lunacy evoked from painting a wall in this manner.

Out of the whole, incomprehensible mass, there was only one spot of wall that was left completely bare. It was on the wall straight back from the entranceway, just past the four stone columns in the center of the hold. Here, all of the wall scribbles stopped to form a single rectangle of empty space. I cannot explain why this spot unsettled me so, but to me it was the most unsightly aspect of all I had seen in the “Studio”. Perhaps it was the strangeness of it. In a room where every wall was covered by the noisy scrawl of threatening and damning messages, there was only one part left completely bare, pristine, and blank. The rectangle was about twenty six by twenty eight inches, the correct size for a large painting. Just beneath it was situated a small golden plaque, about four inches long, that was screwed into the wall. The plaque had only one letter engraved on it, and the letter was “E”.

When I emerged from the bowels of the city, I had found that the weather had cleared up considerably. It was about noon and, to my luck, Trisha was still waiting there by her car. Together we drove back toward the college campus, and found a small coffee shop where I explained to her what I had found. She did not seem all that surprised that the place was empty. She assumed that place might have been abandoned when the group went, way underground a few months prior. She also had some insight into the identity of the enigmatic “E” painting.

“It’s Elagabalus!” she said, her green eyes flashing excitedly. I had shown her the journals before, when we first met and this whole journey started. Even then this word “Elagabalus” had been of great interest to her. For a while she seemed obsessed by it. It was only mentioned once in the journals, however, and until now I wasn’t so sure of its importance.

“You think that the painting is called Elagabalus?” I asked her quizzically

“Well why not?” She challenged with a confident smirk. It took me a moment to take in her response. In the entry where Elagabalus was mentioned, it seemed to me that the name referred to a person. As we looked at the journal again in the coffee shop, I was not so sure. This assertion, that Elagabalus was in fact a painting, raised more questions for me. Where did it come from? Why did the group hold it in such high regard?

We decided to journey to the public library in order to research the location of a new Pumpkin Patch den and learn more about the Elagabalus painting. I got busy trying to find whatever I could on the name in question. Trish, the local, set off in search for the next likely place for a murderous art-cult to be hiding. While I spent most of my time on the public computer’s search engine, Trisha spent her hours in the archives reviewing old city surveys and maps. When we reconvened in a few hours, Trisha had amassed an impressive list of possible “Studio” locations that put my few articles of Elagabalus to shame.

“Okay so where should we start?!” She asked enthusiastically with an arm full of books and notes.

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you,” I teased. To this she only shook her head.

We decided that I would go first. I had the least information to present, and we were afraid that the discussion of Trisha’s findings would get lengthy and get us side tracked. There were only a few hits on the subject of Elagabalus. The first referred to a roman emperor, also known as Heliogabalus. Apparently he had been a rather controversial figure during his reign from 218 to 222. His reign began when he was declared an illegitimate heir to the empire, and fought a rebellion for the throne. He had also overthrown the religious order in Rome, installing his own deity in place of the customary Jupiter. This deity had the extravagant name of Deus Sol Invictus, or “God, the Undefeated Sun”.  

A second controversy was started when the Emperor was found to have been sleeping with his chariot driver. The reign ended with an assassination, and much of Elagabalus’ rule was apparently stricken from the public record. Perhaps the painting was of this controversial figure? If the painting was of a person, then it would makes sense why I would confuse the painting for a “who” instead of a “what”. The only issue is that the figure in question seemed quite random. The only thing that had stood out to me was Deus Sol Invictus, but I had yet to see any reference to this in Pumpkin Patch’s archived works, and I had not seen any other themes of the emperor’s life aside from the use of his name.  It was a mystery to determine why this particular figure was so important to the group.

The only other article was a strange one regarding an occultist named Eliphas Levi. According to Levi, in his book Dogma et Rituel de la Haute Magie (What a mouthful), Elagabalus refers to a stone which was worshipped for it properties. Apparently the stone could prolong life and served as the font of all wisdoms. This metaphysical “stone” also served as the basis from which all magic could be built upon and was at the cornerstone of human subconscious and conscious of being. Elagabalus, for Levi, was nothing less than the famed philosopher stone, and its power could be found within the human mind. While it seemed to me a stretch, this definition of Elagabalus seemed to be the closest fit to explaining the painting. The group certainly held it in high standing, as though it were the mythical philosopher’s stone. Trisha agreed that this explanation, though imperfect, seemed like the best fit.

Next we turned over to the locations for the Pumpkin Patch’s new studio. The locations in question all catered to the eerier side of the city’s history. Among the locations were an old civil war prison on Belle Isle, the magnificent Hollywood Cemetery, and several locations close to the Poe museum, a place where the Pumpkin Patch was once show cased in their earlier, non-murderous days. I asked about Lumpkin’s Slave Jail and Trisha pointed out to me that it was under a parking lot, and there was no physical place for a killer cult to hide.

Eventually we decided that the old train tunnel, beneath Church Hill, was the likeliest place for the group to be hiding. The Tunnel was subject to a catastrophic collapse in the 1920’s, resulting in the death of four people, and it has been the subject of urban legend ever since. According to one story, a first responder to the disaster arrived at the seen only to discover a strange, deformed, humanoid being crouched over a victim of the crash. This creature reportedly fled the scene and set up shop in Hollywood cemetery, which is one explanation for the Richmond Vampire. Anyways, we decided to leave immediately to investigate the place.  

By the time we arrived at the place it was dusk. Not wanting to attract attention, Trisha suggested we park the car and walk to the tunnel entrance. I asked her how we would enter the place, and she said she used to do it all the time; there was a hole in the fence and the lock on the gate was often replaced because of trespassers. She was right, of course. The chain-link fence, which warded the area, was compromised. It was fixed half-hazardly with zip ties and blue wire. The gate itself was held shut by a simple combination lock. Trisha informed me that this entrance was supposed to be for service and maintenance. The actual tunnel opening was apparently sealed sometime after the collapse by cement. We were able to break open the lock and enter the maintenance tunnel with our flashlights at the ready.

“It’s funny,” I said “I thought the gates of hell were supposed to say something like ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’?”

Trisha did not think my joke was funny and chose to ignore it.

What followed seemed to occur in a dreamlike trance. We passed through the gate and were soon descending down a winding passage way into the dark tunnel. Aside from our echoing footsteps, we could hear the unnerving chatter of rats, which scurried away from us somewhere just outside the reach of our flash lights. As I moved through the tunnel, I became painfully aware of this feeling that I was being watched. I tried to push this anxiety aside and was assured by the sound of Trisha’s footsteps behind me. That was until I turned around and discovered she was not there.

I must have been halfway down the access tunnel by that time. I tried calling her name but got no response. Actually I was quite sure, at one point, that I heard a muffled giggle in response, but perhaps that’s just a detail I added after the fact. Looking back now, I do not know what overtook me as I decided to move further into the tunnel proper. The place was not as large as I thought it would be. I followed the ruined trackway down to the center of the tunnel, altogether too aware that someone, or something was watching me. Eventually I could make out the flicker of candle light in the distance and, I suppose, I was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.

What was once a small flicker soon became a roaring flame as I trudged down the cramped stone tunnel. There, at the end of my journey, was a circle of red, glowing candles with a lone easel at their center. Upon this easel sat a covered painting. I was so transfixed by the scene that it took me a few minutes to process that there were others in the chamber with me. Just at the outer edge of the glowing candle light, there moved figures and shapes of masked individuals, who seemed to be assessing my every move. Among the masked faces I could see a rabbit, a clown, a skull, an assortment of hand carved tribal-looking masks, and the shriveled husk of a face which I knew belonged to someone called Hungry Preta.

I was eventually approached by one of the figures, undoubtedly female, who wore a handmade crow mask. She seemed to be far too familiar with me, as she stoked my arm indulgently, leading me closer to the painting at the center of the space before stopping to press herself close behind me. She nestled her chin upon my shoulder and stretched her arms, caressingly, across my chest in a gentle but inescapable embrace from behind. I was not altogether unnerved by this experience, I had gone numb to the fact that any of it was really occurring. Had I really wandered into this dark and diabolical den? Had I really lost Trisha in the passageway? Had I so foolishly wandered into my own death, as Kathryn had? Was this the end? I would soon discover that it was not the end but rather some type of beginning, as the other figures slowly removed the covering of the painting, and my captor began to lovingly stroke my hair. There before me was the face of the thing I recently learned had been called Elagabalus. And as I stood there dumbstruck, taking in the thing, I thought it was magnificent.

http://itcowcer.tumblr.com/post/156423063519/subject-pumpkin-patch

[dailyaudiobible]

07/11/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Chronicles 11:1-12:18, Acts 28:1-31, Psalms 9:1-12, Proverbs 19:1-3

Today is the 11th day of July welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we bring another of our weeks to a close. We’re also going to be bringing one of our books to a close today, the book of Acts, which means as we conclude today we will achieve another one of our badges, this one for the New Testament history badge, which is the book of Acts. But we can talk about that in a little bit because we have not achieved it yet. So, let's dive in. First from the Old Testament's first Chronicles chapter 11 verse 1 through 12 verse 18. And we are reading from the English Standard Version this week.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and we thank You for bringing us another week, day by day step-by-step, which is how it is every day, always. No matter what day, week, month, year it is we have established a relationship with Your word and we have established a rhythm and come together in community and we thank You because as we end every week we look back and see Your faithfulness to us. Even if it's been a difficult week, we see that You are guiding us and that You are present. And, so, as we end this week, as it becomes a part of history we look forward to all You will do in the coming week and we are here right here, right now, worshiping You and thanking You for Your mercy and Your kindness and Your patience, we’re worshiping You for who You are, the most-high God. We can't even begin to get our minds around it - the most-high God. We worship You because You are our Father and we love You. And, so, we release this week into our history and invite Your Holy Spirit to lead us into all truth as we move forward. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and home base and where you find out what’s going on around here.

I mentioned at the beginning so we concluded the book of Acts and so those of us who are using the Daily Audio Bible app and kind of checking off the days, that will lead us to the achievement of the New Testament history, which is the book of Acts. And that…that badge shows up in our…in our app and that shows up in the in the Achievements section. You just push the little Drawer icon in the upper left-hand corner and see achievements and we can kind of see where we are as we move through the different sections of the Bible. And it should also just pop up and show us we’ve accomplished this. So, well done. We continue to be on our way and tomorrow we will get to know this apostle Paul that we've…we’ve gotten to know him by his travels, like his itinerary and some of the history, some of the things that happened, some the places that he went to, some of the things that he had to say, but we’re gonna get in-depth into his letters as we move forward in these weeks ahead of us. So, excited about that for sure.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link. It lives on the homepage. Thank you profoundly for your partnership as we continue to move through these summer months. Thank you. There’s a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow

Community Prayer and Praise:

I just want to say thank you Daily audible Bible you’ve been a real blessing to me for at least eight years. This is only my second time of calling and. I’m Brenda from Michigan. I have a niece that deals with OI for short - osteogenesis imperfecta - where her bones are brittle, and they break. She’s 29 years old now and she’s having a lot of difficulty breathing, severe difficulty. And I am praying and asking the Lord to do a supernatural miracle in her life. We just give you many thanks and thank you for all the faithful’s. I love being a part of this. Thank you, Brian and family very much. Good night.

Good evening DAB family this is Marinotha from Georgia and this message is for All the Grace and He shines. I’m a few weeks behind. I was just listening to June 22nd and you called in and sang a beautiful song and it just lifted my heart and we’ve had it really hard. We’ve…my son on July 4th fell into a fire pit and has 2nd degree burns on his leg. We came home from the hospital today and he’s going to be okay, but we’ve got a long road. So, just thank you for making me smile for the first time in a few days. And please be with our family and be with my son Corban as he heals from these horrific burns. Thank you DAB family for being here for me. Thank you all. Good night.

Hi family this is Biola from Maryland I hope you’re all doing well. Brian and Jill God bless you. Jill, happy birthday again. Family I want to pray for my brother from Sudan, Donald. God bless you. You’re my Nigerian brother as well as my brother in the Lord. I pray that God will comfort you and…and jut wrap His arms around you over the murder of your brother in Nigeria. Family I called in that one time to ask for prayers for our missionaries to Nigeria. They’ve been terribly persecuted by militant Muslims especially in the north and you can see what happened to our brother Donald’s brother…younger brother even though he’s a medical doctor helping them. Missionaries in northern Nigeria have been persecuted. I know of a family that the militants broke into…into their compound and shot the father, the mother, the children. But, you know, I want to give God praise that the bullets that went into them to not go into vital areas. So, the doctors were able to fish out the bullets. And then I know of pastors who were beheaded…beheaded in Nigeria. You know, please pray for missionaries both in Nigeria and around the world. My prayer in the name of Jesus is that the devil would cease and desist. You know, using this people in the name of Jesus that they will come to their knees and they will come to know our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. And if they don’t cease-and-desist I pray that the Lord will deal with them in the name of Jesus. Sister I heard your prayer, the sister that has been separated for several years. I pray that the Lord will bring a restoration in your marriage in the name of Jesus. God bless you family. Biola from Maryland.

Good morning this is Running Desperately to Jesus last time I called I know I spoke of having my grandson with me but today I’m asking for prayer. The flesh has caused me to sin against the temple of God. It has even impacted my relationship and faithfulness to God. I have not walked away from God and I made a promise I never would no matter how low of my behavior became. Met a guy, red flags all over, but because I got tired of being lonely, fell into justification of the reason why he treated me. Well yesterday I went by his house shows me how much or how little I think of myself, basically put me out, stood me up didn’t give any type of reason why put me out. I say all of that DABbers to let you know I need prayer. I think very little of myself. I let this person treat me and speak to me any way just so that I could get the moment of affection be it just holding me, saying all the right things. And now I feel like trash. Running Desperately to Jesus. I’m just asking…

Good morning DAB family Abby here from Maryland. Today is July 7th and I am out on my walk and I just want to thank God for all that He’s been doing in each and every of our lives. I want to give God the glory and thank Him for this day for the opportunity to be still in His presence. Thank you, Brian, thank you the entire Hardin family. May God continue to keep you. Brian I was really moved by your exultation this morning on today’s reading of July 7th, especially in the book of Proverbs where someone who’s offended can be like a castle or city gates. It’s hard to please the person or appease the person. And I’m praying that may we extend grace when we have been offended and may we ask for mercy when we have been the one who has offended someone, grace to humble ourselves always under the mighty hands of God. So, you guys have been amazing, you’ve been awesome in my life. I lift each and every one of you into God’s hands. May He keep you. May He watch over you. May He lift His face of continence upon you and give you peace. And as we go into the next half of this year my prayer is that God’s grace covers us, God’s mercy keeps us. May He watch over us. May He be our King of Kings and Lord of lords. You all have a good day. Abby here.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family this is Melody from Canada and this is probably the most personal prayer request I have. It’s July 7th and after hearing Brian talk about offense and this __ I just realized that I’m offended by God. I…because of things I’ve gone through - being raped, by a little brother dying - just other…other really hard things it’s hard for me to trust God. It’s hard for me not to be offended by Him. And the whole theology of end day judgment, I believe in it, I believe in accountability. But because I’ve been rejected and traumatized, the idea of God, the lover of my soul rejecting anyone and subjecting them to eternal torment is just…it’s so…it just makes me so angry and I don’t understand how…anyway I know this…there’s like all different views but I…I want to know the truth and I want to be able to be at peace with God and love Him and trust Him and know that I’m chosen by Him and just be at peace with how He runs the universe. And, so, I’m hoping to talk about that with Him on my long walk today. So, if you could pray for me as always feels like this tug-of-war of not being able to completely trust. And just this…I guess the original lie of God is holding onto power…somehow, He’s actually not good. So, yeah, I really want breakthrough on that, and I pray for all of us today on our long walk. I pray that we’ll all be able to do it and really meet with God, really engage with Him and hear from Him for the rest of our year. Love you guys.

[dailyaudiobible]

06/09/2019 DAB Transcript

1 Kings 5:1-6:38, Acts 7:1-29, Psalms 127:1-5, Proverbs 16:28-30

Today is the 9th day of June. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and it is awesome to be here with you today as we collectively stand here and reach out our hand and turn the knob and open the threshold and walk into this brand-new week together. And it's all shiny and it's all sparkly and it's all waiting for us. We haven't done anything good or bad. We haven't messed anything up. It's all waiting for us and we walk into it together using the counsel of the Scriptures and the guidance of the Holy Spirit to navigate. And, so, it’s exciting that we can start fresh and move into this new week. And this week we’ll be reading from the English Standard Version. Of course, we’ll be picking up where we left off. So, in the Old Testament we’re working our way into and through first Kings and at this point we are learning of King Solomon's reign. And in the New Testament we’re working our way through the book of Acts, and we just met this person named Stephen. He was appointed to the diaconate. So, he was made a deacon to help serve the community, but basically one sentence later…a couple sentences later, he was arrested and we’re gonna see what becomes of him, but he will have to testify. This is slightly spoiler alert, but it helps focus our attention. He will have to testify before the high Council, the Jewish high Council and in his testimony, he is gonna need to prove that he is a true Hebrew and that he understands the Hebrew culture. So, in doing that we’re going to find that we’ll be reviewing…and this is really great…to come to this point in the year…his testimony will review for us most of the territory we've covered so much this year. So, having said all of that let's dive in. First Kings chapters 5 and 6 today.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for bringing us into this brand-new week. We thank You for bringing us all the way from the beginning of the year until this point in the year. We are grateful. We say it all the time, but it will not get old. We are grateful for Your Word. We are grateful for the opportunity to get together every day and allow Your word to speak into our lives. It is such a gift that You have allowed us to be here on this planet in this time when this kind of technology is even available. So, thank You. Thank You for Your presence in and among us all over the world. Thank You for Your word to guide us and lead us into all truth, and thank You for each other, unite us together as one, as one body, as You Yourself pray in Jesus, may we be Your hands and feet in this world as we move into this new, shiny, sparkly week. Come Holy Spirit we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website, its home base, and it is definitely how you stay connected. So, be sure to do that.

Everything at dailyaudiobible.com can be also done in the Daily Audio Bible app. So, just kind of navigate around there and find things.

Obviously, one of things that we’re really excited about and talking a lot about is the forthcoming Daily Audio Bible Family Reunion 2019 and that will take place here in the rolling hills of Tennessee here in Nashville and Nashville’s quite the destination place in the United States these days. So, we’ll be holding the Daily Audio Bible global campfire Family Reunion here in the rolling hills of Tennessee on a Lake not too far from the airport, not too far from town, plenty to do. I mean, the grounds themselves, like you can just come here and never leave there, just stay there and play, and there's plenty of beauty and plenty of activity. So, registration is open now for the Family Reunion. It’s Labor Day weekend, August 31st through September 2nd. So, registration is open and is filling. So, it’s gonna be a great time. So, check it all out dailyaudiobible.com in the Initiatives section. Look for family reunion 2019 or like I said a minute ago, you can find all these things in the app as well.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, you can do that dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the homepage. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, for your partnership. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that is it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey everyone, this is Bridget from New York City. The year…last year around this time…this is right before my son-in-law passed away…before he was killed. You know, I’m just kind of reliving the moments up to that week and my daughter at that time last year had lost a couple of other friends, one was to gun violence the other one was to a drug overdose and she had decided to do like a Lantern letting event at night in the park. And, you know, I prayed about attending because, you know, what adult wants to be around their young adult children. And, you know, who want their parent around? And I felt God tell me, you know, “go, be there for her, and pray for the young people. May the spirit of suicide of death among them. Pray for them.” And I did. I was obedient, and I didn’t say anything, I just helped them light these lanterns and it was a beautiful event just in remembrance of those they lost. And she’s gonna do another one this year and I’m just asking you guys to just pleas cover her and cover this event because it’s a bigger event than what it originally was. The sister of a kid Jr. that was murdered is going to be there. It’s just gonna be a big event. So, if you guys could just please cover this event in prayer. I’m gonna share a Word and, you know, I’m gonna invite people to the lord and I’m just asking you all, please, please, please cover. Okay. Thank you. Love you guys.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible, this is Loralee from Boynton Beach and it is the 6th day of June. This is a great week for me and for the Daily Audio Bible. And I’m a long-time listener. So, today is my birthday and I’m 59. So, that would give me the water birthday of 6/6/60, which immediately starts conversation about Alpha, Omega, beginning, and end. My spiritual rebirth birthday is in one week on the 13th. Now, that happened in 2005. So, this year will be the second Jubilee year. So, the first Jubilee year was many roots going deep down into the ground. The second Jubilee year producing fruit and I thank the Lord for this family, for Brian, Jill, for being obedient to the call to read the Bible, because one of the first lies that the Lord dispelled from my life many years of this lie that I could not…was not a good reader, which I’m still not a good reader, but I’m a great audio learner. And when He said to me almost in an audible voice, “this is the way I made you, put that air but in and I will give you the Bible”. And Brian started to read six months after the salvation of my soul. Thank you. I will call back. I want to get reconnected. I will see you in that a family reunion with my newest baby girl Olina. We booked our trip and we’re coming to…

Hi Daily Audio Bible family, this is your sister Julie. I haven’t called for a while. I love you all and I pray with you daily and so grateful. You’re my church family, you’re my family and I need your help. I have to confess that I’ve been struggling with alcohol abuse. I’m just ashamed…I’ve got a lot of shame and I feel my prayers for you aren’t being effective because of my sin. And I know that I’m forgiven and saved, and I know that the enemy is working hard to condemn me, but I need that help. I need help. I’m praying out for help please. I love you all very much. Please pray for me as I will continue praying for you. And I can’t thank you again Brian and Jill for this. There’s so many of you that I want to thank for praying for all of us every day that are faithful saints. I love you all and there’s too many of you to name and some of those that don’t even leave there names that I just want you to know that you’re just as important as those who call all the time and I love you and I pray that we will feel that we are worthy of being not lonely but together and worthy of being in this family of misfits that are fitting ourselves for heaven. I love you all very much and have a great day. Bye-bye.

Good morning Daily Audio…well it’s good afternoon Daily Audio Bible community. This is Diane Olive Brown from Newburgh Indiana calling at 2:27 PM and I’m calling on June 6th, which is Thursday, and this is actual June 6ths reading now and I’m calling for two reasons. And one is for the lady that is 48 years old and she is pregnant and her…for one reason or another she’s concerned that she won’t carry that baby to full term. And I want to say that I have my faith with yours, that you will carry that baby to full term and that baby will give you great joy and great happiness. And I’m asking the Father to give you perfect knowledge in every situation that you come up with and give you wisdom and you have the mind of Christ and you hold His thoughts and His feelings and His purposes. And Father God I just pray for this woman, that her body will give every hormone and everything that she needs and that You will come along side of her and provide, everything, That there is shalom, shalom, nothing is missing and nothing is broken and I just add my faith to her faith and that she has a wonderful pregnancy and a great delivery and this child gives her joy for her whole life, her and her family…