#He keeps threatening to sing East Bound and Down at me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asongeverlasting · 3 years

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Happy Holidays @adrienettes-hamster!! I was your backup gifter for @mlsecretsanta this year! I hope you enjoy this platonic Ladynoir bonding :)

Many thanks to @strangerahne for beta-reading!

Laughing in the Starlight

read on AO3

Marinete had known this was a bad idea the first time he suggested it, but that meant nothing. Even with all the luck in the world, she could never hold out against his kitty eyes and impassioned pleas for very long. One would think she'd have some sort of immunity, after babysitting Manon for so long, but no dice. It was almost as if his kitty eyes were magically augmented or something. No ordinary human should be able to expand their pupils that wide. It was just ridiculous. (Utterly ridiculous, her internal monologue supplied unhelpfully.)

And really, it was just a game of Truth or Dare. As Chat Noir helpfully pointed out the third time he tried persuading her to play, if she was really worried about secret identity things, nothing was stopping her from just choosing dare every time. Eventually, after two weeks straight of him bugging her during patrol, she gave in. Sort of.

Her acquiescence was accompanied by a number of ground rules designed to safeguard their identities and avoid injuries (practically a necessity when pitting two teenage superheroes against each other in a game designed to embarrass). She also added three vetoes apiece, just in case. Going into the game, Ladybug felt confident that she was prepared for anything, because her rules accounted for every possible awkward situation — and they would have, were her opponent anyone but Chat. Right now, sitting on an isolated rooftop three rounds into the game, she knew she'd made a mistake. Nothing could have prepared her for what he was throwing her way.

“Okay, so, imagine you were suddenly turned into a peach pit that was inside of a ripe peach and on a tree, and then the peach fell off the tree, sprouted, and you grew out of it back to the body you were before turning into the peach pit. Then imagine all this happened in the span of twenty minutes. What would be the first thing you did after all this happened?"

Her brain refused to compute. “Sorry, what?”

Chat just smiled earnestly at her, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Did- did someone turn me into the peach pit?” she stammered, totally taken aback.

“Take it however you want, I just want an answer to my question.” Chat seemed shockingly normal for someone who had just spouted the most ridiculously out-there question she'd ever heard. Did these sorts of thoughts just exist in his brain?

How did one even begin to handle such a situation? But then again, stranger akumas had happened. “I guess I’d… first try to figure out how I’d been turned into a peach in the first place—“

“Peach pit, you mean,” he prompted, leaning forward.

“Yeah, that.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d probably also grab another peach off the tree to use as a weapon if I needed it. Oh wait, are the other peaches also people?”

His grin grew even wider before he responded. “That’s for me to know and you to never find out”

She shot him a frosty glare and responded, deadpan, “Horrible.”

“So….. what would you do?” he asked, genuinely curious now.

“Hmm. Probably... pull a peach off the tree so I have something to throw, look for the culprit - which was probably an akuma, honestly - and if I find no one, then get to high ground and keep looking. Oh, and before I leave, toss the peach at you like so.” She picked up a small pebble from the rooftop beside her and threw it at Chat, who yelped and turned away.

“Hey, what was that for?" Chat pouted.

Ladybug winked. "That's for me to know and you to never find out."

"Ah-hah-hah I see what you did there," he said, shooting finger guns at her. "Very clever. Now, I believe it's your turn again, Milady. I hope you come up with something interesting." He quirked a brow in challenge.

"Alright Kitty-Cat, truth..." She paused dramatically. "Or dare?"

"Dare, if you please."

"Hmm…" she mused, glancing around for inspiration. An idea came when her eyes landed on a house with two chimneys, about eight feet apart from one another. "Oh! Okay, I got it. Stick your baton between those two chimneys over there, grab it, then swing and flip yourself onto it, landing on your feet. Dramatic dismount for bonus points."

The spark of excitement in Chat's eyes had grown with every word she spoke. As soon as she finished laying down the challenge, he leapt up gracefully and bounded over to the designated rooftop, Ladybug following close behind.

Unsurprisingly, he executed the sequence perfectly, swinging around his baton like a gymnast on the uneven bars before landing on it, striking a pose, and backflipping off, all with the grace of a jungle cat.

She applauded as he put his baton away and sauntered over to where she now sat.

He gave a courtly bow before sitting down opposite her. "Only the best for the lady! My turn now, so choose your poison."

"Umm… I think I'll mix it up a bit with a dare."

"Okay, I dare you to…" Chat began slowly, "pick up the pointiest rock you can find, show it to me for approval, and then hold it in one of your armpits for the next two questions. Oh, and if you drop it at any point, the question count resets."

Ladybug shot him a dirty look before searching around for an appropriate rock. She picked up two, showed them both to Chat for inspection, and then unceremoniously stuck the chosen one under her left arm, taking care not to press too tight. "My turn now. Pick."

"Sheesh, someone's prickly! Something jabbing at you?" Chat snickered at the growl she let loose when his pun registered. "Truth! I pick truth."

She thought for a minute before speaking. "You claim that you're just a human with weird cat traits instead of the cat I'm convinced you are. Now, if I were right and you were an actual cat, what weirdly human trait would you have?"

Chat furrowed his brow in contemplation. "There's so many options to choose from! If I had to pick one… I'd probably make human sounds, either so my meows would sound like a real person making them, or so I'd scare the real humans in the house by saying 'hewwo' or something"

"An agent of chaos! Now, that sounds just like you. And I know better than anyone how much you hate not making human sounds," she chuckled.

He tried to mock pout, but couldn't hide his smile. "Okay, okay, my turn again. Truth or dare?"

"Ugh, I don't want to move with this thing under my arm. Truth."

With a soft laugh, Chat responded, "Well, now I know how to get you to answer my questions! Okay, okay, don't hurt me!" he exclaimed, raising a placating hand when he saw her glare turn threatening. "My question for you is… what name would you want to have, if your name wasn't what it is? And don't say this is against the rules, you could even give me your real name and I'd have no idea, so there's no way I can use this to ferret out your secret identity."

"Uhh…" She tilted her head to one side as she considered her options. "I'm not sure… maybe Celeste, or Isabelle? Or… Oh! I've always been partial to the name Bridgette, so I'd probably pick that."

"Bridgette, huh? I bet you'd have gotten along with one of my good friends. She's incredibly sweet and caring, like you. And her name sort of rhymes with your fake one! And she—" he cut his speech short, noticing that he was heading off on a tangent. "Anyway, spoilers aside, she's pretty great."

"Seems like Kitty might have a crush, hmmm? I hope this girl is worth your affections," teased Ladybug. "Must be something special if she's caught the eye of the great Chat Noir."

"Oh no, no crush! I only have eyes for you! I mean really, for yonder Tour Eiffel is the east, and you are my sun. This girl is… just a very good friend." The look on her face made it seem like she was intent on pursuing this line of teasing, so he hurriedly went on. "Also, I pick dare, and your rock dare is finished. You can drop the pebble now."

"Very smooth, Kitty," she said sarcastically, releasing the stone, "but moving onto the next turn might not save you. I can still dare you to answer a truthful question, don't you forget."

Chat's eyes widened briefly in shock before his expression morphed into his patented kitty pout — peeking out from beneath his lashes, pupils blown wide and shining, lower lip stuck out and quivering, head tilted to the side just so. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you? That would be so mean!"

She narrowed her eyes and met his pleading gaze with a stony stare of her own for a few moments, but then broke away with an exasperated sigh. "Fine, I'll play nice. But one of these days I'm gonna figure out how to defeat your pout, and then you'll be in for some serious trouble," she warned, waggling a finger at him. "Okay, your dare is to… sing about a minute of a song, but replace every fifth word with the word croissant. And I have to approve your choice before you start singing! Also, if you start laughing, you have to start again. Think you can handle it?"

"I'm all over it! Just give me a minute to think up the perfect tune to serenade you with!" he proclaimed confidently.

"No problem, just as long as there's no cat-erwauling," she said with a smirk.

He froze. "Wait, was that a pun?"

She looked at him, a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips, but did not reply.

"Not gonna admit it, huh? That's fine. I think I have just the song for you. Go ahead and stop me if you don't approve." He stood and bowed like a maestro walking onstage for a piano recital. "Now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show, milady."

With that, he began humming and plucking at an imaginary… cello? Bass? Some sort of large string instrument. He opened his mouth, and sang (in a surprisingly smooth tenor), "I've got a gal croissant always late, any time croissant got a date. But I croissant her, I've gotta ask her, croissant you is or is croissant ain't my babyy?" His voice wavered with suppressed laughter by the third croissant, but he pressed on, counting out words on his fingers as he mimed plucking the strings. Ladybug had no such luck holding back her giggles and had to bite down on her own hand to smother some of the noise. "Maybe baby's croissant somebody new... or is my croissant still my baby truuuue?"

Chat finished the chorus with a flourish on his imaginary instrument before promptly dissolving into peals of laughter and plopping down in a heap next to his partner. They both just sat there chuckling for a while, trying very hard not to look at each other — for every time they calmed down slightly and their eyes met, they burst into laughter and had to start the process all over again. Eventually, they managed to regain control of themselves and quiet down. Tired now, they laid down on their backs, heads beside one another, feet stretched in opposite directions, and looked up at the few stars visible in Paris's night sky. For several minutes, neither of them made a sound.

"Wow," Ladybug breathed, breaking the silence, "what a view. I could just lay here all night."

Chat hummed in agreement. After a few moments, he shifted and turned his head slightly so he could see her profile. "Hey Ladybug," he said softly. She turned to look at him. "Truth or dare?"

She smiled. "Truth," she answered, just as softly.

"If you were playing Max's akuma game, but with Disney/Pixar characters, and the computer chose Hawkmoth, which character would you pit against him?" When she didn't speak for a few moments, he continued, "Take your time, it's a very important decision."

Ladybug pondered her options for a minute or two, weighing the pros and cons of various animated characters. All of a sudden, inspiration struck, and she let out a quiet giggle at her stroke of genius. "Oh, I have the perfect idea: the Pixar lamp." And she turned to him expectantly, amusement and pride evident in her expression.

Forehead wrinkled in confusion, he said, "I don't get it. Explain?"

She propped herself up on an elbow so she could see him better. "Okay, um… look at it this way. He calls himself Hawkmoth, which is a species of moth, right?"

He nodded.

She went on, "And moths are attracted to light and heat, to the point that they sometimes act drunk around things like lightbulbs and small flames."

Another nod.

"Plus, take into account the fact that you and I have some traits from our namesakes — you purr and I snack on flowers."

A rueful chuckle accompanied the next nod.

"So, it makes sense that Hawkmoth might be attracted to lamps. But then, the coup de graçe: do you remember what the Pixar lamp does?"

"It… hops?" Comprehension dawned. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "I get it." He started to laugh again, softly at first, then louder.

Ladybug laughed along with him, trying to speak through her mirth. "So... hahaha... I'm just imagining *snort* Hawkmoth... heeheehee... trying to chase the lamp around, while this… sentient lamp... *giggle*… just keeps trying to bonk him and jump on his head!" She pressed a hand to her stomach, laughing until it was difficult to breathe. "We wouldn't even be needed anymore!"

At this, Chat laughed so hard that his voice was no longer audible, and he just lay there, shaking and gasping for air. Finally, he caught his breath enough to gesture wildly and choke out, "Milady, you're a genius! Hawkmoth would totally just be running around like… *snicker*… 'LAMPY! Let me love you!' and the lamp would be like *BONK* and then… bahaha… they'd be together forever! *snort* Honestly, this is more of a ship than a fight!" His arms dropped back to his stomach as he fell into another fit of laughter.

The two of them laughed and laughed until their stomachs ached and tears streamed from their eyes, and the sounds of their voices echoed across the Parisian skyline. When they'd nearly laughed themselves hoarse, a sense of peace stole over them, and their minds and voices grew quiet and calm once more. They continued to lay there for several minutes, soaking in the comfortable silence, feeling — for once — completely in tune with the world around them.

"Hey, Chat?" Ladybug murmured.

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're my partner. There's no one I'd rather be here with than you."

He smiled and gently touched his head to hers. "You and me, Milady. Forever."

Hawkmoth and the rest of the world could wait.

Right here, right now?

This moment was theirs alone.

#mlsecretsanta #my writing #ml fic #ladynoir #lovesquare #platonic ladynoir #truth or dare #laughing in the starlight

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esperantoauthor · 4 years

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Title: Stuck! Author: @esperantoauthor Beta-Reader: @blurglesmurfklaine Rating: T Status: Complete (4721 Words)

Summary: Things go from bad to worse when Kurt, already running late for his blind date, gets stuck in the elevator. Blaine isn't going to let a little thing like two feet of metal get in the way of a perfectly good date.

Read it on Ao3

Kurt hummed cheerfully to himself as he ducked and weaved down the busy New York City sidewalk. There was a bounce in his step; he had a date tonight.

Checking his watch, he frowned when he realized how close he was cutting it. He couldn’t control the subway schedule, naturally, but he didn’t want to start things off on the wrong foot. Who knew where this night could lead?

Kurt reminded himself that it was only a blind date. He needed to get a grip on himself before he got swept up in romantic fantasies only to be brought crashing back to earth when his yet-to-be-seen date turned out to be wholly unimpressive.

His brother Finn had told him on more than one occasion that he would never find someone if he kept being so picky. “There is nothing wrong with having high standards,” was his usual counter argument and he was sticking with it. Kurt knew that he was fabulous and he wasn’t going to bother with anyone who couldn’t keep up with him.

Part of the reason he was so… selective, was that he had big dreams when it came to romance. He wanted to be swept off his feet. He wanted to fall head over heels. The guys he had met in New York so far just didn’t give him that feeling of magic that he had yearned for since he had been a child. Kurt Hummel didn’t do things half way.

When you are used to the world being against you, you develop a hard outer shell. Kurt was starting to learn how to let his walls down, now that he didn’t need them quite so much. It had been hard at first. For the first few months, he didn’t trust anyone other than the handful of friends from high school he had come out east with. Little by little, though, he had started to take down some of the protective layers he’d wrapped around himself.

He began to scan the numbers on the apartment buildings, looking for the right one. He was getting close.

“You’re going to his house before you’ve even met him?!” Rachel had shrieked. “I’m going to be interviewed on the eleven o’clock news tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Oh relax! He’s one of Tina’s co-stars; she’s been over to his place plenty of times and she still has all of her limbs.”

“Maybe he has a type, Kurt. I bet you didn’t think of that, did you?”

Kurt had found Rachel’s protests ridiculous, yet he couldn’t help hearing her words echo in his mind as he pushed the buzzer for 6B.

His date buzzed him through. Like most apartments people his age could afford, this building had seen better days. Kurt had to wrestle the front door open, racing the clock to get in before the buzzer timed out.

There was a granite ledge in the entryway with a half dozen household items some overly optimistic tenant was hoping to give away rather than waste. He shook his head in disdain. No one wants your mason jar full of dried beans, you weirdo.

He pushed the call button for the elevator, hoping it wasn’t broken.

There was an awkwardly long interval between the elevator ding and the actual opening of the doors. At least it works. Kurt did not want to show up for this date covered in a light sheen of sweat from walking up six floors. He knew all too well how red his face got the minute he exerted himself in the slightest. It wasn’t an attractive look for him.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the “conditional” certificate displayed in the elevator, claiming that the elevator was in acceptable working order despite several code violations. The certificate itself was three years old. He shouldn’t judge; his building wasn’t even nice enough to have an elevator.

That’s odd. The button for the sixth floor wasn’t lit up. Kurt was sure he had pushed it…well, he was pretty sure. He touched the button and it turned egg yolk yellow. The elevator chugged along, shuddering and spasming from time to time.

Finally, the elevator wheezed to a stop. Kurt waited, figuring the elderly appliance would take a few seconds to figure out how to slide open it’s ancient doors. A few more seconds ticked by. Nothing happened.

Kurt hit the button for the sixth floor, but this time the light only stayed on briefly before flickering off. Uh oh.

He began jamming his finger into the button, as if pushing hard enough might wake the machine back up. He tried the ‘lobby’ button next and then the 'door open’ button.

Nothing.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This was not happening.

Fuck.

This could not be happening.

Oh my god, I’m stuck in a fucking elevator.

Heart beating rapidly, Kurt paced back and forth in the metal shoebox that had become his prison, trying to think. Perhaps if he just stayed calm, it would just carry on its way and he would arrive just a minute or two late for his date but with a funny story for his trouble. Perhaps they would laugh about this in a few years when people asked how they had met.

It wasn’t moving. It had been five minutes and the elevator was just as stubbornly wedged between floors as ever. It was time to take action.

Kurt pulled out his cell phone, only to discover that he had no service. Of course, no one ever has fucking cell phone service in the elevator. Previously, this fact had only ever felt like an inconvenience, but had now become a matter of survival.

Kurt began to really study his environment, looking for anything useful. There wasn’t much to this metal box, unfortunately. There was cracked tile on the floor, a loose handrail on one wall, the expired certificate (which wasn’t nearly so amusing now), and the usual rows of numbered buttons.

Well, mostly numbered.

Open door, close door, call…

There was a call button. Kurt felt a surge of relief. Impatiently, he jammed his finger much harder than necessary into the button. The sound of a telephone ringing filled the elevator.

“Hello? Elevator Services, how may I help you?” asked a crackling voice, with no sense of urgency.

Kurt had to crouch down to answer.

“Uh, hi? I’m stuck in an elevator.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you know your address?”

Thankfully, even without service he was able to pull up the text Tina had sent him with the address. Kurt read it off.

“We are sending a technician your way.”

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

The call ended and Kurt was filled with relief. Someone was coming. Rescue was on its way.

Then the silence settled in. It was just so quiet. The elevator felt like a tomb. Suddenly, the walls were far too close. He wondered how much air he had in here.

Bzzz.

It was his phone. It was vibrating. Service!

“Hello?” he answered the phone breathlessly.

“Uh, yes, hi. Is this, um, is this Kurt?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh good! It’s Blaine. Did you need help finding my apartment or something? Because I buzzed you in over ten minutes ago and I’m starting to get a little worried that you’ve been kidnapped or changed your mind.”

“Blaine! You’ll never believe where I am!”

Blaine chuckled softly. “If you say ‘in your apartment’ I’m going to either be very freaked out or very impressed.”

In spite of the seriousness of his situation, Kurt felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, I’m stuck in your elevator.”

Kurt heard a slight gasp from the other side of the call. “Oh no! Are you alright?” Blaine asked, his voice filled with concern.

“I’m not hurt or anything, I’m just sort of…trapped. I was able to use one of the emergency buttons to call for help already. They said they were sending someone. I guess I just have to wait? I’m sorry, I know you were making dinner and now I’ve surely spoilt it.” Kurt stopped before his rambling became life threatening.

“Are you seriously apologizing to me? I mean it’s my elevator after all. Shit, I knew something like this was bound to happen. That thing has always been dubious. I tried talking to the landlord about getting it up to code but he just keeps feeding me lines about how it’s perfectly safe and they can’t afford the repairs. But still…what are the odds it would finally break down with my date inside. Seriously, Kurt I am so sorry. I swear I am going to have words with him after this is all over.”

Now, Blaine sounded indignant. It was sort of adorable, how quickly he jumped to Kurt’s defense.

“It’s not your fault, Blaine. I should be apologizing too. I would have called you if I’d realized I had any bars. There wasn’t any service the first time I checked.” Kurt held the phone away from his face. “Looks like I’ve only got one bar as it is, so who knows how long this connection will keep.”

“I promise I won’t take it personally if you hang up on me. I’m going to set dinner in the oven to keep warm.” Blaine paused and Kurt could almost hear him thinking over on the other end. “Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”

Kurt bristled. He wasn’t a child. “You don’t need to babysit me, Blaine.”

“Oh! I, uh, no, no of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply I just… I thought…I just know that if it was me, I wouldn’t want to just sit there in a small, quiet space all alone like that.”

He sounded so devastatingly sincere that Kurt slowly eased his defenses back down. Kurt couldn’t help but notice that the walls had finally stopped feeling like they were closing in on him since he picked up the phone.

Blaine seemed to take his silence as an answer. “Obviously, you don't want to just listen to me ramble, I’m very—”

Kurt cut him off, “—stay. Please, stay.”

“Oh, well, alright then.”

“So, tell me about South Pacific?” Kurt asked, trying to make conversation. All Kurt knew about Blaine was that he was Tina’s co-star and that Tina insisted he was very charming and definitely gay. Kurt hadn’t asked about that last part, but knowing Tina she probably knew that first-hand… poor girl.

“It’s just the best! I mean I only have a small part, but getting to sing ‘There is Nothing Like a Dame’ is such a blast. The director’s doing this really interesting thing with the choreography too…”

Kurt let the sound of Blaine’s voice wash over him, chasing away the strange, oppressive loneliness of his entombed state. Blaine’s enthusiasm was infectious and his positivity wrapped around Kurt like a warm blanket. He felt… safe.

“…you seen Tina do her song yet? Oh, if you haven’t you’re in for a treat, I mean there’s this one part—”

The line went dead. Shit.

Kurt pulled the phone away from his face, confirming that he had lost reception entirely. He let his head lean back far enough to smack gently against the wall.

He looked around the room, listening to the dead silence. He tried not to think about how thirsty he was getting. Or about what the odds were that he was about to go crashing to his tragically early death. Did something just move? Gulp.

Was this some sort of punishment? A sign from the universe, perhaps, that he should stop holding out for epic romance and just settle for someone already?

Then he heard something.

“Kurt?” It was his name, muffled, but clear enough to discern through the wall.

“Blaine?” he shouted back.

“Kurt! There you are! Can you hear me?” Blaine’s voice was louder now.

“Yes, I think you don’t need to shout anymore. What are you doing here?” he asked in confusion. Blaine wasn’t going to try to rescue him, was he?

“Well, we got disconnected so I came to find you.” Blaine explained this like it was the most natural thing in the world. Kurt had been stood up by a date once for being ten minutes late and had another date called off when the guy found out what part of town he lived in. Apparently, inconvenience wasn’t a deterrent for Blaine. “Sorry it took so long, I wasn’t sure what floor you were on.”

Kurt realized that neither did he. “Where did I end up, anyways?”

“Well, I’m on the third floor right now and your voice is above me so I guess in between third and fourth? Oh, and I also called my landlord; he’s going to try to get an ETA on the technician because you’ve been in there for ages.”

Kurt let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god!”

“So, in the meantime… if you can’t come to the date, then the date will just have to come to you!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Leaving Kurt’s question unanswered, Blaine asked Kurt if he had anything to write with.

Kurt couldn’t help but smile at Blaine’s eagerness. “Yeah, I have a sketchpad.”

“Perfect! What are you wearing?”

What the fuck?

“I am not having phone sex with you right now, Blaine, Jesus have you ever heard of timing?”

Blaine made a strange choking sound.

“Wow! No, Kurt, I swear I’m not that much of a pervert… at least not on the first date.”

Kurt snorted.

Blaine huffed and continued, “I was only asking because if this is the beginning of the date then this is the part where I give you flowers, but I wanted to match your outfit. You do work in fashion, after all.”

Kurt softened. “Oh, well that’s… rather gentlemanly of you. But… how exactly are you going to give me flowers when there’s a wall separating us?”

“Well, I was hoping it could be a team effort. Again, I’m assuming here from your background, but you’re probably a decent artist. If I describe the flowers I chose, will you draw them for yourself?”

“I…” This was either the dumbest or the cutest thing Kurt had ever heard. “Yeah, alright. I’m, um, I’m in silvers and blacks mostly with a pop of raspberry.” He decided it was cute, definitely cute.

“Hmm…alright, how about ranunculus? A little more interesting than roses but still classic.”

Kurt smiled to himself. “Tina told you, didn’t she? That’s cheating, Blaine!”

“Told me what?” he asked in genuine curiosity.

“Oh, it’s just… that was my mother’s favorite flower. I’ve always… they’ve always been special to me.”

“Oh,” said Blaine softly. “I can pick something else, I mean, I didn’t mean to make you sad or—”

“No! It’s a perfect choice, really. She passed away a long time ago; it doesn’t hurt so bad to remember anymore. I… I like feeling close to her.”

Kurt drew the tight layers of petals, holding one another close, more perfect than any rose.

“I should probably mention that I didn’t actually get you flowers… just so you’re not too disappointed when you actually make it to my apartment. I was already making dinner and I… I’ve been told I can come on too strong sometimes and I didn't want to overdo it.” Blaine’s confession came out rushed.

Kurt put the finishing touches on the leaves. “Well, I have a bouquet of ranunculus that says different. And, um, I don’t mind someone who isn’t trying to play games. It’s refreshing.”

Blaine chuckled, although Kurt had been speaking sincerely. “This would be a bad time to mention that phase two of the date is getting-to-know-you games, then, wouldn’t it?”

Kurt laughed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Please keep in mind that I had very little preparation for this date before you judge my lack of creativity and I know it’s a little college frat party, but… never have I ever?”

“How do you play that with two people and no booze?” Kurt asked.

“Well, I don’t think there will be a winner or anything. I was thinking we could just take turns saying something we’ve never done and then the other person has to say if they’ve done that thing?”

“Sure, why not? But I’m adding that we each get one free pass to skip a question.”

“Why, got some skeletons in the closet, Kurt?” Blaine teased.

“Oh, just start already,” Kurt huffed in mock exasperation.

“Never have I ever… kissed a girl,” Blaine said smugly.

“Wow, someone was very sure of their sexuality growing up! Although, my brief foray into the world of hetero romance was less of an identity crisis than wishful thinking that I could just be normal.”

Way to be a downer, Kurt.

“No judgement. That sounds hard. Your turn.”

“Never have I ever… been blackout drunk.” Sure, Kurt had been drunk before, especially in college, but he’d always kept things moderately under control. Honestly, while he enjoyed the looseness that came with getting drunk, the idea of being that out of control frightened him far too much. Great, now Blaine knows what an uptight control freak I am.

“Oh, you lucky, lucky man. One time was enough for me. I woke up in bed with some guy with no memory of how I’d gotten there. I was so embarrassed I snuck out while he was still asleep. Although, I did check the trashcan to make sure we used protection. And… that was definitely an overshare, yikes.”

“Everyone has a random.”

“Oh, hey, Kurt? The landlord finally called me back, give me a sec.” The gentle cadence of Blaine’s voice traveled through the wall, too quiet for Kurt to make out the words as he spoke on the phone to his landlord.

“Good news, Kurt! He says that the technicians are almost here!”

“Oh, thank god!” I really need to pee.

“Where were we? Never have I ever… cheated in a relationship.”

“Noted. Also, same. That one would have been awkward if I had.”

“You always could have used your veto.”

“I mean, I think vetoing that question is still an answer, but sure. Alright, it’s my turn…”

Suddenly the elevator shifted, and then he was falling.

Kurt screamed.

The elevator car couldn’t have fallen more than a few inches but it was long enough for Kurt to be briefly gripped with mortal terror. As much as he had thought about the possibility of the elevator falling, he had never really thought it could happen. Then there was a loud clanging noise coming from above him, and finally the elevator doors slid open.

A middle-aged woman in a safety vest stood above him. Behind her, bushy brown eyebrows furrowed together in concern, stood a man Kurt could only assume was Blaine.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked.

“The elevator dropped!” Kurt shrieked.

The woman shrugged. “Yeah, that can happen sometimes when we open things up.” She was far too nonchalant for Kurt’s taste.

“Maybe warn a guy next time? I thought I was going to die for a second there.”

“Sure, sure,” she said brusquely. “Are you coming out or what?” She reached her hand out but Kurt reached for the arm of the man beside her instead. Blaine’s grasp was strong and sure, pulling him from the jaws of that dastardly contraption and out into the hallway.

“Kurt, you’re shaking!” Blaine observed, looking worried.

“Did you miss the part where I thought I was going to die!” He addressed the last few words at the elevator technician in a savage tone.

Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you inside, huh? I have wine or maybe you’d rather have some nice chamomile tea?”

Kurt nodded and leaned in to the warmth and stability of Blaine’s body. His knees were still quivering.

“Are we done here?” Blaine asked the technician firmly.

“Yes. I’ll just finish writing up the report but you gentlemen can move on with your evening”

“Thank you. And if it’s at all possible, I hope you will speak to our management company about improving the elevator safety here.”

“Not my department, sorry. Have a nice date,” she smirked.

Kurt blushed and Blaine’s hand rubbed his back soothingly. “Come on, let’s see if dinner is salvageable.”

Blaine escorted him up two flights of stairs and finally, two hours late, Kurt made it to his destination.

He stashed his coat and bag on the coat rack by the door and took in Blaine’s apartment. It was small, like his own, but lovingly decorated with colorful throw blankets and large photographs of a smiling Blaine with various loved ones.

“I like your apartment.”

Blaine blushed slightly. “Thank you. Please, uh, you can sit down and I’ll see if my roast chicken isn’t too dry for human consumption.”

Kurt took the chair Blaine had indicated, admiring the way he had set the table with placemats and a small cluster of tea light candles in the center of the table for decoration. He really had gone to a lot of effort for a blind date.

Blaine came back in from the kitchen with a serving dish. “I’ve determined that it’s edible, but you can only eat this if you promise you’ll wait until next time to judge my cooking prowess, okay?”

“Next time, huh?” Kurt said cheekily.

Blaine’s hazel eyes widened. “I didn’t mean… no, let’s be honest I did mean it. I know we’ve only been face to face for about fifteen minutes but… you told me you didn’t like playing games so I’m just going to be honest with you and hope you really aren’t scared by someone who comes on too strong. I already know I’m going to want to see you again. I knew it before I even saw how gorgeous you are, not that I’m not appreciating that because I am. Just talking to you, I could tell you were someone special. That’s why I tried so hard to impress you with my weird elevator date. Sorry, I know I’m a silly romantic but I can’t help it.”

Kurt gasped, his heart swelling in his chest. He was overwhelmed by emotion and suddenly lost for words. No one had ever acted like this with Kurt before. In the past, dating had felt like a game of chess, each person carefully calculating their next move, not wanting to give away their strategy. Blaine was just so open and honest with his feelings, so hopeful without pressuring, so generous without expecting anything in return.

To his utter embarrassment, tears pricked at his eyes. He turned away from Blaine, desperately trying to dab at the corners of his eyes without his date noticing. Turning back to Blaine, he gave him a watery smile, hoping it was enough to convey how he was feeling.

Blaine beamed back. “Chicken?”

Kurt nodded.

“And you promise?” Blaine prodded, clearly serious about his cooking being spared judgement.

“Yes, of course, I’ve been trapped in an elevator for two hours; I’m famished. Give me some fucking chicken before I pass out on your area rug.”

Blaine’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Sorry, I have a tendency to get a little hangry.”

They ate, falling into a companionable silence. The chicken was a little on the dry side, but surprisingly good all things considered and Kurt could appreciate the spice rub Blaine had used. And he was much too hungry to care.

After they finished eating and they had set their dishes into the sink to soak, Blaine turned to him and asked shyly, “I know it’s getting late but would you like to sneak up onto the roof with me? I thought you might enjoy going somewhere with lots of open space after being cooped up for so long.”

Kurt grinned. “That sounds perfect. I’m in.”

Grabbing their coats, Kurt followed Blaine out onto the fire escape and up the rickety stairs two more floors to the roof. After Blaine assured him it was up to code, anyways.

They hopped over an ineffective gate and scrambled onto the roof. Blaine shook out a blanket that Kurt hadn’t realized he had. They sat down together, looking out over the roofs of the neighboring buildings.

“You know, I’ve never tried to get onto the roof of my building before. I wonder if it’s possible,” Kurt mused.

“I would be more than happy to assist in such an expedition,” Blaine said eagerly.

“Sounds like a date,” Kurt said with a wink.

“Wait, really?” Blaine asked hopefully, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Kurt had said it without thinking but he found that he’d meant it. Blaine was sweet, thoughtful, and fun to be around. He could already picture them having a good time roaming the rooftops of Kurt’s neighborhood or enjoying more of Blaine’s cooking.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want to.” Kurt smiled shyly.

“Oh, I want to,” Blaine said breathlessly.

Kurt felt himself flush all the way down to his collar. When he looked back up, Blaine’s face was somehow closer and he was looking very intently back at him.

“This is very romantic,” Kurt whispered, as if his voice might break the spell. “You’re very romantic.”

“That’s kind of my charm,” Blaine whispered back. “It’s too much for some people.”

“I like it. I like it a lot.”

“That’s very lucky for me, then.”

“Blaine?” Kurt asked, he voice trembling slightly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s alright.”

“Oh, god, yes.” Blaine’s eyes looked back at him with desire that made Kurt’s stomach flip. For a moment, he thought Blaine might just lean in the rest of the way but instead he waited, seeming to enjoy the anticipation, waiting for Kurt to make his move. Like he intuitively understood Kurt’s need to be in control.

Kurt reached out to brush Blaine’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, Blaine hummed happily and leaned into the touch. Then he ran his thumb over Blaine’s lower lip, eliciting a delicious gasp.

“Please,” Blaine whispered. It was the sexiest thing Kurt had ever heard.

“Well, I did keep you waiting for two hours already; I suppose I shouldn’t make you wait any longer.”

Blaine nodded his encouragement.

Slowly, Kurt leaned forward, taking a moment to brush his nose against Blaine’s before their lips finally connected.

There was a shared gasp, and then Blaine threaded his fingers into Kurt’s hair, pulling him closer. Kurt moaned into his mouth.

In Kurt’s experience, there were always at least a few minutes of awkwardness when two people kissed for the first time before they adjusted to one another’s rhythm and style but it was nothing like that with Blaine. Kissing Blaine was just effortlessly good. Like they were already in tune with one another, no adjustment period required.

They kissed fervently, passionately. Blaine had just pulled Kurt into his lap when Kurt’s phone alarm went off. Shaken out of his reverie, Kurt pulled back.

Blaine pouted. “Come back,” he whined.

“I… fuck, I’m sorry I forgot how late it was. That’s my alarm to start getting ready for bed. I’ll be a complete wreck at work tomorrow if I don’t get enough sleep. Hangry Kurt has nothing on sleep-deprived Kurt.”

“Good to know. Alright, then, I supposed we had better go inside.”

Blaine watched him fondly as he did up the buttons of his coat and collected his bag.

“I’ll, um, I’ll call you tomorrow. About that second date, okay?”

“You better,” Blaine said a grin.

“Thank you, for, well, everything. This was a remarkably good first date, all things considered.”

Blaine pulled him closer by his coat lapels, pressing him into a final, toe-curling kiss. Kurt felt his brain swirl for a few moments before he remembered that he was supposed to be leaving.

“You, sir, are dangerously distracting.”

“Fine, I’ll let you go.” Blaine’s fingers worked quickly to smooth the flaps of his lapel.

They hugged goodbye, Kurt holding on for a few extra seconds to soak in the smell of Blaine’s cologne. Finally pulling away, Kurt reluctantly wished Blaine a good night.

As he stepped into the hallway, Blaine called out to him.

“Take the stairs this time!”

#glee fanfiction #klaine fanfiction #esperanto author #fluff #romance #one shot #original post #featured post #my fic

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midnightartemis · 3 years

Text

Chapter Four

On AO3

A west bound road from Inverness, The Scottish Highlands, The mid-1700s

Nearly One Day Since the Stones...

The rain lasted the rest of the day, and I was completely soaked through and shivering and covered in mud. Kylo stopped only once to adjust himself, and pull a swath of his kilt around our shoulders.

I was immediately enveloped in warmth, and I didn’t complain when he pressed himself tightly against me. It was the only way neither of us would freeze to death. We rode hard and fast, trying to catch up with the others I suppose. Only once we were far past Cocknammon Rock and the road to Inverness did we begin to slow. Kylo was quiet, and it was only when he slumped over that I realized anything was wrong.

“Kylo? Kylo!” I barely caught on to the edges of the tartan plaid as he threatened to fall off the horse. My grip on the cloth was the only thing keeping him on. Something was wrong, but if he fell off now and didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. I wasn’t strong enough to pick him up.

Just leave him and ride back to the stones. I hated the thought as soon as I thought it. No matter who he was, no one deserved to die alone on the side of the road. I had seen enough of that in just my lifetime.

I did the only thing that I could think of, which was to grab the reins and pray that the next group of travellers I stumbled upon were my kidnappers. I managed to grab Kylo’s arm, lock it over my shoulder, and push the horse down the road. He wakes a moment later, grabbing me around the waist so roughly we almost both go flying.

“You’re an idiot, you know that! Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Your wound!”

“Hmm. Bullet. To my thigh. It’s nothing.”

“Like hell it’s nothing! You just passed out on me. And if I don’t get you to your men fast you’re going to pass out again and die in the middle of the road because you’re so damn huge I can’t lift you.”

My ranting gets me nothing but a soft giggle from Kylo. I curse louder against the rain, but my prayers are answered as I crest the next hill and spy a sad, wet group of men and horses plodding through the rain.

“Hey!” My voice is lost in the rain and distant thunder. Kylo is passing out behind me again and threatening to fall into the pits of mud below us, so I summon all of my strength for a yell that would make a drill sergeant cry. “Help me you bloody bastards!”

That gets their attention and several of them whip around on their horses. As soon as they realize who we are, the men are gathered around us, pulling Kylo off from behind me. I hop down barking orders.

“Get him somewhere dry. On a blanket. I need antiseptic. Alcohol. Anything that burns. And cloth.”

He’s laid on the ground, and I waste no time in shoving up his kilt and finding the bullet hole. It’s steadily leaking blood, but it’s not spurting. He would have been fine if he had just attended to it right away, now… I looked at his pale face and the way his eyelids flickered.

“Where’s that bloody alcohol! He’s bleeding out.” I look up to see the group of scottish rogues looking at me strangely. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Ye ken there’s easier ways to get into a lad’s kilt, lassie?” A short, burly, bearded man laughed. I shot up and shoved him with all my might.

“He’s about to die if I don’t do something, ye ken?” I watch as the blood rushes from the man’s face.

“Here’s your cloth and your alcohol, lass.” A hand gently pulls me away from the burly scotsman and hands me the items. I snatch them from the giant and kneel next to Kylo. He’s going in and out of consciousness. I quickly take the cloth and tie it tightly above the bullet hole in a makeshift tourniquet. Kylo groans.

“I know it hurts, but I have to stop the bleeding.” That’s just the first piece of the puzzle. If I leave the cloth on for too long, the leg would have to be amputated, but if I tried to sew him up in the middle of nowhere in the 1700s, he would get infected and die anyway. I tip the bottle of alcohol over the wound, trying to clean it. I wash my hands with the strange smelling liquid and ignore the sad groans from the men around me.

Now that the bleeding has slowed, I’m able to get a better look. If it’s hit his artery, it’s just barely. He would have died a long time ago. “How far is this castle of yours?”

“Less than a day’s ride.” The leader comments. He’s trying very hard to not look worried. “What do you need, lass?”

“Clean cloth. Maybe a needle and thread, but that can wait. The bullet went clean through. He would have been fine if he had stopped and bandaged himself right away, but he didn’t he-” I stop myself as I realize that I was the reason Kylo was laying on the ground. “He went after me.”

The leader nods to the giant and I do my best to cover Kylo from the rain. I can’t do much but pull the edge of his tartan over his shoulders and try to keep him awake. “Stay with me. Okay? Don’t close your eyes you crazy bastard.”

I blink and try to push back my horrible memories of war time. Of the boys dying in the hospital beds at the base and crying out for their mothers. Clean cloth is handed to me and I carefully pack and wrap the wound on his leg. Already, the tourniquet was working, boosting his blood pressure just enough to help him stay conscious. With enough constant pressure it should be enough to stop the bleeding and allow me to remove the tourniquet very, very slowly.

“We have to keep moving, sassenach.” The leader breaks the stormy silence.

“Is there a cart or something he can ride in? He needs to be laying down, not over exerting himself. I have to remove the tourniquet slowly or the sudden change could kill him.”

“Then why’d ye put it on his leg in the first place?” The burly Scotsman grumbled.

“I’ll ride. Dinnae worry, lass.” Kylo's hand brushes my arm and I pull away.

The rest of the men take this as a sign to go back to their horses and ready themselves for the ride ahead. I realized in that moment that even the wars of the 1900s had their comforts and advantages. The giant helped us back to our horse, but this time I held the reins behind Kylo as he slumped forward over the horse’s neck. I helped him tuck his tartan over his shoulders and gratefully accepted an extra blanket from the giant for myself. It was enough to keep out the wind and the rain.

To the dismay of all my travel companions, I stopped more often than necessary to check Kylo’s leg and loosen the tourniquet on his leg. To my surprise, he accepted my medical torture without complaint.

The storm rolled away by evening, but we did not stop. I loosen the tourniquet completely, thankful that there were no obvious consequences. My medical knowledge was basic at best, mostly compiled from basic training and speaking with the nurse girls on base.

It was enough to save Kylo’s life for now.

My stomach roared with hunger and Kylo slowly reached into one of the saddle bags to pull out a small loaf of bread. I swapped the reins for it and greedily scarfed it down. It was quite stale, but my stomach no longer cared.

The sun set and I fell into a deeply uncomfortable half sleep against Kylo’s warm, broad back. My thighs were chafed to bleeding and every muscle in my body ached. Despite the blankets and my slowly drying clothes, a chill was settling deep into my bones.

“Nearly there sassenach.”

What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower, a hot meal, a warm bed. Henry.

“Who is Henry?”

I really have to stop speaking my mind aloud when I don’t realize it. It’s gotten me in trouble more times than I can count. I don’t lie though, “My husband.”

He would be, at least. In a little while, for a little while. I shiver, but now I can’t stop. Kylo reaches back and pulls me closer, wrapping my arms up in the tartan cloth around his shoulders. It’s not scary or predatorial, just kindness. Caring even. He wasn’t the terrifying man I at first believed him to be, though I still wasn’t sure about the others.

The others seemed to try their best to avoid us. I had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t just me they were trying to avoid. The leader and the giant rode ahead of us while the rest rode behind. The burly one was the loudest of them all, talking jovially and singing, but even he seemed muted by my presence. They were all walking on eggshells around me, scared to say anything in case I was actually a spy.

“When we get to the castle, do I get to know their names?”

Kylo is silent for a moment, then he nods. “Ye do. Ye will find them out eventually.”

“You don’t speak like the others.”

Kylo’s back tenses underneath me. “And ye ask far too many questions for a lass who is not a spy.”

I fall silent at that, unsure now how to smother my ever unbridled curiousness. Darkness has fallen all around us, but in the distance, I think I can see the flickering glow of candlelight in windows. More disconcerting is the fact that I can hear water. That of an ocean, not a lake or river. “Is that it?”

“Aye… Dun Mhuir. She guards the waters of Eilean Sgitheanach.”

“The Isle of Skye.”

“Home to Clan Adharled and its Laird.” I couldn’t see Kylo’s face, but I could feel the way he tensed at his mention of the man.

“Is this your home?”

“No.”

I didn’t press him further as we rode towards shore to a small town near the shore. To my surprise, there was a boat waiting for all of us, a ferry which we climbed aboard and rode across the dark black waters.

My life as I once knew it already seemed like a distant memory. My only reminder was the clothes on my back. As the lights of the harbor town and the castle grew closer, the hope in my chest grew faint. I had unknowingly and willingly walked into my own Alcatraz, the infamous American prison popping into my head as I stared at the formidable stone walls coming at me.

It didn’t take long for us to cross the straight by ferry and ride through the quiet streets of the harbor down up to the walls of the castle. The light of morning was just beginning to peek over from across the water.

“The sun will always rise in the east; the stars will always guide ye home. Dinnae be afeard young lass, where ever ye may roam.”

“I dinnae ken that one.” Kylo says as we enter the courtyard.

I smile. The poem I was thinking of hadn’t exactly been written yet. “No, I don’t think you would.”

#reylo #kylo x rey #reylo ao3 #reylo fanfic #reylo fiction #reylo fanfiction #rey x ben

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ssa-lesbian · 4 years

Text

don’t you know you have my eyes

word count: 4.1k words

Rosalyn always made time for her little sister.

-> read on AO3

(Contains graphic descriptions of suicide, descriptions of self-harm, reference to CSA/pedophilia. Spoiler warning for Criminal Minds, S14E5, The Tall Man.)

—

Rosalyn finds her underneath the back porch.

“JJ? It’s Roz.”

She doesn’t answer, just digs her fingers into the moist dirt and tries not to sniffle too loudly. Rosalyn waits only a few seconds before crawling under, just barely squeezing under the wooden planks and settling in an awkward crouch next to her sister.

“Hey,” she says.

JJ sniffs in response. Already there’s another tear slipping down her cheek, and she bites her lip to try and stop the sob that’s threatening to escape. Rosalyn lifts her hand to brush away her tear, but JJ flinches in response.

“I’m sorry about your butterfly,” Rosalyn says, and the dam breaks.

“It’s not fair,” JJ cries, hands digging into the dirt. “I thought she wanted— I thought— I thought she was my friend.”

“Oh, Jayj,” Rosalyn murmurs, and she pulls her sister into her embrace.

She melts into it, the sturdy feeling of her big sister, and she buries her face in her shoulder, sobbing.

JJ doesn’t have many friends at school. She is quiet, awkward, timid, a little clumsy, and everyone thinks it’s a little weird she goes by JJ instead of Jenny or Jen, but Mary Ann has many friends, and she said she wanted to see the butterfly JJ presented at show-and-tell, and JJ thought that meant she thought she was cool and maybe they could be friends.

Except Mary Ann ripped the butterfly out of her hands and called her “stupid,” “ugly,” “lame,” and when JJ tried to grab her back, her wings were torn. She was an eastern tiger swallowtail, with pretty black striping and a splash of sky blue, and JJ had spent so long looking for her. And Mary Ann and her friends had laughed at her while she cried, trying to pick up the pieces of her butterfly.

“I hate her,” JJ says, and immediately she feels bad, because “hate” is a strong word and her mommy always said she shouldn’t ever say that, but right now, she thinks she hates Mary Ann.

“I hate her too,” Rosalyn says, and JJ startles, but her hands keep stroking through her tangled blonde locks. “I hate that she made you cry and she hurt your butterfly. I think she’s a meanie-poo.”

And despite her sobbing, JJ giggles. “Meanie-poo?”

“Yeah, I think she’s a meanie-poo,” Rosalyn repeats. “I think she’s a stinky, rotten, meanie-poo.”

“Meanie-poo,” JJ giggles, and her sister smiles, brushing away the leftover tears and the wet strands of hair sticking to her face. Then her face falls.

“Is Mommy mad at me?” she asks quietly.

There’s a pause before Rosalyn responds, and it’s with something in her eyes that six-year-old JJ cannot quite understand.

“Mommy’s not mad at you,” she says.

“But she yelled at me.”

“Mommy’s been really stressed lately,” she says, and when she sees JJ’s face scrunch up in confusion, she hurries to clarify. “She’s really tired ‘cause of all her work, and when she saw you crying, she got scared.”

“Oh,” JJ says, because if she had to pick a word to describe her screaming mother, it would not have been “scared.” Then more guilt, because it is her fault that Mommy was scared.

“It’s not your fault, Jayj,” Rosalyn says. “It’s that stupid meanie-poo’s.”

And JJ laughs because Roz said the “s word” and that’s a bad word, but it dies down when Rosalyn says, “We should go tell her mom.”

“No,” JJ says immediately. “No, I don’t want to—”

“But someone has to know,” Rosalyn says. “Her mom should know that she’s a stinky meanie-poo—”

“I don’t want to!” JJ shouts, and immediately Rosalyn quiets, just holding JJ by the shoulders and looking at her, and JJ tries to not let the tears fall again.

“I don’t want to,” she repeats, and Rosalyn nods.

“I know,” she says. “But you have to stand up for yourself.”

“I don’t want to,” JJ says.

“Okay. Do you want to go and find another tiger swallowtail?”

“It’s an eastern tiger swallowtail,” JJ corrects, but she crawls out from under the porch with her sister, and they spend the rest of the afternoon searching the fields. And for a while, it feels like JJ didn’t lose anything at all.

They spend Friday evenings with their grandparents. Nana and Haydyn welcome the two with a glazed apple pie, and listening to Roz tell them about her singing performance at the school talent show and JJ’s new butterflies, this old, creaking farmhouse feels more like home than the cold house back in town full of shouting and scowling. Haydn takes them to feed their goat and two cows, and even though Roz complains of the stink, when Bella the goat bleats in protest, they all laugh.

Dinner is chicken pot pie and green beans, and the big sheepdog, Shelly, sits beneath the dining table, and JJ is small enough that her feet barely graze his thick fur, and she laughs and giggles and she doesn’t notice that Rosalyn is watching her the entire time. They play poker in the evenings, gambling off small chips that JJ slips Shelly when she thinks no one is watching, and at night, Nana and Haydyn have a room prepared just for the two sisters.

Just when JJ is about to doze off, it’s Rosalyn’s voice that brings her back.

“JJ! JJ, it’s snowing!”

And even though it’s way past their bedtime and she knows she’s supposed to be quiet, a squeal escapes from JJ as she bounds to the window, pressing her face up against the glass and watching the little flakes float down, illuminated by the moonlight. There’s footsteps behind her, and she whirls around to grab her sister’s hands.

“It’s snowing Roz, it’s snowing!” she shouts, and even though Rosalyn shushes her, JJ knows she’s just as excited from the way they almost dance on the cold wooden floor.

“It’s so magical, Roz, it’s like we’re in—”

“A winter wonderland,” her sister finishes for her, and JJ shouts in agreement.

“We’re the snow princesses,” she says. “This is our castle.”

“Shelly is our magic dog,” Rosalyn suggests. “He’s our guard dog ‘cause he’s so big.”

“Bella is magic too!” JJ protests. “She makes it snow.”

“Bella is magic too,” her sister laughs. “What about Mabel and Moxie?”

The cows. JJ is still thinking when Rosalyn gasps.

“What?”

“The moon,” Rosalyn says in a hushed voice, and nine-year-old JJ is a little small for her size, just a little under four feet, and so her big sister hoists her up underneath her arms, and JJ gasps at the moon.

“It’s so pretty!” she says. “It’s a full moon, Roz.”

“It is,” Rosalyn agrees. “Do you know what a full moon is?”

“Um,” JJ says thoughtfully. “It’s a circle?”

And Rosalyn laughs and runs her hand through JJ’s hair, and she giggles.

“A full moon is when the Earth is right in the middle of the sun and the moon,” Rosalyn explains, shifting her weight so that JJ is seated on her hip. “And because the moon is facing the sun, this one big side of the moon is completely lit up.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” JJ says. “How come the Earth doesn’t block the sunlight?”

“I don’t know,” Rosalyn answers, and JJ giggles. “That’s what Miss Jordan said in science class.”

“Okay Roz,” JJ says, and she hums before speaking again.

“JJ , I need to tell you something.”

Her voice is more hushed and solemn, and JJ twists around in her grip to look at her.

Rosalyn might have JJ’s hair, just like their mother’s, but her eyes are a pale brown color, almost hazel, just like their parents’. JJ is the only one with blue eyes, and everywhere she goes, she’s told how beautiful, how striking, how vivid they are, and though she doesn’t tell anyone this, she doesn’t like her eyes much. She likes how warm Rosalyn’s eyes are, how they seem to be filled with so many colors at once, but JJ thinks her own eyes are too bright, too cold.

“I love you,” Rosalyn says, and JJ blinks.

“I know,” she says. “I love you too.”

And Rosalyn laughs, but there’s some sort of sadness as she lets JJ down to the ground, and she gets on her knees so she’s at eye-level, and JJ blinks again because her sister is never this quiet and still. Even when their parents are yelling and they’re huddled in Rosalyn’s closet under a blanket, hands still combing through JJ’s hair, she notices how Rosalyn is shaking, mouth set in a hard line and a look of something dark on her face that makes JJ scared to look at.

“Are you okay?” JJ asks, and she doesn’t miss the flicker in her sister’s eyes right before she smiles.

“I’m okay,” she says. “I just wanted to tell you. You know how I’ll be going to college in a few years?”

JJ flinches at the “c” word.

“I don’t want you to go,” she says, and Rosalyn gives her another sad smile.

“I know,” she says quietly. “But I have to.”

“No you don’t,” JJ protests, but she’s old enough to know that East Allegheny is no place to stay in, surrounded by people who have known you since the day you were born and by parents who are so caught up in their own bitterness they can’t look out for their two kids.

And Rosalyn doesn’t say anything but points out the window. “You see the moon?”

From this angle, JJ can’t see anything, but she remembers the pale, glowing orb in the sky and nods.

“Promise me,” Rosalyn says, “that if you ever miss me, you’re going to look at the full moon. Because I’ll be looking at the moon too. And even though I won’t be with you, we’ll be looking at the same moon. And that’s how I’ll know that you’ll always be there with me.”

“The same moon,” JJ echoes.

Rosalyn squeezes her hands and nods.

“The same moon,” she says. “I’ll always love you. Promise me you’ll know that.”

“I promise,” JJ says. And then, “I’ll always love you too.”

Saturday afternoon comes too quickly, and it doesn’t escape from JJ her mother’s narrowed eyes and the sourness coming off of her father. She grips Rosalyn’s hand more tightly, and Rosalyn squeezes back in response, meeting her mother’s glare with a fierce stare of her own. They give Shelly one last pet before stepping off the porch, but when they make their way to the old van, the door is locked. And they’ve started arguing.

“Dan, you have to stop,” is Haydyn’s gruff voice, and responding is their father, but his voice is so slurred JJ can’t make out any words. “Think of the girls.”

“He doesn’t care,” comes their mother’s bitter snap. “He just drinks whatever he wants, whenever he wants, he won’t listen to that damn shrink—”

“Roz,” JJ says loudly. “Roz, can you tell me about the Mayflower?”

And Rosalyn tells her the stories of the first European pilgrims, and JJ tries to listen because no seven-year-old wants to hear her parents fighting and she just wants to hide with Bella the goat and pet Shelly the sheepdog and listen to Roz forever and ever, and she doesn’t really notice how Roz’s eyes darken and how her jaw tightens when their father says something and their mother slaps him.

—

JJ is quiet in school, never raising her hand and speaking in a voice so soft all the teachers have to ask her to speak up, but she’s a bright kid, they say, knows everything even though her parents are going through it. Because East Allegheny is a small town, and everyone knows that Dan Jareau has a drinking problem and has been sleeping with the high school science teacher for a while now, and all the kids whisper about her whore father when they think JJ isn’t listening, picking flowers in the recess field while everyone else plays kickball.

JJ asks Rosalyn what a whore is that night. Rosalyn doesn’t answer and asks JJ if she wanted to go out and catch more butterflies. She says yes.

JJ is not a stupid girl.

She teaches Rosalyn how to weave flower crowns from the wildflowers and tall grass in the fields behind their house, and when JJ goes to delicately set one on Rosalyn’s head, there’s a golden flash that catches her eye.

“What’s that?” she asks.

Rosalyn startles before her hand flies up to her collarbone, and she smiles.

“This?”

When JJ nods, Rosalyn glances around comically before putting a finger to her mouth with a hush, and her little sister giggles.

“I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone,” she says.

JJ’s eyes widen, but she promises with her eyes and zips her mouth shut.

“My boyfriend gave it to me,” Rosalyn says. “He said it’s to show how much he loved me.”

And JJ groans because, ugh, boys, but she still can’t help asking, “Can I see it?”

Rosalyn hesitates only a little bit before unclasping it and passing it over, and JJ makes it a point to hold it delicately in her hands, watching the chains pool in her tiny palms, and she studies the tiny gold heart.

“It’s so pretty,” she says, and Rosalyn agrees.

She gives it back reluctantly. JJ wonders if there will be someone who loved her enough to give her a necklace like that.

—

It’s when Rosalyn is doing her eyeliner that JJ notices the marks on her arm.

“Are you okay?”

Rosalyn puts down her arm, and her brows furrow.

“Of course I am,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

“Your arm,” JJ says, and immediately Rosalyn flinches, her right hand flying up to her left wrist, but it’s too late; JJ has already seen the cuts on her wrist from where her jacket rolled up.

“What happened?” JJ asks, and she reaches out to try and see for herself, but Rosalyn smacks her hand.

“Hey!” she cries out, and Rosalyn scowls.

“I’m fine,” she says. “Tina got a new cat, and it doesn’t like me.”

“You haven’t been eating either,” JJ points out. “Are you allergic to it?”

And Rosalyn looks at her with something so tender and soft that JJ wants to hug her, and she smiles that same sad smile.

“Probably,” she says. “I’ll be fine, I just won’t go over to her house again.”

“Do you need medicine? We could ask Mom—”

“No,” Rosalyn says sharply, and JJ freezes at the harshness. “You can’t tell Mom or Dad, okay?”

When she doesn’t answer, Rosalyn prods her with the eyeliner pen. “Promise me. You can’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” JJ says, but her lip is trembling because Rosalyn only sounds this angry when she’s yelling with Mom and Dad, and Rosalyn sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.”

“It’s okay,” JJ says.

Her sister smiles. “Look at your eyeliner. You’re so pretty.”

—

Rosalyn cuts her hair off and dyes it brown. When she gets back from school, JJ is hiding around the corner when their father goes to confront her.

“What the hell did you do?” he shouts.

He’s been drinking, JJ knows. She came home earlier to find him staggering around the living room, bottles and bottles of beer littering the floor, and she took refuge in her room, locking her door and praying for anyone, literally anyone, to come and save her.

“I dyed my hair,” comes Rosalyn’s cold voice.

“Jesus Christ. Is it that boy? Tom?”

“Leave me alone.”

“I’m your father, you will not—”

“You’re barely around!” Rosalyn shouts, and JJ flinches behind the corner as she hears disorganized footsteps pounding on the stairs. “You’re off sleeping with Miss Jordan, she has to teach me and look at me and know she’s banging my dad—”

“Do not disrespect me, you have no idea—”

“I’m not some stupid teenager, I know what love is, unlike you—”

“You’re 17, you don’t—”

“You don’t understand that we’re in love— he loves me.”

“Rosalyn, you don’t even know what love is—”

“You don’t get it.”

And the door slams so loudly it rattles the walls, and her dad’s roar of anger sends JJ scurrying into the pantry, closing the door behind her and hoping someone would come save her and her sister. Her mother comes home later, and still in the dark pantry, she listens to their screaming. Glass breaks right before the front door slams, and JJ hears her mother sob. She slips out easily and tries not to look at her mother’s shaking figure at the dining table, and she steps delicately around the shattered glass bottles on the ground.

Her mother sends JJ to get her sister for dinner. But it’s hopeless. Rosalyn hasn’t eaten in days, there’s no point.

But she still knocks on her door and opens it because JJ loves her sister.

“It’s dinnertime, mom says.”

Her voice is tiny in Rosalyn’s dark room, and she can only vaguely make out her figure hunched over on her bed.

“JJ, not now,” is her reply, and Rosalyn is looking at her with something so dull and lifeless and it’s nothing like her sister.

JJ takes in a deep breath and pulls together the meanest bones in her body, and she forces out, “You have to come eat because you haven’t eaten in three days.”

And Rosalyn snaps, lips curling back in a snarl as she shouts, “Get out!” and hurls something at JJ.

She flinches back behind the door just so it misses her, bouncing off the door and crumpling to the ground. The heart necklace.

“Why are you like this?” she whispers, because she is eleven years old and she knows her sister is suffering and that cat scratches don’t look like the marks on Rosalyn’s wrist and JJ just wants her to be happy again.

A thought crosses her mind. “Is it Tom?”

And Rosalyn stills. Tilts her head back and sighs before looking at JJ, something unreadable in her eyes.

“No,” she says. “I broke up with Tom months ago. Will you just go away please?”

JJ leaves.

—

The first time, Rosalyn was only a little upset when she found JJ wearing her necklace. And when she told her that Mary Ann and her friends all had necklaces and she didn’t, Rosalyn told her she’d find a necklace just for JJ.

The second time, Rosalyn had failed an English test. Yelled at JJ, blamed her for being the reason why she failed. And JJ cried as she gave the necklace back.

The third time, Rosalyn catches her in the act.

“What are you doing?”

JJ slams the jewelry box shut and spins around. “Nothing,” she says, but she withers under Rosalyn’s cold stare.

“Don’t say nothing, my necklace is missing,” she says, and JJ flinches as she barrels on. “You stole it again, didn’t you?”

Rosalyn holds out her hand expectantly, and JJ looks away.

“How many times do I have to say— stay out of my room?”

JJ gives her the necklace. She doesn’t miss the way Rosalyn’s hand hovers above it before taking it, and she holds it at length, playing with it with both her hands. Rosalyn studies JJ, eyes softening.

“Why do you even like this so much?” she asks, and there’s a rawness that makes JJ want to tell the truth.

“Because it’s yours,” she says, and she waits for Rosalyn to yell again, to snap, to do anything.

But Rosalyn only sighs, still fixated on the necklace, and—

“Then I want you to have it.”

JJ startles.

“Really?”

Rosalyn is already crouching down, clasping the necklace around her neck, her, “Yeah,” only a little broken.

“But you love this necklace. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Rosalyn murmurs, voice thick and so full of love that JJ can only stand still and accept it, and when Rosalyn leans back, looking at her handiwork, JJ feels beautiful and yet guilty.

“Because no matter what happens, I’ll always love you, JJ,” Rosalyn whispers, and JJ wants to say I know, we promised, we were snow princesses and we looked at the full moon and we promised.

But Rosalyn smirks a little, and she adds, “Besides, this necklace will ward off the tall man.”

And JJ rolls her eyes and tells her, “That’s a stupid, made-up story.”

“The story’s made-up, but some monsters are real,” Rosalyn corrects swiftly, and after a short pause, “and if a monster ever sees you wearing this, he’ll know not—” she pokes her in the stomach and JJ giggles “—to mess with Jennifer Jareau.”

And JJ is still a little unsure about the necklace, hand flying up to touch the cold surface, and Rosalyn winks at her. “Cause she’s a total badass.”

“You think I’m a badass?”

“I think you’re the baddest of asses,” Rosalyn confirms before frowning, brows furrowing. “That came out wrong.”

And JJ giggles before Rosalyn tickles her, and they’re laughing and it’s like the old Roz is back, and it’s just enough that JJ doesn’t see the sadness in her eyes.

—

JJ wakes up early the next morning to make breakfast. It doesn’t make sense that Rosalyn would just give her her favorite necklace, but she likes it too much to consider otherwise. This breakfast is for Rosalyn, a thank-you. JJ knows she’s been busy from school and hasn’t been eating breakfast, but JJ knows how to make her favorite pancakes and how to fry her eggs just right so the yolk’s a little runny, just how she likes it.

Rosalyn isn’t in her bedroom when JJ goes to check on her, and stuttering a little, she frowns before noticing the closed bathroom. She goes to knock.

“Roz?”

No answer. She tries the knob, and it’s an old house, the locks never worked, and she opens the door and Rosalyn is in the bathtub, facing away from the door. Her position looks almost comfortable, like she’s just soaking, but her arms are splayed out and the water is red.

“Roz?” JJ tries again, but her voice is so very, very small in this cold bathroom.

There are so many more marks on her arms than JJ realized, smaller white ones running up and down the length of both her arms, and then larger, dark red cuts that are still oozing red, dripping onto the tile floor, a little puddle next to the tub. Something glints in the maroon: their dad’s old razor.

And JJ waits. Waits for her to get up, because Rosalyn must’ve just fallen asleep last night while taking a bath, and any moment now she’ll wake up and laugh, tell JJ sorry, I’m really tired, and then tell her her necklace looks wonderful, and JJ will smile and show her the breakfast she’s made just for her big sister because she loves her, and they’ll laugh and eat breakfast together and they’ll go to their grandparents’ farm and pet Shelly, who’s a little slow because he’s so old and feed Bella and the cows, and everything will be okay.

“Roz, wake up,” she tries to say, but her throat is dry and she can’t make any noise.

But Rosalyn does not get up. She stays in the tub, unmoving, the water still and a murky maroon, and the only thing JJ can hear is her heart pounding.

“I love you.”

Rosalyn does not say it back.

Footsteps behind her. “Jennifer, what are you doing?”

Her mother stops behind her. “Rosalyn?”

Then the screaming starts.

—

The funeral passes by quickly. JJ only blinks and nods, the necklace burning into her skin as she stares straight ahead. Rosalyn Jareau looks peaceful in the casket, eyes fluttered closed and wearing her nice Sunday dress, the sleeves pushed down to their full length so as to hide the plethora of scars and cuts, the only visible sign of Rosalyn’s pain.

JJ wonders if heaven has the same moon as the one here on Earth.

Her father doesn’t come back, and at the memorial service, her mother locks herself in her room. People drift by, saying things that float out JJ’s ears, and she only nods blankly. When everyone leaves, the house is too quiet, and for one horrible moment, JJ smells that horrible metallic scent, the same as the one in the bathroom.

She still fits under the back porch, curling up underneath the wooden planks and digging her fingers into the moist dirt.

No one comes for her.

34 notes · View notes

warmau · 5 years

Text

{Special} College!AU Hyunjin

*this post was commissioned | master list here | commission info here

major: history / concentration in east asia

minor: archaeology

sports: tried out for baseball, but gave it up to do a study abroad in japan

clubs: sometimes he gets dragged into dance club by woojin and bang chan, won’t tell anyone but has a membership to the seoul museum of history and goes on tours by himself often

hyunjin is everyone’s favorite person. there isn’t any other way to put it.

he has a magical, calming charm that finds is way even into the coldest of hearts

professors who are known to be harshly critical just can’t seem to find anything cruel to say even if he does make a mistake

because like,,,,,,,,,,have you seen him?

he puts absolutely no effort into looking good - it just comes naturally

and like ,,,, things as mundane as putting on glasses or a face mask just seem to somehow up his charm?

like he came into the library to meet up with felix and changbin once

wearing his usual jeans, t-shirt, but with a pair of glasses his mom had just sent as a present

and changbin (over dramatically) went

“woah. +100 heart attack hyunjin!”

and hyunjin was like huh?? and changbin pretended to be shot through the heart as felix rolled his eyes and said

“changbin has a thing for glasses”

hyunjin without missing a beat: yeets the glasses all the way across the room

has been propositioned by fashion students for photoshoots multiple times - and by fine arts students a dozen more

he doesn’t get it

like he’ll look at his face in the mirror and call out to his roommate, seungmin, and be like

“i just look normal?”

seungmin flipping through his magazine, “if normal was what you looked like - this world be populated by demigods hyunjin.”

you can always catch him eating before class

like he’ll snack on anything - especially early in the morning

seungmin wakes up and hyunjin is already sitting on his bed surrounded by wrappers, recopying notes from yesterday and seungmin is like where did you get those

“the store”

“it’s 6:30 am”

“7-11 works 24 hours”

hyunjin walking into the store, piling his hands up with snacks, dumping them on the counter and then looking at the cashier

who is just awestruck because ,,,,,,,,,,, i- is he an idol??!??!!?!?

chose to study history because he likes traveling and study abroads always excite him

the only hiccup is that he isn’t great at languages so he sometimes resorts to just the ‘smile and nod’

and really like ,,,,,, it works for him ,,,,,,, that face ,,,,,,,, he could probably get away with murder at this point

when he was in japan he brought back gifts for everyone ,,,,,,,, but it was just the same shiba inu plushie

and he was like puppy ^___^ and bang chan was like it’s cute! and changbin was like i thought i was someone special to you bro,,,,,but i just get what everyone else gets huh,,,,,,

(not true - jeongin, a high school senior who sometimes hangout with the group got lots and lots of candy)

(hyunjin has a soft spot)

but yeah, he just enjoys being in new places and discovering new things and much to everyone’s surprise

he prefers being alone too, like he doesn’t think you have to go with someone else to have fun - you can make your own fun!

that is until he ends up lost in europe. again.

some people mistake his wanderlust for arrogance sometimes but they’re just idiots

because hyunjin is the sweetest - even if he’s in another country for school and seungmin calls with a problem or jeongin needs help with his homework

hyunjin doesn’t care, he’ll drop that money on a vpn, and always be there for his friends

took up archaeology as a minor after he did a workshop at the museum and found out it was really fun

jeongin: so do you like dig for dinosaur bones???

hyunjin: that’s more on the paleontology side-

jeongin, ignoring him: do you think id be a trex? i feel like id be a pterodactyl

hyunjin: ..........................

hyunjin: you’re too cute to be a dinosaur, seungmin on the other hand-

seungmin appearing out of nowhere: what did you say

but yeah he’s a sweetheart when it comes down to it, even though he can look a little intimidating

simply because his face. is. like. that.

you don’t go to the same university as hyunjin, actually you don’t even really know who he is

until you start tutoring an energetic high school senior named jeongin for his upcoming college entrance exam

“i can’t even say that”

jeongin mutters, huffing as you give him a small shake of your head

“it’s cavalieri. cavalieri’s principal - you learn it before you start calculus-”

“will you be angry if i tell you i can’t remember what i learned last week?”

you don’t want to sigh outloud - mostly because you don’t want to upset jeongin - so you hold it together as best you can

“that’s ok, ill explain it again?”

he cheers, and you secretly hope some of that happiness can be poured into studying

just because jeongin is sweet and you do want him to pass his exams, but also because this is the third time this week you’ve tried getting him to understand this

as you start from the beginning of the problem, you hear footsteps padding up behind you

you scoot your chair, assuming someones just trying to get past you in the library

but the noise stops and suddenly a pair of hands wraps themselves around jeongin’s shoulder

“ah!” he exclaims, turning his head and scrunching up his nose, “hyunjin!”

you look up and see an older boy, his hair covered in a black baseball cap and round glasses threatening to slip off his nose

“so you weren’t lying, you are being a good boy and studying?”

jeongin puffs his cheeks out

“when have i ever lied?”

“um,,,,”

you don’t mean to cut in - but you and jeongin only have half an hour left before you have to finish his tutoring

the sound grabs the mystery boys attention as he gives jeongin’s hair a ruffle

his eyes meet yours and instead of the usual audible gasp or blush that he’s accustomed to seeing on everyones face

you just stare

“so-sorry, did i interrupt?”

you’re far too worried about jeongin’s inability to do math then to notice just how strikingly handsome this guy is

jeongin shoos him off and you don’t pay much attention as you turn back to the textbook

“ok, so - if two regions of a plane are-”

jeongin listens, trying hard to keep up with you

the boy from before doesn’t leave the library, he just hangs back and waits around till he sees you waving and jeongin bounding over to him with his bag over his shoulder

“are you buying me snacks?!?”

he sings and hyunjin gives him half a grin

“sure. by the way - whats your tutors name?”

you see jeongin three times a week to study - each time you sort of have to backtrack through what he can can’t remember

but he’s adorable and always brimming with energy so it isn’t all that bad

the only thing that changes is that someone starts picking him up from the library everyday

“that’s hyunjin, he goes to the university i want to get into!”

jeongin explains, eyes sparkling a little

you nod, “what’s he majoring in?”

“history! so ,,,,,, i can’t really ask him for help with math ,,,,,,,”

you let out a knowing sound and lug the textbook out of your bag

jeongin groans, like he always does upon seeing it, but gets his notebook out and ready

this time - as the hour draws to a finish, hyunjin slips into the seat across from you and jeongin

just as jeongin finishes a problem and you scan over his solution, lip between your teeth in concentration.

“did i get it right?!”

he jumps a little in his seat

“they just looked at the paper jeongin.”

hyunjin chimes in and you give a little shake of your head

“it was a good start, but see here - the formula is wrong.”

you lean in closer to jeongin and show him where the mistake is

“ahhh it’s so hard!”

he grips the sides of his head and takes the paper from you as he tries to solve it again

as jeongin works, you catch hyunjin looking at you from the side

not to be rude - you strike up a bit of a conversation

“jeongin told me you major in history, what’s your concentration?”

he seems flustered, suddenly drumming his fingers against the table

“i mostly focus on ancient asia,,,and i like archaeology,,,,”

“oh! ive never meet someone in archaeology!”

you turn your body and hyunjin feels warm with all your attention on him so suddenly

“have you done any excavations?”

“i did,,,last time when i was in japan-”

somehow you and hyunjin get a little lost in the moment

you’re immersed in his stories from studying abroad and hyunjin doesn’t really know it yet

but he’s immersed in the way you look, cutely tucking your hands under your chin as you ask him questions about this country and that trip

jeongin finishes the problem, but ends up waiting until one of you finally realizes it

“so,,,are you guys done flirting?”

both you and hyunjin jump a bit in your seats at the confident words of the younger boy

he passes you the paper and you busy yourself with checking his answers as hyunjin secretly makes a face at jeongin

and jeongin grins back -

“you got it right! next time, we’ll try something a little harder!”

you praise and jeongin nearly face plants himself into the library table

“you’re telling me there’s something harder than that?!?!”

the three of you walk out of the library together, you wave them both off as you head in the direction of your campus

and jeongin notices how hyunjin watches you for a little too long

he pokes his hyung in the side and asks, “was i right? you were totally flirting with them back there?~”

you don’t want to admit it at first, but slowly you start to look forward to seeing hyunjin pick jeongin up from tutoring

you tell yourself it’s because he’s interesting - he’s been to so many places and his major is so different from yours!!!

it has nothing to do with the fact that after finally looking at him for more than a mere second

you come to the realization that he’s,,,,,,,,,by far the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen

either way - your main focus is always jeongin

because the test is approaching and he’s been doing better, but math always has its way of creeping up and destroying you

so you constantly try to make sure he’s grasping everything

hyunjin gets into the habit of showing up earlier too

like he’ll just hang around in the history section or something, stealing peeks at you and jeongin from over his book

and when it’s time to finish - he’ll come over and jeongin will be momentarily distracted by whatever food hyunjin has in his backpack

and you and him will talk a little

one afternoon, you get to the library and start setting up for the tutoring session

it’s exceptionally hot - and the A.C. is near dead in the library - so you put all your hair up and unbutton your shirt just a bit

you fan yourself with a folder and wait around for jeongin

but after twenty minutes,,,,,,,you realize he isn’t showing up

you check your phone - there aren’t any texts from him about canceling or being late

usually he always tells you beforehand, and you’ve been tutoring this kid for over a month now - you know he wouldn’t just ditch

you frown, suddenly filled with worry about what could have happened to him when your phone vibrates in your hand

its an unknown number - so you’re cautious as you pick up

“hello?”

“ah - hey, it’s hyunjin. sorry to call you out of the blue, but jeongin just told me he’s not back from a school trip and that he tried to text you but it won’t go through?”

you feel relief wash over you, happy to know nothing bad has happened

“ok, i was waiting for him and getting worried-”

“really?!? ill scold him when he gets back, you shouldn’t be suffering in the heat just because he doesn’t know how to get signal on a mountain.”

you laugh and hear the librarian shush you from somewhere

“hey, since you have this hour free - do you want to do something?”

for a second you think you’ve misheard his request

“is the library free?”

you repeat

hyunjin gives an embarrassed chuckle on the other end of the line

“no, no - are you free? right now? im like outside the library anyway and ,,,,,,,,, since it’s hot,,,,,,,,,,,, you know,,,,,,,,some bingsu or,,,,,,something,,,,,,”

his voice trails off a bit and if you could see him - you’d know the tips of his ears were flaring red

you don’t really know what to say - and you don’t remember what you say either

you just know that ten minutes later you’re sitting across from hyunjin at a cafe with a gigantic mound of shaved mango flavored ice cream

(and the jealous glare of a couple of other students too)

“is jeongin on his graduation trip?”

“something like that, he was trying to facetime me but ,,,,, he’s short so it didn’t work out”

you giggle into your palm and hyunjin can’t help but feel a little proud at how he’s the one to make you laugh

he adores jeongin to bits - but right now, your attention is all his

“ive never really traveled, my schools trip was just to another town”

you dip your spoon into the quickly melting ice and hyunjin can’t believe something so small

and so normal

makes his heart twist a little

“have you ever been out of the country?”

“maybe twice?”

he leans forward, “where would you want to go?”

you think about it, holding the spoon up against your lips

hyunjin blinks a little because he doesn’t want to focus on the slope of your neck or the buttons undone on your shirt, really he just doesn’t understand what’s going on

he knew he thought you were cute - and sure he’d been flirting a little like jeongin had accused

but this was different

now you two were alone and there was more time to look at you - to listen to you

hyunjin swallows a little of the lump formed in his throat just in time for you you to answer him with a grin

“i would want to go to hawaii.”

this is the moment where he should say something cool, something his friend chan would say like

‘oh, ill take you there!’ ‘let’s go together then!’

but all he manages to stutter out is

“th-there are lots of ruins there, excavating would be fun!”

hyunjin expects you’ll laugh at him for being such a dork, but you don’t - you just agree right away

“i bet all history majors want to visit the volcanoes there!”

oh shit - i think i like them just a little more after that!

hyunjin digs into the bingsu in order to avoid the big smile about to slap onto his face

you guys talk more, losing track of time until your phone blows up with notifications from your nighttime study group

you thank hyunjin and offer to pay him back - but he refuses

instead he walks with you all the way to your campus and as you say your goodbyes outside of your majors building

you hear a couple people whisper

“who is that guy?”

you join your group and hyunjin nearly skips back to the dorms

seungmin looks at him funny when he does a spin as he comes through the dorm and lands face first on his bed

“did you win the lottery hyunjin?”

“something like that.”

the next time you show up to the library, hyunjin is already there

he’s pinching jeongin’s ear and when you get close you hear him scolding

“you need to apologize, they waited almost half an hour for you!”

“but i called you to tell them i couldn’t make it - plus why are you angry!! you got a date out of it!”

you freeze and hyunjin looks up, turning shy as jeongin pulls himself free

“i-it wasn’t a d-date -”

hyunjin starts, buffering and unsure of where to look

you or jeongin

but the younger boy rolls his eyes

“yeah it wasn’t, you took them out for bingsu! hyunjin buy them dinner next time - right?”

jeongin looks at you, clear eyed and waiting

it feels like the library is even more stuffier than usual as you blink

“i - um-”

“if you want,,,,i can,,,,take you to dinner,,,,sometime,,,,,”

hyunjin can’t believe what he’s saying - but he means it and he hopes more than anything you’ll say yes

so he doesnt look like a fool but also because jeongin is right, bingsu in a cafe is a friend thing. dinner is ..........

you hesitate, you like hyunjin, he’s undeniably handsome and your conversations are always so fun

but you look at jeongin who just motions a nod with his head

“o-ok,,,”

you finally agree and jeongin claps his hands together so loud you all get shushed again

“but for now, let’s do some math!”

you save face as quickly as possible, setting your books down as jeongin opens up his notebook

and hyunjin feels so happy, he nearly goes into a daze before jeongin is like hyung get out of that chair i need to be next to them to do my work

you end up going to dinner a week later with hyunjin, nothing fancy - you two are college students afterall - but it’s much more intimate and ,,, close than sitting in a crowded cafe

hyunjin looks close to perfect in black jeans and a navy button up

usually he’s always in sweats and a baseball cap

but today all he has on are his glasses, with his hair neatly done up

(courtesy of seungmin who was not about to let hyunjin leave the house for a DATE with unbrushed hair)

it feels all a little mature, until hyunjin flips his phone to show you the group chat he’s in

and felix has sent the same message thirty times over: don’t eat their leftovers hyunjin - i know you’ll be tempted to

you laugh a little, bringing your hand up to your lips and hyunjin feels comfortable

because you aren’t expecting him to be some perfectly stoic guy just because of his face

you’re actually enjoying the fact that he (and his closest friends) are all silly

hyunjin shrugs off his jacket as he walks you back to your dorm

he wants to offer it to you - but he suddenly feels like it’ll be awkward just to put it around your shoulder

so he fumbles a little and he looks like a lost puppy until finally you ask if you can borrow it

and with a red blush he mumbles yes

once you get to the dorms, you turn to tell hyunjin you’ve had a fun night and he enthusiastically replies that he has too

and the moment comes

the moment where hyunjin is sure he’s supposed to kiss you

but even for someone so handsome and popular, this is new and he doesn’t want to ruin it

you feel your own palms get a little sweaty and you think maybe just a hug will be a good idea for tonight

when you hear hyunjin’s phone go off again

“what are they saying in the group chat now?”

you giggle and he reads it with a small sound of surprise

“well,,,,,they’re,,,,,,,,,,um,,,,”

he turns the screen and you read the messages

‘you big, perfect-faced loser - you better kiss them or ELSE!’

you don’t know if you should get all shy or bust out into chuckles because the id of the person sending that message

is non other than jeongin

you look up and hyunjin kind of shrugs - so you decide

might as well do it, so the others don’t call him a perfect faced loser anymore

as you lean up and brush your lips against his

if hyunjin skipped home the first time you guys went out together ,,,, he nearly flutters in on cloud nine this time

seungmin patting his shoulder like

“proud of you bro”

dating hyunjin while still tutoring jeongin for the exam is a mix of both laughter and a slight bit of teasing

jeongin keeps trying to tell you about all the corny things hyunjin wants to do to you

just to get out of finishing a math problem

and you keep telling him you won’t fall for it ,,,,, but it is cute that hyunjin spent almost an hour trying to pick out a teddy bear to gift you

hyunjin still comes around to pick jeongin up from tutoring

but it’s always like,,,he comes in and gives your hand a little squeeze and mumbles that he’ll kiss you later on when they’re out of the library

and jeongin is like hello aren’t we still talking about functions?

and you’re like yes we are - but also hyunjin you’re cute let’s go steal a little kiss in the non-fiction area

you ask one day what it is he and jeongin do when they go off together after tutoring

“we’ll play baseball or something in the park, but these days jeongin just wants me to splurge my money on him.”

jeongin crossing his arms: that’s not true, id never use you for money

hyunjin: oh yeah, how much have i spent on snacks in the past month alone - for you?

jeongin: idk like five dollars

hyunjin: multiply that by ten

you: ok ok how about this, how about we just all pitch in together for ice cream or something

jeongin: as the baby of the group, i should get it for free

you and hyunjin (absolutely whipped for cute jeongin): d-deal

hyunjin isn’t a pda person and he’s actually pretty shy about affection in general

just because he doesn’t want to admit that he’s new to it

but you’re one hundred percent ok with it because the moment where he does grab your hand while no one is looking

or where you can catch him debating leaning in to kiss your forehead or not

are the cutest,,,,,,,

you visit his dorm one day because he wants to pick something up before you guys go out on your picnic

and you meet seungmin who looks at you and then at hyunjin and he’s like

“hyunjin you’re pretty and all, but they’re even prettier”

hyunjin: w- are you flirting with my s/o for me?

seungmin whispering to you: he’s a newbie, please go easy on him

lots of active dates where you guys go to the park and hyunjin helps teach you how to do soccer tricks

or chasing after cute puppies in the shelter you two visit every now and then

sometimes he seems to have more energy than jeongin which is saying something

and if you get a little tired he’s like “if you want,,,,like if you’re comfortable,,,,with it,,,,i ,,, can piggyback,,,,you,,,,,,,,or something,,,,,,,,,,,,,for a little while,,,,,,,,,if you want”

you and hyunjin both wait outside of the testing center when the big day for jeongin’s exam comes up

you’re both super anxious and at one point hyunjin hides his head in your neck a little and you have to assure him it’s going to be fine

jeongin is going to pass and in the fall he’ll be a freshmen at hyunjin’s uni! you just know it!

hyunjin nods and tries to keep positive

and when jeongin comes out looking sulky, the two of you go 100% parent mode with worry

but then he just jumps up and is like

“i TOTALLY aced it! all that math - i got it!”

he throws his arms around you first, to which hyunjin grumbles a little

but you guys are so happy that you just go out for pizza, joined by the rest of the friend group later on

“so i want to talk to you about something super serious,,,”

hyunjin mumbles one day as you two are sitting on your bed

you feels your stomach turn at his sudden drop in tone

“is everything ok?”

“yeah, but,,,,,,,,i have to ask you to do something for me”

you suddenly are hyper aware of the way the door to your room is closed, how your roommate won’t be back till next week, and how hyunjin is wearing a loose fitting white shirt that could very easily be discarded if he chose to

“o-ok”

you feel his fingers lightly trace of yours and your heart feels like it’s gong to go crazy in your ears

when

“the guys want to invite you to our groupchat,,,,,,,,,are you ok with that kind of torture?”

half of you wants to flick his forehead, making the air so tense and getting you worked up

but the other half burst into laughter, falling back onto the bed

“you got so serious about that?!?!”

“w- it’s a serious matter! we don’t let just anyone in!”

he whines and falls back down beside you

he turns his head and watches your giggles simmer out

his hand suddenly finds its way to your waist and you turn on your side

“you can give me your answer ,,,,,,,, after we kiss a little?”

you look at his lips then back up into his pretty eyes

“sounds good”

you do join the group chat and the first thing chan asks is: you two left us on read for a while,,,,,,,,would you like to share with the group?

you: how do i leave a gc?

hyunjin: im leaving with them

chan: jeSUS i was just joking

hyunjin does another study abroad in the winter semester and you miss him a lot

but you also love the videos and pictures he sends you

one morning you find a package being lugged up to your dorm by the RA and you open it to find a big sweater inside

you stare at it before realizing it’s hyunjin’s!

you know he loves it and always wears it when he does dance club with some of his friends

there’s a note too that says:

‘i was too big to get in the box, so have this piece of me instead~ your only one hyunjin’

you smile to yourself, mumbling that he’s always so shy yet he goes around doing corny things like this

everyone and their mother demands to know who the hot guy from the other university is that you’re dating

and can you please drop his instagram or something

but when you do,,,,,,they’re upset to see that it’s full of travel logs and photos of you

hyunjin is that boyfriend

you were playing around, putting his baseball cap on and hyunjin thought you looked so damn cute he got up, turned the cap backwards on your head and swooped in to kiss you

before realizing what he’d done and going all blushy

you thought, just to add fuel to the embarrass-my-boyfriend fire, you went

“woah, hyunjin - that kiss was a homerun!”

hyunjin: oh my god you’re corny

even though you don’t tutor jeongin anymore, you and hyunjin just always find yourselves at the library

picking books out or just sitting beside each other in a comfortable silence

sometimes you’ll link your legs under the table and get scolded for it by a particularly prissy librarian

giggling about it later on

you’re sitting beside hyunjin, in your own little bubble when suddenly seungmin is like “hyunjin give me your glasses”

hyunjin, confused, hands them over and seungmin tosses them behind him

“hey-”

“your glasses are useless, the only thing you need to see anymore is them - right?”

you and hyunjin both blushing but let’s be real,,,,,,,,it’s the truth

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids au #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin au #sfw #skz imagines #skz au #skz scenarios #writing commissions #college!au #skz hyunjin

632 notes · View notes

roman-catholic-mass-readings · 4 years

Photo

12th August >> Mass Readings (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Wednesday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, Religious

Saint Muredach, Bishop

Saint Attracta, Virgin

Saint Lelia, Virgin.

Wednesday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

Ezekiel 9:1-7,10:18-22

The cross marks the foreheads of all who are pure

As I, Ezekiel, listened, God shouted, ‘Come here, you scourges of the city, and bring your weapons of destruction.’ Immediately six men advanced from the upper north gate, each holding a deadly weapon. In the middle of them was a man in white, with a scribe’s ink horn in his belt. They came in and halted in front of the bronze altar. The glory of the God of Israel rose off the cherubs where it had been and went up to the threshold of the Temple. He called the man in white with a scribe’s ink horn in his belt and said, ‘Go all through the city, all through Jerusalem, and mark a cross on the foreheads of all who deplore and disapprove of all the filth practised in it.’ I heard him say to the others, ‘Follow him through the city, and strike. Show neither pity nor mercy; old men, young men, virgins, children, women, kill and exterminate them all. But do not touch anyone with a cross on his forehead. Begin at my sanctuary.’ So they began with the old men in front of the Temple. He said to them, ‘Defile the Temple; fill the courts with corpses, and go.’ They went out and hacked their way through the city.

The glory of the Lord came out from the Temple threshold and paused over the cherubs. The cherubs spread their wings and rose from the ground to leave, and as I watched the wheels rose with them. They paused at the entrance to the east gate of the Temple of the Lord, and the glory of the God of Israel hovered over them. This was the creature that I had seen supporting the God of Israel beside the river Chebar, and I was now certain that these were cherubs. Each had four faces and four wings and what seemed to be human hands under their wings. Their faces were just as I had seen them beside the river Chebar. Each moved straight forward.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 112(113):1-6

R/ Above the heavens is the glory of the Lord.

R/ Alleluia!

Praise, O servants of the Lord,

praise the name of the Lord!

May the name of the Lord be blessed

both now and for evermore!

R/ Above the heavens is the glory of the Lord.

R/ Alleluia!

From the rising of the sun to its setting

praised be the name of the Lord!

High above all nations is the Lord,

above the heavens his glory.

R/ Above the heavens is the glory of the Lord.

R/ Alleluia!

Who is like the Lord, our God,

who has risen on high to his throne

yet stoops from the heights to look down,

to look down upon heaven and earth?

R/ Above the heavens is the glory of the Lord.

R/ Alleluia!

Gospel Acclamation

Psalm 110:7,8

Alleluia, alleluia!

Your precepts, O Lord, are all of them sure;

they stand firm for ever and ever.

Alleluia!

Or:

2 Corinthians 5:19

Alleluia, alleluia!

God in Christ was reconciling the world to himself,

and he has entrusted to us the news that they are reconciled.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 18:15-20

If your brother listens to you, you have won back your brother

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘If your brother does something wrong, go and have it out with him alone, between your two selves. If he listens to you, you have won back your brother. If he does not listen, take one or two others along with you: the evidence of two or three witnesses is required to sustain any charge. But if he refuses to listen to these, report it to the community; and if he refuses to listen to the community, treat him like a pagan or a tax collector.

‘I tell you solemnly, whatever you bind on earth shall be considered bound in heaven; whatever you loose on earth shall be considered loosed in heaven.

‘I tell you solemnly once again, if two of you on earth agree to ask anything at all, it will be granted to you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three meet in my name, I shall be there with them.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

——————————

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, Religious

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Readings for the memorial

There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise.

First reading

Philippians 4:4-9

If there is anything you need, pray for it.

I want you to be happy, always happy in the Lord; I repeat, what I want is your happiness. Let your tolerance be evident to everyone: the Lord is very near.

There is no need to worry; but if there is anything you need, pray for it, asking God for it with prayer and thanksgiving, and that peace of God, which is so much greater than we can understand, will guard your hearts and your thoughts, in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, fill your minds with everything that is true, everything that is noble, everything that is good and pure, everything that we love and honour, and everything that can be thought virtuous or worthy of praise. Keep doing all the things that you learnt from me and have been taught by me and have heard or seen that I do. Then the God of peace will be with you.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 130(131)

Keep my soul in peace before you, O Lord.

O Lord, my heart is not proud

nor haughty my eyes.

I have not gone after things too great

nor marvels beyond me.

Keep my soul in peace before you, O Lord.

Truly I have set my soul

in silence and peace.

A weaned child on its mother’s breast,

even so is my soul.

Keep my soul in peace before you, O Lord.

O Israel, hope in the Lord

both now and forever.

Keep my soul in peace before you, O Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Jn8:31-32

Alleluia, alleluia!

If you make my word your home

you will indeed be my disciples,

and you will learn the truth, says the Lord.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 22:34-40

The commandments of love

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees they got together and, to disconcert him, one of them put a question, ‘Master, which is the greatest commandment of the Law?’ Jesus said, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second resembles it: You must love your neighbour as yourself. On these two commandments hang the whole Law, and the Prophets also.’

———————-

Saint Muredach, Bishop

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Readings for the memorial

There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise.

First reading

Exodus 32:7-14

Moses pleads with the Lord his God to spare Israel

The Lord spoke to Moses, ‘Go down now, because your people whom you brought out of Egypt have apostatised. They have been quick to leave the way I marked out for them; they have made themselves a calf of molten metal and have worshipped it and offered it sacrifice. “Here is your God, Israel,” they have cried “who brought you up from the land of Egypt!”’ the Lord said to Moses, ‘I can see how headstrong these people are! Leave me, now, my wrath shall blaze out against them and devour them; of you, however, I will make a great nation.’

But Moses pleaded with the Lord his God. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘why should your wrath blaze out against this people of yours whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with arm outstretched and mighty hand? Why let the Egyptians say, “Ah, it was in treachery that he brought them out, to do them to death in the mountains and wipe them off the face of the earth”? Leave your burning wrath; relent and do not bring this disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, your servants to whom by your own self you swore and made this promise: I will make your offspring as many as the stars of heaven, and all this land which I promised I will give to your descendants, and it shall be their heritage for ever.’

So the Lord relented and did not bring on his people the disaster he had threatened.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 88(89):2-5,21-22,25,27

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord.

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord;

through all ages my mouth will proclaim your truth.

Of this I am sure, that your love lasts for ever,

that your truth is firmly established as the heavens.

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord.

‘I have made a covenant with my chosen one;

I have sworn to David my servant:

I will establish your dynasty for ever

and set up your throne through all ages.

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord.

‘I have found David my servant

and with my holy oil anointed him.

My hand shall always be with him

and my arm shall make him strong.

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord.

‘My truth and my love shall be with him;

by my name his might shall be exalted.

He will say to me: “You are my father,

my God, the rock who saves me.”’

I will sing for ever of your love, O Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Mt23:9,10

Alleluia, alleluia!

You have only one Father, and he is in heaven;

you have only one Teacher, the Christ.

Alleluia!

Or:

Mt28:19,20

Alleluia, alleluia!

Go, make disciples of all the nations.

I am with you always; yes, to the end of time.

Alleluia!

Or:

Mk1:17

Alleluia, alleluia!

Follow me, says the Lord,

and I will make you into fishers of men.

Alleluia!

Or:

Lk4:18

Alleluia, alleluia!

The Lord has sent me to bring the good news to the poor,

to proclaim liberty to captives.

Alleluia!

Or:

Jn10:14

Alleluia, alleluia!

I am the good shepherd, says the Lord;

I know my own sheep and my own know me.

Alleluia!

Or:

Jn15:5

Alleluia, alleluia!

I am the vine,

you are the branches.

Whoever remains in me, with me in him,

bears fruit in plenty,

says the Lord.

Alleluia!

Or:

2Co5:19

Alleluia, alleluia!

God in Christ was reconciling the world to himself,

and he has entrusted to us the news that they are reconciled.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 28:16-20

Go and make disciples of all nations

The eleven disciples set out for Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had arranged to meet them. When they saw him they fell down before him, though some hesitated. Jesus came up and spoke to them. He said, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, make disciples of all the nations; baptise them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to observe all the commands I gave you. And know that I am with you always; yes, to the end of time.’

————————

Saint Attracta, Virgin

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Readings for the memorial

There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise.

First reading

Song of Songs 8:6-7

The flash of love is a flame of the Lord himself

Set me like a seal on your heart,

like a seal on your arm.

For love is strong as Death,

jealousy as relentless as Sheol.

The flash of it is a flash of fire,

a flame of the Lord himself.

Love no floods can quench,

no torrents drown.

Were a man to offer all the wealth of his house to buy love,

contempt is all he would purchase.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 44(45):11-12,14-17

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words:

forget your own people and your father’s house.

So will the king desire your beauty:

He is your lord, pay homage to him.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

The daughter of the king is clothed with splendour,

her robes embroidered with pearls set in gold.

She is led to the king with her maiden companions.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

They are escorted amid gladness and joy;

they pass within the palace of the king.

Sons shall be yours in place of your fathers:

you will make them princes over all the earth.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Jn14:23

Alleluia, alleluia!

If anyone loves me he will keep my word,

and my Father will love him,

and we shall come to him.

Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia!

This is the wise virgin whom the Lord found watching;

she went in to the wedding feast with him when he came.

Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia!

Come, bride of Christ, and receive the crown

which the Lord has prepared for you for ever.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 19:3-12

Husband and wife are no longer two, but one body

Some Pharisees approached Jesus, and to test him they said, ‘Is it against the Law for a man to divorce his wife on any pretext whatever?’ He answered, ‘Have you not read that the creator from the beginning made them male and female and that he said: This is why a man must leave father and mother, and cling to his wife, and the two become one body? They are no longer two, therefore, but one body. So then, what God has united, man must not divide.’

They said to him, ‘Then why did Moses command that a writ of dismissal should be given in cases of divorce?’ ‘It was because you were so unteachable’ he said ‘that Moses allowed you to divorce your wives, but it was not like this from the beginning. Now I say this to you: the man who divorces his wife – I am not speaking of fornication – and marries another, is guilty of adultery.’

The disciples said to him, ‘If that is how things are between husband and wife, it is not advisable to marry.’ But he replied, ‘It is not everyone who can accept what I have said, but only those to whom it is granted. There are eunuchs born that way from their mother’s womb, there are eunuchs made so by men and there are eunuchs who have made themselves that way for the sake of the kingdom of heaven. Let anyone accept this who can.’

————————-

Saint Lelia, Virgin

(Liturgical Colour: White)

Readings for the memorial

There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Wednesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise.

First reading

Song of Songs 8:6-7

The flash of love is a flame of the Lord himself

Set me like a seal on your heart,

like a seal on your arm.

For love is strong as Death,

jealousy as relentless as Sheol.

The flash of it is a flash of fire,

a flame of the Lord himself.

Love no floods can quench,

no torrents drown.

Were a man to offer all the wealth of his house to buy love,

contempt is all he would purchase.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 44(45):11-12,14-17

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words:

forget your own people and your father’s house.

So will the king desire your beauty:

He is your lord, pay homage to him.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

The daughter of the king is clothed with splendour,

her robes embroidered with pearls set in gold.

She is led to the king with her maiden companions.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

They are escorted amid gladness and joy;

they pass within the palace of the king.

Sons shall be yours in place of your fathers:

you will make them princes over all the earth.

Listen, O daughter, give ear to my words.

The bridegroom is here! Go out and meet Christ the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

Jn14:23

Alleluia, alleluia!

If anyone loves me he will keep my word,

and my Father will love him,

and we shall come to him.

Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia!

This is the wise virgin whom the Lord found watching;

she went in to the wedding feast with him when he came.

Alleluia!

Or:

Alleluia, alleluia!

Come, bride of Christ, and receive the crown

which the Lord has prepared for you for ever.

Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 19:3-12

Husband and wife are no longer two, but one body

3 notes · View notes

tacitwhisky · 5 years

Text

Jon of the Kingsguard, pt 11

Jon x Sansa - AU where Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa.

AO3 Link

---

The sky is a dark and weeping wound of red sunset and black smoke when Jon descends on King Robert’s Hammer.

Alone among the fleet that had sailed forth from Kingslanding it stands untouched by flame, a great plow of oak and timber among a field of charred and smoking hulks. Not a single arrow greets Jon as he alights on its deck though, Lannister soldiers throwing down their swords. A few take the knee. All have seen the fire that has consumed the ships around them, are half deaf from the blast of flame, any loyalty to their king consumed in the inferno around them.

And too they feel the shadow of Drogon’s wings overhead as Danaerys circles the ship in lazy spirals.

Jon jumps down from Viserion, gritting his teeth to keep his legs from giving out beneath him. He cannot show weakness now no matter he wishes he could sink to his knees and close his eyes and never open them. He knows what he would see: the flash and plume of dragon flame, the numb furnace heat of it against his face, the taste of Dracarys on his tongue. Better one battle than a hundred, Jon tells himself. Ruthlessly, he shoves down the rising tide of sick threatening to choke him. Better one slaughter than a war of them.

“I thought never to see you again, Snow.” A voice rings across the deck. Jaime Lannister, white armor tarred with grey ash carried by the wind, pushes his way through the crowd of soldiers. There is a sword in his hand, naked steel bloody under the red sky, and a hard smile on his lips. His eyes glitter as his gaze moves over the vast serpentine white shadow that is Viserion. “And now the bastard traitor returns with a dragon.”

Once Jaime’s words would’ve stung Jon, but the blast of dragon flame is still behind his eyes, the dull singing heat of it against his skin. “Where is he?” He asks in a soft voice that nonetheless rings across the hall. “Where is Joffrey?”

“Why? Have you come to beg his forgiveness?” Jaime offers Jon a mocking smile. “I’ve killed one dragon before, you know. I can kill another.”

“You killed a mad old man. This one breathes flame. Where is he, Lannister?”

“Your king, you mean?” Jaime shrugs. “We Kingsguard swear an oath, you know. And some of us stand by that oath.”

“As you did with Aerys? Is Joffrey any better a king than he? I know you have no love for him.” Jon clenches his jaw, teeth aching as though biting stone. “He won’t be harmed. Not by my hand, and not by Daenerys. You have my oath on it.”

“What good is a bastard’s oath?” Jaime weighs the sword in his hand. “I always knew we would meet on the field of battle one day, Snow.” His eyes glitter as he looks over Viserion. “Will you face me without that beast of yours? Sword against sword? Kingsguard brother against kingsguard brother?”

“I was never your brother. Move aside, Jaime. Live to see Cersei again.”

“And what will my sweet sister say when I return to her? What will she say when I tell her I let her son be roasted alive by some bastard and his dragon whore from the east? Will she thank me for it, do you think? Open her legs and urge me inside her?” Jaime’s smile is hard, eyes flat and dead. “No, bastard. I think not. Your sister may love you for slaying her child, but mine will not.”

Above Drogon circles and below waves lap against the hall of the ship, gently rocking it. Jaime looks behind him, westward over the waves to Kingslanding. “Will you face me sword to sword, bastard?”

Once Jon would’ve drawn his sword in answer, met Jaime’s steel with his own like a knight in a song, once when he had nothing but honor to live for. When he was nothing but a bastard boy who desperately wished to be more, when he would’ve given anything he had to have the taint washed from his name. Before he had anything else.

Before Sansa.

Jaime whirls and springs across the deck, and Jon answers with a word, the sound of his voice lost to the roar of fire as Viserion opens his jaws and looses a blast of flame.

---

Afterwards the crew drag Joffrey up to the deck, stripped of his sword and gold armor and bound hand and foot. His eyes go round as he catches sight of the smoking body on the deck before Jon. “I’ll have your head for this, bastard,” he spits, “you and your whore sister both.”

Jon looks coldly down at Joffrey as the Lannister sailors dump him onto the deck before him. Stripped of his crown and throne he looks nothing like a king. Years of anger shoved down again and again fill Jon as he looks at Joffrey, bubble up like mud between cobbles, every bruise that has ever bloomed across Sansa’s skin before his eyes, and the sudden unfairness of what Joffrey has taken from her rips Jon’s breath away, the laughing and smiling girl he’d crushed beneath his heel for no other reason than because he could.

Behind Jon Viserion hisses, the sound slitting his skin. The urge to loose flame pulses through Jon’s veins, a drumbeat in his blood. He can taste the sulphur on his tongue; the sweet blister of flame it would be so easy for Viserion to loose on the pink golden haired thing writhing before him, to breathe in and relish the taste of charred meat, to-

Come back to me. The words are soft as silk, soft as Sansa’s voice, soft as the brush of her fingers across his cheek. Come back to me, Jon.

It would be right to end Joffrey here and now, watch him dance and scream as flame consumes him. It would be right. It would be just. But it would mean war. It would mean Jon could never come back.

“I am the rightful king,” Joffrey is babbling, flecks of spit flying from his lips. “Touch a hair on my head and all the realm will rise against your dragon whore. Her dragons will be nothing before the thousands my grandfather raises. He will drown her in swords, will slaughter her eunuchs and butcher her dragons and sew her whore head to-”

“Do not fear, your grace.” Jon interrupts, voice an icy blade that cuts through Joffrey’s babbling. “Danaerys does not mean to take your head. In her wisdom she’s ordered me to take you to the Wall and allow you to take the Black.”

“And why would I do that, bastard?” Joffrey laughs, high and sneering. “And how will we reach it? A hundred thousand Lannister swords lie between here and the Wall. They will free me long before we reach it.”

“A thousand or a hundred thousand swords,” Jon says in a voice cold enough to blister skin, striding forward and yanking Joffrey to his feet, “make no difference beneath dragon wing.”

Joffrey struggles, trying to slam his shoulder into Jon, but the move is panicked and clumsy and Jon answers by driving his elbow into the side of Joffrey’s head, a savage pleasure coursing through him at the crack of bone on bone.

Not one of the Lannister sailors move to stop Jon as he drags a weakly struggling Joffrey back across the deck to Viserion. It makes Jon’s skin crawl to even touch him, but he heaves Joffrey atop Viserion and lashes him to the horn of the saddle like. He jumps up behind him and belts himself into the saddle before kicking his heels and urging Viserion up into the sky.

Wind whistles by Jon’s ears as Viserion gains height, the deck of the ship pulling away swiftly and dizzyingly until it’s nearly lost among the smoking hulls scattering the water around it. Jon joins Danaerys slow banking circle. The wind whipping by makes it impossible to speak, but they trade a nod between them. Danaerys breaks her circle and Drogon’s wings beat the air as she pushes him west towards Kingslanding.

Come back to me, whispers the wind. But he can’t. Not yet. And so instead of following Danaerys, Jon turns Viserion north.

---

Over rocky coasts of crashing waves and smooth black sand Viserion flies, his wings eating the miles beneath them, covering in days the distance that should take weeks. The first day Joffrey struggles until his wrists are raw and bloody from struggling at the ropes around them, spitting and screaming curses and threats at Jon, but when Jon does not answer and his voice turns hoarse he stops struggling.

All day Jon spends in the saddle, face numb and stinging from wind, alone but for Joffrey and Viserion and the small ant-sized figures that sometimes scatter below when they catch sight of Viserion’s white wings. They keep to the coast, soaring above Gulltown and the Vale and the Fingers. Each day the air is chiller than the day before, and each day the land beneath Jon returns to the one he left so long ago like peeling paint from a wall, snow blanketing the ground in white and trees turning to tall pines and broad leafed oaks. North they fly; north over White Harbor and the Dreadfort and Last Hearth, north over villages and abandoned holdfasts and still blue lakes until far in the distance Jon catches sight of the glittering white ice of the Wall.

The sun is setting as Viserion alights on the ground before Castle Black, snow hissing and melting beneath his talons. Jon’s boots keep away the worst of the slush as he jumps down from Viserion and frees Joffrey, pulling the prince unceremoniously from the saddle. Joffrey staggers and stumbles, and Jon pushes him to his knees, clamps a hand on his shoulder to keep him from rising.

And then, facing Castle Black with Joffrey on his knees and Viserion at his back, Jon waits.

Three black clad figures are what Castle Black eventually spit out. As they cross the snow swept ground Jon picks out the differences between them: one is fat and round and with a maester’s chain around his neck, another a knight before the black if his haughty bearing is any sign, and last the tall figure of Benjen Stark.

The three brothers of the Night’s Watch stop before Jon, the fat one’s eyes wide and round as he stares at Viserion above Jon, the dragon’s neck curving serpentine as he studies the three men with his gold eyes. Benjen tears his eyes from Viserion. “Jon?” He says warily, studying Jon’s face as if he does not quite believe it. “How…?”

“A long story.” Jon pushes Joffrey forward into the snow. “I’ve brought you a new recruit.”

“I’ll never speak the words, bastard,” Joffrey spits, legs trembling as he pushed himself to his feet. “You can’t force me. I’m the king.”

“You will. You will take the black, because if you do not, I will wash you in dragon flame.” It is easy after so long in the saddle and days without true sleep for Jon to unfocus his eyes and see through Viserion’s. The dragon’s pale neck curves like a snake as it loops to fix Joffrey with its golden gaze. “And you will take the black because you are a coward, Joffrey. You always have been. We both know that. So choose: dragonflame or Wall, fire or ice.”

Joffrey’s mouth gapes like a fish on land, working soundlessly. He licks his lips and glances at the Wall, then blanches when his eyes flit to Viserion. “I won’t.”

“You will.” Jon’s voice is cold despite the taste of sulfur on his tongue, the searing heat screaming to be loosed. “Or you won’t, and I will finally hear you scream for all you’ve done. Choose flame and I will gladly watch you dance as your skin blackens and blisters and bursts for what you did to Sansa.”

Joffrey’s mouth continues to work soundlessly and Jon jerks his chin at Benjen and the other Night’s Watch men. “You should take his grace back to Castle Black before he wets himself, I think.”

#my fic #jon of the kingsguard #jon snow #sansa stark #jonsa #jonsafic #jonsa fic #jon x sansa #actually jonsa

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burtlederp · 5 years

Text

Writing Blurb 6.b

My, uploading two days in a row?? Impossible! Or maybe not. This is a continuation from this blurb, links to all parts can be found here. Introducing two new characters, Cindy and Samson! Samson is actually someone I’m reusing from a past blurb.

TW: Blood, noncon nudity, but nothing sexual, panic attack

Humidity was around 90%, unusual for the area, and there was a 75% chance of rain for this afternoon. Well, in Samson's opinion, there was no chance about it, it was definite: the clouds lay thickly over the sky, churned like a thick wool sweater, dark with rain.

It did not deter him, though. Walking stick in hand, he was determined to find at least a few mushroom morsels to take home. It didn't take long for his well-worn hiking boots to darken with dew, every step kicking through wet grass, wet leaves, or wet streams. His footing was sure, not the slightest wobble, even when a rock underfoot gave way. He had spent too many hours out here, knew this earth too well to fall prey to her mischievous tricks.

Cindy had chosen not to accompany him today. They had let the house get too messy, she had announced this morning, and was determined to get it spotless before the first snow.

By the time frost starts forming on the windows, there won't be a surface in this house that's not clean enough to eat off of! She had declared. The memory made Samson smile. Odessa would have loved her.

He hadn't packed a lunch with him today, just a wrapped homemade nut bar enfolded in wax paper, stuffed in a side pocket of his small backpack. He didn't plan on going too far, not today, not when the weather was so clearly planning something. And yet, as noon rolled around and he stood on the peak of one of the smaller mountains, able to see his warm cabin in the distance, he didn't turn. He looked off in the opposite direction, towards the great Timpanogas, something egging him on with soundless whispers. Keep going, their message was, in all languages but words. Cindy had told him to not take too long, wanting him home to help with cleaning. But the spirit pushed him. He looked up to the heavens.

"Well, God," He murmured. "Alright. But you'll have some explaining to do to Cindy." Samson stepped forward, descending slowly the peak. Even despite the threatening rain, it was a beautiful day. Birds were singing, not yet flown for the winter. The colors of the trees were vibrant and beautiful, the aspens' quaking leaves glittering in so many shades of gold that it would make a rich man greedy. The air was cool, but not unpleasantly so, especially if one was moving. A perfect day for hiking.

Samson, at first, made his way down the hill leisurely, enjoying the loud silence of the forest, when he could have sworn he felt hands on his shoulders, shoving him when he paused in a clearing. He stumbled forward, grunting, and turned. But no one was there.

Faster. The spirit whispered. Samson hesitated. Go! And he went. He knew better by now than to not heed God's commands expediently, and so, not knowing what exactly awaited him in either direction, behind or ahead, he moved forward quickly. Even rushed, his footsteps were solid, unwavering, mind whirling with thoughts. What was waiting for him? Did he unknowingly wander too close to an unseen predator? Did a rockslide hang over his head from the peak above, ready to crush him? Or was there something in need of help in front of him? He assumed the prior options, well-aware how far from any public trails he was.

The incline bottomed out in a small valley, cut straight through with a muddy stream. It's trickle was slightly swollen from last night's rain, but still aptly described as a trickle. Across it and above Samson, the earth rose much more steeply for about forty feet, before it became sheer rock cliffs.

The spirit nudged him east, to his left, and he followed, walking along the creek. He knew in his gut that he was getting close to whatever it was, which meant that he hadn't been escaping something. Worry fluttered in his chest as he walked, choosing not to dwell on what-ifs, waiting on the what-is.

He came to a spot where the stream widened a bit, becoming a large, glorified mudhole, and paused. He stared at the mud on the opposite bank. There was a shape there, and at first, his eye couldn't parse it, the form covered in mud. It was an animal, he could tell, but what animal, he couldn't…

The figure breathed, and Samson gasped, able to see it now. A man lay in the mud, practically engulfed in it, mouth barely above the surface of it. Those spots that Samson had at first believed to be red clay were in fact blood, he realized, as he dropped his walking stick, kneeling by the man in an instant. He didn't care about the cold mud, he cared about the man. Samson tenderly wiped mud off the man's face, patting his cheek, but he received no response.

"Sir? Sir, hello," He spoke, but still nothing. The man was pale, deathly so, and cold to the touch, but he had a pulse, and he had breath, though it was ragged and without steady pattern. Samson could tell, just by looking, that the man had many broken bones, too many cuts, few places but his cheeks that weren't mottled with bruises. He lay on his left side, and his right arm, folded almost protectively against his chest, was swollen, and turning quickly from a green-red to a brown-black that almost matched the mud covering it. Death was close by.

Samson didn't waste time, carefully worming his hands underneath the man and lifting him. Grunting with exertion, he pulled the man onto his shoulder, giving himself one free hand with which to pick up his walking stick. Samson paused, orienting himself, finding the quickest route back to the cabin in his head before he quickly set off, walking even faster now. He did not speak to the man, focusing on moving as quickly as he could.

And quickly he did go. He traversed the landscape with ease, not stopping to dally on anything, focused on getting the poor man help as soon as possible.

The rain had begun by the time he arrived home, the lights of the warm cabin bathing the lawn in gold. He stepped up to the back deck and quickly through the backdoor, not pausing for a second.

"Samson, it's about ti--!" Cindy's voice cut off as she caught sight of the figure on Samson's shoulder. She was standing at the kitchen sink, rubber yellow gloves stretching up to her elbow, sink full of bubbles, her mouth agape and eyes wide. He glanced at her briefly before heading quickly to the bathroom.

"Bring--" He started to say over his shoulder.

"I'll get it." She finished, reading his thoughts as she pulled off the gloves.

Samson shifted the man off his shoulder and into his arms as he moved into the bathroom, turning on the light with his elbow. He set him in the bathtub, quickly turning on the water and pulling down the shower nozzle. He waited until the water warmed to redirect it. By the time he was just starting to spray down the man's clothes, starting at his legs, Cindy was entering, a large bag in hand.

"Oh, what a poor dear," She said softly as she crouched beside Samson, running a hand through the unconscious man's muddy hair. She rinsed her fingers under the water of the showerhead. "Come on, he's ice cold, let's get him out of these clothes, first." It wasn't long before the man's clothes sat in a muddy heap beside the toilet, and the couple was able to see the real state of his body.

"Broken shin, wrist, at least a few ribs, nose, definitely a concussion," Cindy judged, folding her stethoscope she had taken from her bag and setting it aside as Samson ran the warm water over the man's face, careful to not let him breathe any in. "Not to mention, well." She gestured towards the man's swollen, discolored, foul-smelling right arm.

"Should we take him to the hospital?" Samson asked, trying to wash as much mud as he could out of the man’s hair.

"Yes, but not tonight. The storm is bound to get worse, and he'll be better off here for now. A trip in the car could just make things worse." She replied, pulling out a scalpel and a small phial of what looked to be dried mealworms. "I'll get these started now, since I'd guess his arm is the thing killing him the fastest," She leaned over the tub's side, taking the man's arm, and looking at it more closely. Air hissed through her teeth as she looked it over. "Poor. Poor condition. Hopefully I can save it. Hand me the soap, love?" Samson obliged.

Cindy was gentle, lathering the pus-filled wound with soap, rinsing it, and then pouring a generous heap of alcohol over the site, as well as the scalpel. As soon as she broke the hard, crusted skin with the blade, though, the man jerked unexpectedly, causing a much larger cut than Cindy had intended to make stretch down his forearm. He gasped, leaning forward suddenly, eyes opening wide and looking around wildly, left hand gripping the tub. He spoke, kicking off the slippery tub bottom, trying to press himself tighter into the corner of the tub as he stared at them fearfully. Whatever he said, though, it was completely incoherent.

"Shh, shh, be still, be still," Cindy cooed, quickly setting the scalpel down, out of view. But the man wouldn't, his dirty nails digging into the tub. He whimpered, shaking, trying to melt into the wall behind him.

"D-don--no, pl-ple-please, please, n-no, nnn, hrrr…!" He spoke fast, eyes glazed, unable to think. Cindy's heart ached for him, and she reached for his hand, to take it and hold it.

"D-don't touch me!" The man spat unexpectedly, with surprising vitriol. His left hard darted forward towards Cindy's face. Samson was faster, his own hand grabbing the man's wrist before he could even get close to Cindy. At the same time, the poor creature tried to support himself with his right hand. Instantly, he fell, sliding deeper into the tub with a choked cry. He curled up, pulling his left hand back weakly, holding it over his head, shaking, crying, speaking nothing they could understand. His bleeding, oozing right arm was tucked against his chest, still stiff and unmoving from the elbow down. Samson and Cindy glanced at each other worriedly.

“We’re just trying to help you, dear,” Cindy said softly, leaning over the tub, looking down at him. A dazed green eye looked back up at her, not trusting, not comprehending.

“Will you let us help you?” Samson asked, his deep voice a low rumble to the man’s ears. The man made no movement to imply he had understood, or even heard them.

“Don’t touch me,” The man croaked, flinching, as Cindy moved ever so slightly. “P-please, please,” He breathed. Cindy laid a hand on Samson’s back, and he looked at her. Meeting her eyes, he knew what she was asking without her speaking. He swallowed.

“I’d really rather not.” He admitted hesitantly.

“He needs help, and if he won’t even let us get close, I can’t do anything.” She pointed out. “Please, Sam.” She pleaded. Samson searched those blue eyes of hers, and sighed.

“Fine. Man, be still.” The last two words were spoken different from others. They were a command, and the man lying in the tub suddenly stiffened. Cindy pulled a syringe from the bag, flicking the side of it. The man’s breathing escalated, tears rolling down his cheeks, moaning fearfully as he watched her lower it. He couldn’t move, and he didn’t know why, and it made his heart race. He couldn’t feel air enter his lungs, he could hear his blood, his sick blood roaring in his ears. He could feel fingers grip his left arm, moving it when he couldn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, pained, forced, closed-mouth screams sounding from his throat as the needle pricked the inside of his elbow. This was hell. It was hell. He was trapped, unable to move, strangers touching him, his body bare, no protection, too weak to fight much even if he could command his limbs. He felt sick, like he wanted to vomit, to scream properly, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He was trapped. Trapped, no way out, no way out, darkness rimming his vision, no air, no breath, sick blood, metallic taste. Something heavy, something thick, in his sick, sick blood, crawling through his body, choking his brain. He couldn’t think, couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t. His limbs, even if he couldn’t move them, felt heavy, like lead, not moving, no strength, no strength to fight. No fight. Sleep. Sleep pulling at him. Now? Why? No, no, no, not sleep, not now, but no fight. No fight to not sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Cindy and Samson watched, feeling ill, as the man tried to fight Samson’s magic, panicking, his fast, shallow, wheezed breaths picking up and slowly, worryingly slowly, calming gradually. His eyelids fluttered, still fighting it for a second longer, before closing, the sedative finally taking effect entirely.

“Thank you, Sam.” Cindy breathed, her voice a whisper in the stunned silence left. He nodded, swallowing. They studied the poor, dirty, bloody creature that lay in their bathroom for a moment longer. Cindy shook herself. “Well, let’s save him, then, after all that.” The witch cleric reached back for the scalpel, and Samson smiled, watching her, admiring her.

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goldfaultlines · 6 years

Text

Light {two}

Pairing: Bucky x reader Summary: Laundry day, once again. Warnings: n/a Tags: Slow burn, multichapter, WIP A/N: This is also going to be available to read on AO3! I’ll post a link as soon as it’s processed!

Y/N flicks her gaze between the book she held in her hand and the machine before her. She was waiting (albeit a little impatiently) for the last spin cycle to begin so she could switch loads over.

She scans the page before her, trying to remember where she had left off and finds her thoughts wandering to yesterday morning. She sighs, dogearing her page and setting down her book.

Her whites still tumble around in the small window and she picks up the notebook beside her to start a journal entry about her encounter with her upstairs neighbor. Bucky. His name is flourished between her script and she feels her cheeks heat. She had seen him before, sure, but never close enough to actually look.

They had locked eyes briefly, blue glass etched with dark fragments of fear and an underlying tenderness that made her heart stutter in her chest. Not out of fear, but out of something softer. Something that had made her chest bloom with... what? She hadn’t been sure. All Y/N knew was that when he had looked at her through his lashes, hair falling askew from where he had haphazardly pulled it up, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, she had to say something.

She flips the page and scrawls:

Bucky Barnes: a list

Buck groans softly. He readjusts his clothes basket under his arm and curses.

To whom it may concern:

The laundry facilities are currently closed for maintenance, we apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Thank you for your understanding.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

There was a laundry mat a couple blocks over, he knew. But that made him nervous. The only other clean shirt he had was much too heavy for the warm spring air. Would he risk exposing himself for the simple pleasure of clean, breathable clothes?

He probably should. Dirty clothes did nothing but make him take steps backwards. To Europe and the army and—

Laundry mat it is. He shoves away the thoughts that threatened to debilitate his outing, decides to come back to them later. When he didn’t smell like sweat and tobacco.

The afternoon sun blinds him when he steps outside, mesh bag slung over his shoulder as he made his way east. He could sort of make out the top of the sign from outside his complex, but it was at least a five minute jog. And today was his rest day. So a fifteen minute walk would have to suffice. Silently curses whatever god thought it was amusing to mess with him.

Bucky tries to ignore the eyes boring into the back of his head as he walked, head down, hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

Almost wishes now that he had grabbed the thermal.

Thinks it might be a small blessing when the arching windows of the RAINBOW LAUNDRY SERVICE come into view. The sign is old— he thinks dryly that he might be as old as this building. Which makes him laugh, just a little.

The bell above the door twinkles upon his entrance, and he finds no one else to be around. The smell of burnt coffee and floral soap overwhelm his senses. A red leather bound notebook sits on the end table closest to him, atop withered and sun faded tabloids dated 2009. A book rests in a plastic chair and he finds himself fidgeting when he realizes that someone else is here. Hopefully they wouldn’t know him, or pay enough mind to even look at him. He’s got his back turned, bag near his feet and feeding dollars into the machine that spat out faded quarters when he hears a voice he knows.

“Hi, Bucky.”

He turns his head to find Y/N occupying the seat he had previously been observing. One leg crossed over the other, tapping her dangling foot. The sunlight of the mid afternoon makes her hair blow out around her head like a soft halo, and he smiles at her. “Hey, Y/N.”

Her eyes light up when he says her name, and he almost wants to do it again, just to keep that expression on her face. He was lucky enough to know it, let alone say it but he digresses. Pops a few quarters into the machine and begins to load in his clothes.

“Bucky,” She measures, amusement lacing her tone.

“Hm?” He glances up to find her looking at him like he’d grown another head. But she’s smiling in a soft way and it makes his chest tighten.

“Are you not sorting your laundry?”

His brows crease, and he reassess the clothes in his bag. The only light colored things he owned were socks. So he cocks a brow at her and responds “...no?”

“You separate things by color,” Y/N explains, getting up from her chair and pulling the clothes from his hands.

(He tries not to think too hard about it. He’s embarrassed himself enough as it is.)

She dutifully sorts them into reds, blues, greens and denim and then tosses the rest of the black and grey articles into the machine. “When I was a kid, I loved helping my mom on laundry day.”

“Oh?” He realizes with flushed cheeks that this is the most she’s talked to him ever, and he tries to still the flutter in his chest. (It doesn’t work but dammit he tried.)

“Yeah. Made me feel like I was helping. We were old school, hung everything up on a line strung from the house to the garage.”

“When I was a kid that was all we had.” Could almost smell fresh cut grass, hearing his mother singing under her breath as she pinned up the sheets. Playing tag with Rebecca and Steve between the swaying fabric.

“That’s one of the things I don’t like about the city,” Y/N admits. “Nowhere to hang my clothes.” She smiles wistfully, like she’s lost in a memory.

The hum of the machines is a calming backdrop to her musing.

“We had these huge lilac bushes outside, and afterwards everything would smell like them.”

Bucky smiles at her and is about to share a fragmented story of his own when a loud buzz cuts through the air. Y/N scurries over to the machine, throwing open the top door and practically climbing in it to access her clothes. Buck chuckles, and wanders over, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “Need a hand, doll?” The nickname makes him flinch, but she doesn’t seem to mind, poking her head out and setting her feet back on the ground. “‘S the least I could do.”

She fumbles the wad of clothes in her hands into the bottom tumbler and laughs. “My hero.”

“I wouldn’t go that far...” Bucky mumbles.

He spends the rest of the day listening -intently, didn’t wanna miss a word even though he’d never admit to it- to her tell stories from her childhood. He shares what he can, jots down what’s new. He excuses himself to the bathroom, and when he returns he finds Y/N smiling to herself as she repeatedly bullet points thoughts into her notebook. Can just barely see the top margin, where his name lies in bold cursive, decorated around the perimeter with dots and other indiscernible scribbles. Before he can ask about it, she gathers her things and says “Would you like some company on the walk home?”

“Of course,” Bucky fights the urge to break into a full grin. He had enjoyed her company. Today hadn’t been the total bust he had anticipated.

She chatters idly beside him, about her job, and her projects and her everything and Bucky soaks it in. She feels like a ray of pure white light beside him and his smudged grey soul. And his heart leaps when she waves him off with an ear to ear grin and “Have a good night, Buck.”

For the first time in what he guessed was seventy years, he feels what he thinks could very well be the inklings of a crush permeating his chest. And he doesn’t much mind the nervous tilt to his voice when he says “You too, Y/N.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #light

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luxandauroris · 6 years

Text

Thus the Journey of the Vessel Begins.

[ “You were born a child of light’s wonderful secret— you return to the beauty you have always been.” ― Aberjhani ]

“You want to what now?” Prompto asked in disbelief.

“I want to go and investigate the fort to the east of here.” Delphine said, sat around the dwindling campfire with her four companions. “It’s not one of Aldercapt’s units, but I swear I’ve seen that symbol somewhere before.”

Ignis pinched the bridge of his nose. “We really should make haste for Caem, Cid is waiting for us and-“

“I know, Ignis.” Delph interrupted. “I wouldn’t have even mentioned going if I wasn’t sure it was worth investigating.”

“Hey,” Noctis said, turning to Ignis. “It could be useful for working out any Nif secrets…”

Delphine turned to Noctis and flashed him a grateful smile, one which he returned eagerly.

“You would side with her…” Ignis muttered. “Fine, I know better than to argue with you when you have your sights set on something so deeply. We’ll leave at nightfall, but you’re the one who has to incur the wrath of Cid when we eventually get back to Caem.”

“Fine by me.” Delph agreed, causing Gladio to chuckle beside her.

Three hours later, and the group were preparing to head out as the sun set over the lands of Lucis. As Delph was sharpening her spear, she felt a presence behind her, turning round to see a familiar blond head of hair settling down beside her. He rest his head on her shoulder, as he had come to do so often since they had departed on this crazy journey.

“Do you ever think about the people from back home?” Prompto asked, looking over the horizon.

“Sometimes.” Delph replied, voice quiet. “The usual been on your mind again?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I… really miss her.”

The dark-haired woman had to hold back tears which were threatening to spill. Miel had been on her mind a lot since she had finally received a reply to the text she had sent a few days ago. She was fairly sure Prompto had cried when she showed him the messages, seeing Miel not believing that he wanted to see her…

“You really love her, don’t you?” She asked.

“More that I can say.” Prompto chuckled.

“Next time you see her, tell her.”

Prompto turned to face his friend, wide eyed but nodding all the same. Delph didn’t know if he would actually do it, but the thought being in his mind was enough for her for now. She hadn’t gotten the guts to tell Miel how she felt all those years ago, and the last thing she wanted was for Prompto to go through the same anguish she had. He was so much more open with her, so much more suited to her than she was, and the way he looked at her, it made Delph’s heart sing, seeing her two closest friends so happy.

“Didn’t you love her… once?” Prom asked, eyes full of curiosity.

Delphine laughed. Not a malicious one, an airy one, looking back on a past memory that she was extremely fond of. “I’ll always hold her dear in my heart, Prom, but… she’s yours. I accepted that a long time ago.”

Prompto nodded, pulling Delph to him in what could be seen as an act of thanking her. He valued Delphine and her friendship so much, she was what kept the boys from constantly being at each other’s throats, what kept Gladio from being too overbearing during training, the only person Ignis trusted to cook other than himself, and Noct - well, Noct was another matter entirely when it came to Delphine Auroris. Not that she knew, or that she would ever know.

Before either of the two could ponder their thoughts further, a cough came from behind them. They separated, seeing Gladio stood there, all prepped to head over to their mission. “We’re ready, let’s go.”

The pair nodded, standing up and gathering their gear. Delphine took a deep breath, mentally readying herself for another infiltration, unaware of what awaited she and her friends on the other side of the tall, looming walls.

The plan of action was simple enough – infiltrate, explore, extract. The group had gotten past the first line of defence pretty swiftly (thank the lord for warp-kills), were now making their way through the facility. Prompto, Noctis, and Delphine stuck to the left, heading for an office building, whereas Ignis and Gladio scouted out the weapons area.

Delphine still hadn’t been able to identify the fort flag, the symbol was striking up a memory within her, she just didn’t know which one. There had been no names anywhere, either, so she was at a loss. She shook the thought from her mind as her group reached the building, Prompto granting them entry with a keycard he’d swiped from one of the guards.

“What exactly is it that we’re looking for?” Noctis asked, rooting through a cabinet.

“Anything which gives us an idea of who these guys are, and what their plans are.” Delphine replied, heading over to what looked like the main desk in the room. She tried each drawer, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she pulled. She didn’t want to break it, otherwise whoever owned this place would know someone had been in there.

Instead, she moved to what appeared to be a tray of folders. Opening one, she saw mission details for a raid on Galahd, effectively planning to destroy the place, with ‘MISSION SUCCESSFUL’ stamped across the top in large, red letters. She scanned the page with haste, looking for a name, a group, anything that would tell her who was responsible. She turned page after page with no luck. On the final page in the document, however, was a photo. It was specifications for a catapult, extremely intricate and bound to destroy anything it set its sights on. The name on the side, however, caused Delph’s stomach to drop.

No.

Not him.

Please.

No…

“H-hey, Delph?” Prompto asked, voice shaking as he studied the folder in his hand. “What were your parents’ names again?”

Oh no.

“Carina and Amanitus.” Delphine replied, tone void of emotion.

“Wait…” Noctis interjected. “I know those names, they were two of Dad’s most skilled Glaives.”

“They were, yes.” Delph replied. “And I’m guessing that Prompto is currently holding the report of the raid they were involved in on General Ulixes twelve years ago, the night they died.”

“Uh, yeah. I-”

“The same general, as it would happen, who I would guess runs the very fort we’re stood in.”

“Delph, wai-”

She was out the door before Prompto could finish, eyes alight with a flame which had been burning for twelve years too long.

“DELPHINE! FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS WOULD YOU WAIT!” Ignis cried, sprinting to catch up to her as she stormed through the area.

“I’ve waited for twelve years, Ignis, that’s more than long enough.” She replied, voice harsh as she stormed ahead.

Ahead of her was a large courtyard, where she hoped to get a better idea of where the bastard might be. And if he wasn’t here, well, she could tear up his shit instead. The boys were clearly concerned and scared simultaneously, but she pushed them to the back of her mind for the moment as she charged forwards. That is, until a firm grip pulled her back.

“Get off, Gladio.”

“What exactly are you hoping to do here?” He growled. “We have no plan of attack, no back-up for if things go wrong, it’s a death trap.”

“I’ll be fine.” Delph protested, moving to walk again.

At that moment, a large spotlight flashed into life, glaring down onto the group. Delphine squinted as her eyes adjusted to the light, before spotting a figure perched on the top of one of the nearby towers.

“My my my, what have we here?” An unsettling voice shouted. “Could it be the heir of Lucis, in MY fort?”

Gladio moved to stand in front of Noctis. “Who are you?” He roared.

“Why, I am General Velinus Ulixes. General of the Niflheim forces and weapons contractor.”

He had whispy black hair which hung around his hollowed face, making him look like a ghost. His face was set into a permanent sneer, spindly fingers gripping the barrier of the balcony he was stood upon. His uniform was decked in platinum metal, shining under the harsh lights above. Delphine growled, readying herself to summon her spear when the situation presented itself.

“What’s this? You brought a pretty girl along with you?” He asked, leaning over the railing slightly. “She’ll make for plenty of fun later, looks like the type to enjoy that sort of thing.”

“HEY.” Noctis and Prompto yelled, getting themselves into their own combat stance.

“Trust me, old man, I want nothing to do with you.” Delphine retorted, seeing more red with each second that passed.

The sounds of soldiers approaching didn’t go unnoticed by the group, all conjuring their weapons simultaneously. Delphine gripped her spear tightly, ready to launch it at a moment’s notice.

“Oh but why so aggressive, beautiful one?” He chortled. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Why would I want anything to do with the man who killed my family?” Delph snarled. At a lack of response from the General, she continued. “You don’t even remember them, do you?”

“I’ve killed a lot of people in my time, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “But I’m bored of you now. Attack!”

Guards came at them from all sides. Bullets flew, swords clashed, it was chaos. Delphine utilised every skill she had learned throughout her fighting career, her training, everything came together to eliminate as many of these guards as she could, while keeping an eye on Ulixes to make sure he wouldn’t escape.

He didn’t move. He simply stood, watching. Waiting.

The guards were down to their last few. As Delphine plunged her spear into the heart of an MT, she noticed Ulixes had finally started to move, producing something from behind him. Was that a crossbow? It looked like it, and a big one at that. He perched the device on his shoulder, taking aim on the battlefield at the first person he set his eyes on.

Delph’s legs moved faster than she ever thought possible.

And then there was pain.

Blinding, absolute, pain.

Then nothing.

At the sound of an arrow right behind him, Prompto turned around just in time to see Delphine’s body hit the floor. An arrow was protruding from her chest, almost like an insult to the rest of their group. His mind went numb, the only thing he focused on was eliminating the last of these damned guards so he could get to her, so he could make sure she was okay.

Noctis raged, summoning the armiger and blasting through any guard he set his sights on. This hadn’t happened. This couldn’t happen. She was fine, she was fine… At last, the guards were down, laying in heaps on the floor of the courtyard.

And among them, lay Delphine.

The group sprinted over to her, Noctis laying her head in his lap while Ignis checked her pulse. Prompto looked to Ignis with hopeful eyes while Gladio gently tried shaking the woman, but to no avail. Ignis shook his head lightly. Her eyes were clouded, no longer sparkling with a lust for adventure, with the delight that she was so well-known for.

She was gone.

“You know, I think I do remember her parents now.” Ulixies sneered. “They died the same way, protecting people they cared about.”

“SHUT UP!” Noctis and Gladio yelled, tears pricking their eyes.

She couldn’t be gone. Their Delphine, their warrior, the cockiest yet sweetest woman they’d ever met… Noctis’ mind flashed back to memories of school, of hours spent at Delphine’s house working on stupid projects that wouldn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, of being entranced by her smile and her laugh, exploring Insomnia together and making places their own, knowing he could trust her no matter what, enjoying every moment he spent with her.

Gladio thought of her quick wit, how she was always able to find a silver lining in any situation. How she was hot-headed, but sensible (most of the time), the challenge she posed when the two duelled, playing off one another in order to work out the other’s weaknesses, emotional conversations under starlight, everything.

Ignis’ mind was blank. He was seeing red himself. One of their group had been taken in the act of trying to bring justice. His friend, his sister, was gone. His fists clenched at his side, this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. They were meant to meet up at cafés long into the future and laugh about this journey when it was all over, not mourn.

Prompto still had her hand in his. She was still warm, bittersweetly. He thought of the days the two of them and Miel would sneak out of school and head to the arcade, wasting the time but having the time of their lives all at once. Hours spent talking about life problems and helping one another to be their best selves, supporting her as she fought her way to the top. Oh god, Miel… What would she say? She’d be in bits… He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it gently before placing it on her chest, just below where the arrow still stood.

He rose slowly, drawing his weapon. “I’ll kill him.”

The others joined him, standing beside him. Ready to avenge the woman who brought them so much joy.

That is, until the light hit.

So this is death…

Delphine had never known what to expect when she died, few do.

It was so dark.

So empty.

She felt as though she was floating, drifting away to join her parents and godfather – wherever they were now. She could see a faint light in the distance, growing larger with each second. That must have been her final destination, she supposed.

She didn’t regret jumping in front of the arrow, no way. It saved Prompto. That was all she wanted, for those she loved to be safe. She just hoped that Ulixes was dead by now.

The light finally reached her, and she closed her eyes, embracing the warmth it brought with it. But there was no shift in consciousness, no sudden alertness. She still felt just as drained as she had done before. But now, she could feel… grass? Was she in a field? Opening her eyes, she sat up to find that yes, she was in a field. A field filled with delphiniums, conveniently enough.

She stood up, noting that she was barefoot now. Her clothes had changed, too. Instead of her tattered jacket and jeans, she was wearing a short-sleeved dress, white in colour which came to her knees. As she moved, the flowers seemed to part, forming a path for her to follow. Tentatively, she began to walk along it, taking in all the sights, smells, and sensations along the way.

Where was she?

Why was no one else here?

Delphine could see a throne in the distance, lined with the same delphiniums which lay along the ground. Atop the throne sat a woman, one of the most beautiful women Delphine had ever seen. She had long, blonde hair which fell past her feet, and a gown which was made from the finest silk, with two wings fanning outwards behind her. An angel? Her face was soft, kind, welcoming. She smiled as the young warrior approached, sensing her nervousness.

“Young Delphine, there is no need to be afraid.” She said, voice soothing.

“W-where am I?” Delphine asked.

“You are in a place between life and death, where decisions are made and fates aligned.”

Delphine’s eyes widened. Fates aligned? What did that mean?

“Allow me to introduce myself.” The woman continued. “For I am the Goddess Eos, Protector of the Planet and Ruler of the Astrals.”

Delphine immediately dropped to one knee, bowing before Eos. “Please, forgive me. I had no idea.”

Eos laughed. “Stand, my child. There is no need to bow before me.”

Delph nodded before rising slowly. She tried to appear composed, but internally her mind was screaming. What on Eos (ha, that was ironic now) was going on?

“If you don’t mind my asking, Goddess Eos,” Delph began. “What exactly am I doing here?”

“Ah yes, of course.” Eos said, rising from her seat. She began to circle Delphine. But she didn’t walk, she appeared to glide, moving with such grace and elegance that Delph found herself getting slightly light-headed. “You have heard the stories of the Vessels of the Astrals, correct?”

“I…” Delph said. “Yes, but I assumed they were just stories?”

Eos shook her head. “They are all true, dear one.” She moved to stand in front of Delphine, taking her hands. “I have brought you here to ask that you be my vessel, to bring justice and honour to a planet which is dwindling into extreme dismay.”

Delphine studied the eyes of the woman before her, there was no hint of malice, of deceit. All the stories were true, and here she was about to embark on one of her own. Her breathing sped up, panic starting to take over her as she thought about what this could mean.

“I, um, why me?” She asked, concern and fear clouding her features.

“You’ll know.” Eos said simply. “When the time comes, you will understand.”

“But- But what if I can’t do it?”

“You will, I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.” Eos said, smiling. “I have the upmost faith in you, Delphine Auroris. The light which you bring to the lives of so many must continue to shine.”

Delphine paused for a moment. If she accepted this offer, she could be reunited with everyone again. Prompto, Ignis, Gladio, Noctis, Miel… She could come back. She would have a job to do and a calling to fulfil, but she could come back.

“You will,” Eos said, interrupting her thoughts, “be granted all powers I have at my disposal. The elements will be yours to command, these wings yours to take to the sky. I will, essentially, meld myself with you.”

Delphine gulped, this was a huge responsibility. She took a few minutes to think about her choices before lifting her head to look at Eos again, face steady and determined.

“Have you made a decision, young one?” She asked.

Delphine nodded, sure that this was what she wanted to do.

A warm light began to fill her chest, and she closed her eyes once again. She felt… powerful, like she could do anything she put her mind to with ease. Energy flowed throughout her body, and she felt the world grow dark again, her spirit rising with each passing second. She thought of her friends, her family, willing her on, supporting her through anything and everything. A cold chill hit her face, wind. She could hear several voices shouting below her, four in joy and one in anger.

She opened her eyes.

Delphine Auroris, Vessel of Eos, was reborn.

She raised her hand, not quite sure what she expected to happen but willing it nonetheless. She would have to practice, she knew that, but for now, instinct was all that mattered. She aimed her hand at Ulixes, eyes stern, calculating, prepared. A blast of light shot out, hitting him square in the chest as he screamed.

Dead.

Gone.

Her family avenged.

His scheme, his glee at killing once again, foiled.

She slowly lowered herself to the ground, feeling two weights on her back as she adjusted to the feeling of wings present there. The air around her felt sharp, electric, and she breathed it in willingly. The arrow was gone, she noticed, all that remained was a scar.

Delphine looked up into the faces of the four men she had dreamed of seeing again, noting mixed emotions on their faces. Joy, disbelief, mild fear… all to be expected. But she was happy. So, so happy to be with them once again.

“Well,” Prompto said, mouth agape. “You certainly have some explaining to do.”

#DEA Fic #Delph

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laurelsofhighever · 6 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 10

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Words: 3985 CW: gore, character death Chapter summary: Highever’s forces return to the city, only to find that the enemy has gotten there first

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Ninth Day of Guardian, 9:31 Dragon

The city smouldered.

Before dawn that morning, the diminished army of Highever had set out under the proud gaze of Lady Cousland herself. They went to repay the loss at Glenlough, expecting to relieve a siege or sweep down upon their unknown enemy like before to win their glory. There had been jokes, and marching songs to keep time as they climbed the long slope of Harrowhill.

And now they stood between the two stone circles that flanked the crest of the hill, struck to silence with shock. The rain dripped down, soaking through metal and leather and cloth, unheeded as the wind lifted the veil of cloud to reveal the blackened husk of Highever huddling beyond the Marl Plain, with the river twisting through it like a strike of silver wire. A few ships still listed in the harbour, belching out thick dark smoke from broken hulls, but there was no sign of people, or of a battle before the walls of Castle Cousland, which still stood, unperturbed by the destruction that lay at its feet.

“This isn’t right…”

Rosslyn’s wounds ached. She still felt weak, and her knees were shaking so badly she doubted she would be able to mount Lasan again without help, but that concern was faraway. At her back, she felt the restlessness of her people as shock ebbed into anger – from Hobbs, who had been a wheelwright; from Morrence, whose father had been so proud of his tailor shop on Thistle Street – but it blurred, because all she could do was stare at the castle and the out-of-place banners draped over the battlements. Her home, and her family’s colours nowhere to be seen.

“How did this happen, Gideon?” she asked when the guard-commander shifted his weight next to her. “Where is my father?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

She turned at the growl in his voice, remembering how he had begged her to go after the teyrn and his men. “Are you going to say I told you so?”

Gideon blinked in surprise. “No, lass,” he said quietly. “No, I won’t do that.”

She nodded, numb. On her other side, Teagan stood holding a bronze spyglass to his eye. With every beat that passed, the corner of his mouth pulled lower.

“My lord?”

Teagan hesitated, glancing to her outstretched hand. “It might be best if you didn’t, my lady. You don’t need to see this.” His eyes were bright with sympathy, even more so than his voice, and she recognised it as the same desire to protect that her father had left with her at Glenlough, the last time she had seen him.

Her jaw clenched. “Give it to me.”

Reluctantly he passed the spyglass to her, but even despite her burning need to see what had become of her home, she wavered as she brought it up to see. She glossed over the corpse of the city, with its snapped timbers and piles of smouldering rubble, needing to be sure instead that the quartered orange-and white banners weren’t just a trick of light and distance. She knew the shield well – the Bear of Amaranthine was a common sight enough since the Howes were neighbours and old friends – but to see those colours in place of the Laurels…

Rain dripped cold down her spine. There had to be something, anything, a tiny piece of evidence to tell her this was nothing more than a nightmare. But as she scanned along the walls, she found nothing to indicate a battle, not the scar of magefire on the stone nor cracked mortar on the battlements, only banner after banner snarling with the Howe Bear, her own family’s presence entirely erased, swept away like smoke. The image wobbled as her hands shook.

And then she saw the two bodies hanging from the arch of the barbican by thick, dark ropes – no, not ropes. Twisted cords made from rich blue cloth and fastened into nooses. The sound of the wind on the hill died away under the ragged pull of air through her teeth, the hollow thunder of blood in her ears, the creak of her leather gauntlets. The spyglass pressed hard enough against her skin to be bruising.

Gilmore. Canavan. She recognised his red hair. They must have been loyal to the last to have suffered such humiliation, for now they were nothing more than squabble-fodder for the crows, stripped of armour and honour with their beaten flesh greying and bloated where it wasn’t cut to the bone. Had they fought so hard expecting her to come? Had they looked to the horizon with hope even as Amaranthine’s forces overwhelmed the castle and cut them down?

Rage surged through the roaring disbelief in her ears. At Glenlough, her father had said no word had come from Howe, and now she knew why. He had done this. He had planned and schemed and betrayed and destroyed and entire city, for – what? Greed? Jealousy? She almost tore the eyepiece away, but then movement fluttered at the edge of the lens and drew her gaze to a smaller commotion over the castle’s west gate. Crows and gulls flocked on the battlements, though the distance and the mist left them nothing more than whirling black and white flies; the two objects they circled were small and round, pale, propped up on long poles against the weather and the depredations of the birds –

Rosslyn’s hand clapped over her mouth. Bile that churned in her stomach, clawing to be up her throat. The spyglass clattered to the ground and cracked against a rock. She wanted to run. She wanted to fold against the earth and turn her face into the rain so it could wash away the image of what she had seen. Too late too late too late, her heart mocked in its two-step dance. You ran away and now this is what you have done.

A hand closed over her own, its warmth making her flinch.

“I’m sorry,” Teagan said. He had picked up the spyglass. “I can’t make this any easier.”

“I didn’t…” She stared at him blindly. “This wasn’t…”

“’Ware, riders!”

A flurry of movement. She saw Alistair a little way away put his hand to his sword and step between her and the shout, even as her soldiers formed a shield wall and behind them Teagan’s archers knocked arrows, waiting for the order to loose.

It was just a scout. He waved Rainesfere colours as he trotted towards them on a rangy little pony, and the order was given to stand down. Rosslyn straightened, her lessons as a noble’s daughter dragging her out of her haze, though her ears still rang and beneath her armour her skin felt clammy and feverish. Alistair relaxed, though she noticed his sword stayed loose in its scabbard as he went forward to meet the scout and find out what was going on.

They conferred. Behind the scout came three others mounted on horseback, leading a group of a dozen or so bound men whose surcoats were emblazoned with the snarling Amaranthine Bear. It filled Rosslyn’s vision, leering at her as if in mockery, but the soldiers who wore it all looked exhausted and battle-stained; their gear was patchy and singed, and none dared lift their gaze above their cracked, mud-caked boots. After a few moments, Alistair shrugged and led the scout towards the waiting officers.

“Cam, isn’t it?” Teagan asked as the scout bowed.

“Yes, my lord.” A wisp of corn-yellow hair slipped from its place behind his pointed ears.

“Tell us what happened.”

The scout raised his head to speak, but started at the sight of the Laurels embossed on Rosslyn’s cuirass. “You’re her,” he whispered. “I mean, um, Lady Cousland, it’s an honour to meet you, I –”

She cut him off. “I don’t need flattery. What happened here? All these people…” She swallowed. “The castle. How was it taken?”

Cam struggled to meet her gaze, glancing at Teagan for reassurance before he worked up the courage to begin. “My lady, we didn’t arrive in time to watch events here unfold. My partners and I came from the east, following the ravens from another battlefield along the Culodhne Road… two days old, by our guess.”

“Who made up the dead?” Rosslyn asked, trembling. She could hear the restless shift of the army at her back. “Who?”

“Highever men, my lady,” Cam replied in a steady tone. “But surrounded two to one by Amaranthine soldiers and Marcher hirelings.”

“And my father?”

Cam licked his lips. “We… couldn’t find his body.”

She heard a sharp hiss, and realised only when nobody else spoke that the sound had come from her. It had to be real, then, all of it. Her father must be dead. He had known what would happen when he left her at Glenlough, and fell to Howe’s spite, selling his own life to buy her time, and she lost in the wilds – and the thing standing sentinel above the western gate…

“Thank you for telling me this,” she said when she again trusted herself to speak.

“We did find something, my lady.” Cam stood and went to his pony, extracting an oilskin package from behind the saddle that he unwrapped with greatest care and presented to her.

What strength was left in Rosslyn’s body fell away at the sight of the sword, as bright in its grubby wrappings as it had been on the day it had left Highever belted on Bryce Cousland’s hip. She was drawn towards it, reaching out for the wire-wrapped hilt even as she rocked under the tumble of memories the sight unleashed. She recalled its place above the mantel in the study, and in bedtime stories where it was the faithful companion her ancestors had taken to battle and adventure. Once, when she was still so small she needed to stand on a chair to reach it, she had taken it down in secret to see if she could measure up to the legends, and had barely been able to lift it. And now? She frowned and pulled her hand back, curling it into a fist as her vision blurred.

It should have gone to Fergus.

An anxious hum drew her attention downward, to where Cuno nuzzled his wide, blunt head against her side. For once, however, her dog’s lolling smile and steady eyes could do nothing to comfort her.

Cam cleared his throat, glancing to Teagan once again. “There is more, my lady.”

“More?”

“These men,” he said, gesturing with a jut of his chin. “They claim to be Amaranthine deserters. They know what happened in Highever, and gave themselves up willingly. They said – my lady, they said they wished to throw themselves on the mercy of the last Cousland for their actions, if she still lived.”

Rosslyn looked over to where the prisoners cowered, then back to the sword nestled in its wrappings like a viper. The last Cousland. The last.

“Bring them here,” she commanded, and this time when she reached out, there was no sign of hesitation as her hand wrapped around the hilt. She felt rather than heard Teagan and Gideon close ranks behind her, but didn’t turn around, too busy assessing the condition of the blade – at least the scouts had thought to clean off the grime of battle before giving it to her.

Teagan’s hand fell on her shoulder. “Whatever you intend to do, my lady, I suggest we do not linger. Our position is exposed, and it’s too much to hope we haven’t been noticed already.”

She shrugged him away, blinking back the sting in her eyes. “Let that bastard try me if he dares.”

She ignored the prisoners as they were dragged before her and forced to their knees in the mud, their quiet grunts of pain less of a concern than the effort it cost to keep her hands steady as she worked the buckles of her sword belt loose. Her padded gauntlets became a hindrance, so she tugged them off with her teeth and tucked them under her arm, then passed her own borrowed sword into Gideon’s waiting hands before seeing to the straps of her new weapon. The scabbard didn’t fit properly.

In the rigid silence, the fine rain condensed on her skin, leaving her fingers cold and clumsy. She used the time to choose her words.

“Highever lies smouldering on the order of the man whose crest you wear, and you have come to ask me for mercy,” she said at last, pulling her gauntlets back over calloused palms. She checked the fit and looked up. Her gaze was keen, her voice trembling on the edge of control. “Not many would be so daring, unless you aren’t really deserters, but men sent to finish what an entire company of mercenaries couldn’t.”

One of the younger men, whose hair was the same dull brown as the dirt streaking his face, shifted in his ropes. “Do we look like assassins?” he spat.

The sword flashed into her hand like a shard of lightning. The man yelled and threw his bound hands over his head, jerking away from the deathblow. But Rosslyn turned the blade as she struck downwards. The balance of it was unfamiliar, the swing less controlled than she wanted, but even so the man felt nothing more than a heavy slap where he should have been cleaved to his stomach. He squinted upwards through his overgrown fringe when he realised he could still breathe, his eyes travelling along the glinting length of steel to the imperious figure towering over him.

“You will tell me the truth,” she warned.

The soldier gulped, but nodded.

“You were part of the force that confronted the Teyrn of Highever after he set off from Glenlough.”

“A-aye, my lady,” he answered.

“You saw my father fall?”

A nod. “Arl Howe said we was to go through them no matter the cost. We hammered the teyrn’s men, and the Red Iron went ‘round at the sides. There were some of us – after – it didn’t sit right, even though the arl said as your father was a trait– ah!”

Rosslyn watched the thread of scarlet blood well along the sharp edge of the blade. “Be careful with your accusations,” she snarled as she pressed it deeper against his neck.

“No – please!”

“Lady Cousland!” Teagan once more lay his hand on her shoulder, squeezing until she calmed enough to relax the tension in her arm. “You would have regretted it,” he assured her in a low voice.

“Tell me how the castle was taken,” she growled, with the merest glance behind her. The sword fell to her side.

“He…” The soldier took a shaky breath, glancing between the two nobles who held his life in their good graces. “He asked protection from the keep, said the enemy was close on our heels. We were let through the gate, and then when the teyrna was distracted, I don’t know what with, that blighter Lowan ordered men into the guard towers. Most of yours were dead before anyone twigged.”

Rosslyn sucked in her bottom lip. “What – what happened to my mother?” she managed.

“Sh-she fought back, my lady,” came the slow reply. “She got a sword from someone, and wouldn’t go down, not until she were a pincushion.” The soldier paused, wincing in sympathy for her sharp draw of breath. “After that, the order came down to burn the city, to – I don’t know why, that’s not for grunts like us – only we tried to help, to stop it happening, and Lowan caught us. Us and others – we’re all that’s left.” For a moment he fell quiet. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my lady. We’re so sorry. Please.”

The weather closed about the silence left in the wake of the soldier’s voice, a haze of spitting cloud that stung the eyes and left any exposed skin damp and chilled and itching red. The wind whined through the long silence. Rosslyn wanted to lash out. These men deserved death for their actions – the certainty of it pounded in her ears – but if she gave in to the impulse, it wouldn’t be justice that guided her hand.

“Have them taken to the quartermaster,” she muttered to Gideon after a moment, turning away. “They are to be outfitted according to their skills, and integrated into appropriate units. Those are my orders,” she added when it looked like he was about to protest. “See them carried out.”

“I – yes, my lady.”

Still on their knees, the deserters watched this exchange with a mixture of confusion and barely concealed hope, but even so they flinched away when Rosslyn approached them again, her face set in grim lines.

“You wanted my judgement, so here it is,” she barked. “I will not do Howe’s work for him and execute the mongrels who have slipped his leash. Nor will I spare you based on your word alone – the word of a deserter is worth nothing, and the word of a spy even less than that. My soldiers – the ones whose homes have been razed to the ground, whose families you had a hand in slaughtering – they will be the ones to see you for what you truly are. You will post with them, train with them, and fight with them, and if they find you worthy of forgiveness, that is what you will find in turn. If not,” she added, “then the Maker’s will be done with you.”

She turned away as Gideon called on the house guard and had the prisoners hauled to their feet, finally sheathing the sword. Teagan stepped into line next to her before she could work out what that meant, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“That was well done,” he said. “Bryce couldn’t have done better.”

She swallowed past the bitter lump in her throat. “That doesn’t make me him.” He would have known what to do, would have known how to fight back against this madness, how to inspire his soldiers to do the same. She lacked experience, a formal title, everything except an uprooted family name, and she knew with certainty that Howe would come for her. The last Cousland was the only obstacle between him and unquestioned authority in the North, a prize worth having if he could use her to legitimise his claim. The thought was sickening.

“Teagan.” Her voice cracked. “For the moment, I cede control of Highever’s forces to your greater experience – if you’ll accept.” It was the only option she could see. “You’re the king’s representative while he remains in Denerim, so… it’s only right.”

Teagan nodded his understanding. “For the moment. I accept. We need to get away from here, before we’re discovered. Howe will know we’re vulnerable, and we can’t answer his treachery if we’re dead.”

Retreat. She gritted her teeth but did not object.

“The secondary camp is at Deerswall,” Alistair suggested, having followed their conversation. “It’s where the western Bannorn were originally supposed to muster before going on to Denerim. We could be there in two days.” For an instant he met Rosslyn’s gaze, but she flinched away as if scalded. There was too much sympathy in the rich brown of his eyes; it made everything too real, too much to bear.

“It’s a good idea,” she said instead, and looked behind her. “The soldiers won’t want to leave.”

“You’ll need to tell them.”

“Me?” Panic scratched at her throat as she stared at Teagan. “But –”

“You’re their figurehead,” he replied calmly. “You’re the one they’ll look to.”

She swallowed. Tried to speak, but found herself holding back tears instead. Barely a week ago, she had resented being left behind. She had jumped at the chance to charge off to Glenlough and prove her mettle, and yet all she could think of now was the library and the smell of baking bread in the kitchens and her mother’s warm laugh.

We do what must be done, Pup, her father had said before riding away on that last morning. And I’m leaving you in charge, because I know you’ll keep them safe, no matter what.

“No matter what…” She steadied herself with a breath. “I understand. I’ll do it.” Whether she spoke to Teagan or to her family’s ghosts, it barely mattered. The last Cousland was still a Cousland.

Lasan pawed the ground as she mounted, picking up on the turmoil quivering through her hands, and with barely a nudge he broke into a flashy canter that carried her to the waiting soldiers, so that her standard bearer had to hurry to keep up. They stirred as she approached, having watched the interrogation of Howe’s men with undisguised interest and worked out at least part of what had happened. Rumour was already filling the gaps, and anger fizzed below the rigours of their discipline. When the front ranks were pressed forward by those behind, she realised they expected her to rally them for a fight – they thought she had a plan to save the day, to charge in like she had at Glenlough. Would they even listen to her when she told them otherwise?

With so many eyes on her, it was hard to think. She had been trained for leadership, to address halls of people on feast days, but she had never imagined… this.

“Listen.” Her voice emerged as a croak and the soldiers didn’t hear. “Listen!” Lasan shied at the volume of her shout, but she reined him in. She had promised to do her duty.

“I won’t mince my words,” she told them. “But I know you won’t like what I say. What lies before us is a fight we cannot win – not now – and we must retreat.”

Mutters greeted her words and she found herself growing angry again. Did they think she wanted to run away?

“Highever is lost! The castle has been taken through treachery by Arl Howe of Amaranthine, and every one of my family is dead save me. My father – my father’s head sits atop a spike on the castle wall. Rotting next to my mother’s.” The gruesome image reared in her mind, screaming with the imagined cries of gulls and crows, but she pushed it aside, because she had to make them listen.

“There will be a time to grieve,” she said. “But it isn’t now. Now we must respect the sacrifices others have made for us and live so we can bring vengeance another day. And that means we go to Deerswall. But we are not running away.”

It seemed like a petulant way to finish a rousing speech, but Rosslyn didn’t know what else to say. Her father would have said more – and her mother’s bo’sun told her once about the war cries the Seawolf had hurled in the faces of the Orlesians as she chased them down – but her officers moved in and began chivvying the soldiers back the way they had come, and the moment passed. She sat quietly on Lasan’s back and watched as they marched away, trying to look in control even as grief threatened to tear a hole in her chest.

Teagan rode up next to her, but didn’t reach out.

“We should forego a rear guard,” she managed, not looking at him. “At least then they might feel this retreat is a matter of choice.”

“I’ll see to it.” He wavered, as if he wanted to say something else, but then changed his mind and kicked his horse after the infantry.

Only when every soldier had walked past did she guide Lasan into line at the head of the house guard – her house guard now – her shoulders squared and her chin held high. As they stepped once more onto the road, she finally closed her eyes and let her face turn into the rain.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #alistair x warden #cousland #king alistair #rosslyn cousland

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supernatural-idjit-95 · 7 years

Text

The Curses We Utter, Pt. 8

“Juggernaut”

Series Masterlist

Summary: This starts off BEFORE the scene of the 'fast forward' I previewed in the last portion of Part 7! Also, a certain character is singing in this (hehe) so I will indicate that dialogue with asterisks :-)

Word Count: 7446

Notes: THANKS SO MUCH YAY I'M EXCITED!!!

Warnings: Violence, character death(ish), cursing, smut, extreme/adult situations…

****

Much was being planned over a couple pots of coffee that morning, you all knew you were going to need it. You and Dean were going to work on warding the dungeon, while Sam and Rowena worked out a new and improved spell to summon a Prince of Hell. It had to precise; as Rowena had suggested using your blood, you were hoping to god it'd work the way you needed it to. In most cases, the recipient being summoned could appear at anytime afterward, and anywhere…that was a risk you couldn't afford to take, not with the kind of power Asmodeus held. You sat next to Cas, who was beside Crowley at the table. Sam had taken Dean to the library with he and Rowena, to ensure he knew exactly what was needed (and how to paint them out exactly, Sam had said). Toying with the hem of your black t-shirt, you realized the v-neck cut showed more cleavage than you liked- especially on a day like this. Castiel sighed next to you. He had been quiet all morning, and you wondered if you should re-think your approach to meeting your Father. "You okay?" You questioned him. He pressed his lips into a flat line, but his eyes remained loving and friendly on you. "Yes, I'm…uncertain, that's all. You're sure you want to go through with this?" You nodded. "Yeah…I am. It's the only plan we've got right? Either we talk him out of hunting me down for the rest of my life, or-" Crowley's salty words cut you off. "-and convincing him to keep his bloody paws off my throne!!" His voice carried far in the room, but it didn't alarm you- all of you were used to his insulting outbursts. You rolled your eyes, giving a groaning response to him. "Ugh! Yes, Crowley! We will attempt to talk him out of my taking your filthy fucking throne!" You spat him a look of disgust around Cas, who sat back in his chair allowing you to with pleasure. "Anyways…as I was saying: It's either this, or…letting him find me outside of the bunker…" You let words trails off. Castiel folded his hands in front of him. "I've gone over it again and again in my mind. I'd like to say Crowley's right, that this isn't a fool-proof plan…but the latter…" He paused in thought and stared down. "…You can't stay down in this bunker forever. I know that. So as I've said before- I've got your back." He reached over to you, placing one of his hands on top of yours like he had just a couple nights before. It was comforting even though he was always cold. As his blue eyes bore into you, you realized he always seemed to look at you a certain way, like he knew something you didn't. His gazes were always filled with wisdom, respect, …or maybe it was love? Understanding the Angel wasn't important to you, though; all that mattered was he was there. "Spare me the theatrics, you dim-wits!" Crowley's gravelly voice broke through the air, making Cas grit his teeth in anger. Castiel stood from his chair quietly, turning to Crowley. His head leaned back to look up at the Angel towering over him dominantly. Cas's lip curled down at him. "Speak another word, and I'll feed you to Asmodeus like a piece of meat to a wild dog." He threatened, and his low snarl sent a visible shudder through both yourself, and Crowley. 'Get 'em, tiger!' Right on time, Dean, Sam and Rowena re-entered the room. 'Thank god!' You thought. "Are we almost set?" You asked, rising from your seat. Rowena happily but nervously nodded to you. "Yes, just the actual warding itself is left." You smiled at her thankfully as a thought pressed your mind. "Rowena, if you wanna go while we do this, I won't blame you. This isn't exactly safe…" You told her. It was the right thing to do, whether Asmodeus was your Father or not, he was still a Prince of Hell; and very powerful. Shuffling over to you gracefully as her heels clicked, she pressed her red lips into an affectionate smile. "My dear…I've always got a trick up my sleeve. And I've not been a very, how do you say it…scrupulous person, for most of my life. I'll be here, no matter what." She tossed one of her red curls over her shoulder and shrugged excitedly. "Besides…Prince of Hell and what-not…maybe he needs a Queen?" Rowena purred in laughter as Crowley made some god-awful gagging noise behind you. Grinning at her light words, you nodded a thank you to her. Dean stood behind Rowena, holding up pages you assumed were the sigils and symbols Sam and Rowena sketched out for you both. You nodded to him as well. "Ready?" He tilted his head to the side, gesturing for you to follow him. On your way past Sam, he patted you on the shoulder and said, "See ya in a bit." * Dean and yourself were almost done in the dungeon. The holy oil had been poured in overlapping circles all over the floor, just in case he didn't end up where you needed him. At first you thought it looked a little ridiculous, but then figured you couldn't be too careful. It was getting exhausting having to keep mentally reminding yourself that Asmodeus was your Father; as Crowley told you so anyways. It made sense to you though, how your eyes were yellow when you really focused on your energy, or when you were emotional…nonetheless, it still scared the shit out of you. "I'm almost done Dean." You glanced over your shoulder as you shook your red spray paint can vigorously, seeing him gathering up the four empty cans you'd already gone through. He had shed his flannel halfway through warding the east wall, and you couldn't help looking at him every time he turned around. You knew you should be concentrating on the task at hand, but watching his muscles ripple through his t-shirt made your heart race in ways you shouldn't divulge. "You should take your shirt off so you don't get paint all over it." You smirked wildly at your shrewdness as you finished up on the wall in front of you. You were glad you'd spoken it low enough to give yourself a 50-50 chance that he'd hear it. "Whooaaa easy there tiger…" You heard him drop his can, and then felt his hands wrapping around your stomach. You leaned back into him, exhausted from your 'extracurricular' activities the night before. Dean stood with you in his arms silent for a moment, then bent down to kiss your neck. "We need to get started." His breath against your ear made you wish you could hit the pause button, just for a couple hours. "I know…are you still with me on this?" You asked, lacing your fingers through his on your side. "A hundred percent, princess." * The lot of you stood in the dungeon surrounding Rowena and Sam as they prepared to summon your Father. A stone bowl sat on a stool in front of the two of them, Rowena tossing in ingredients and herbs flamboyantly, and Sam performing the incantation flawlessly as expected (you secretly nicknamed him Hermione Granger). Crowley stood between you and Cas, and Dean was by your side. Cas gave you a nod, and Dean had given you one of his confidence boosting pep talks moments before. "(Y/n)…" Crowley nearly whispered at your side, leaning toward you. The handcuffs still bound him, and he was in the dungeon with you for no other than reason than knowing he didn't want to be. You clenched your jaw. "What?" You growled back. "There's still time to stop this. You don't know what'll happen…this has 'bad moon rising' written all over it." Crowley warned. You saw his eyes were sincere, and his tone was grave and almost sobering. "Crowley…I'll kill you myself if you say another word." You replied to his grievous monition, paying it no heed. 'He asked me for help, and he's getting it. End of story.' Rowena motioned over to you, jolting you out of your blank stare at the bowl. "We're ready, (y/n)." You went to her side, presenting her the palm of your hand. As promised, she and Sam found a way to link your blood to the spell; hopefully ensuring Asmodeus would be compelled to come to your precise location, and nowhere else in the bunker. You nodded to her as she presented her familiarly old, but ridiculously sharp (you knew from experience) dagger, slicing it across your hand quickly. Wincing a bit at the sting, you stretched your hand out over the bowl letting it trickle down into it. "Now, Samuel." Rowena ordered Sam to conclude, and he chanted something else you couldn't begin to fathom. The bowl lit brilliantly with sparks that shot out around it, leaving a small feeble flame in it's place. Dean moved forward beside you as every person in the dungeon held their breath in suspense. He grabbed your other hand and squeezed it hard in reassurance. Your eyes were glued to the empty space before you, awaiting to see a Prince of Hell appear at any second. Your palms were sweating, and you grasped Dean's hand tighter the longer the wait progressed. Sam shot you a confused look, and you wondered if the summoning spell worked at all; when suddenly, the sound of feet hitting the floor sounded. And there he was. A man stood before you all, right where you hoped he'd be. He was tall and lean, looked to be in his mid-40's, wearing a modern-cut suit, all in black. His shoes shone so bright they were almost the first thing you noticed. Thick, dark blonde hair was styled slicked back against his head, matching his short-trimmed facial hair. "I'd ask to whom I owe the pleasure, but…I already know who you are." He stayed put as no one dared to speak a word, and he flashed an endearing grin at you with blinding white teeth; he was speaking to you, and you only. You were so enamored by his presence, you almost forgot… You took a quick stride forward, presenting your lighter. Lighting it quickly, you tossed it to the floor just in front your feet. Asmodeus chuckled to himself, and watched as the Holy Oil surrounding him came to life. The flames moved swiftly around the rings, igniting nearly the entire dungeon floor with colossal holy fire. It was up to you now. Asmodeus rose his gaze from the flames, his features illuminating in an orange-yellow glow. His eyes fell on you, and much to your relief, they seemed kind for the most part. "Pumpkin…I'm glad you found me." He said with a deep masculine voice, smiling gently with his bright green eyes. You shrank a little when he spoke. "Are you Asmodeus, the-" He interrupted you. "-the Prince of Hell, God of Lust himself? Yes precious, I am…and I've been dying to meet you." His honeyed voice was dripping with ego, and you reminded yourself not to say anything you usually would have. You shifted your stance. "Look, not to be straightforward and sound all cliche', but…are you my father?" You forced the words out of you like an exorcism. "And who told you that, might I ask?" He replied, his modern English accent precise. You cleared your throat and didn't dare to look at Crowley. If Asmodeus had common sense, after a quick 'eeny-meeny-miny-mo' he would figure it out himself, but you didn't want to chance it. Before you could think of what to say however, he answered for you. "Ahh. The cockroach crawled out of his pit…" He shifted his eyes to Crowley, who straightened his posture immediately. "So is it true?" You said boldly, attempting to regain his attention, while sensing Dean flinch behind you. It worked, and he refocused his gaze to you. "It's true. But that's not the only reason you called me, is it?" He knowingly raised an eyebrow at you, a smirk forming with it. "No, it's not…but I want to ask you something before we get to that…" You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, crossing your arms over your mid-section. The flames still licked at the air, the glow of them lighting your face eerily as you stood so close to them. "…Why haven't you tried contacting me, before this? All those years after my Mom…I-I've just wondered about you my whole life. It would've been nice knowing you were there…" Your voice was timid, your form sheepish as your shoulders sunk at your own words. Your Father locked his eyes on yours, his demeanor shifting from charismatic to intimidating in just moments. "Oh, please. Don't even start on the 'absent father' bullshit with me!" He was fuming, causing Dean to move closer to you, as you jumped at his sudden outburst. You remained silent, deciding to let him throw his temper tantrum and not get in the way. Asmodeus ran his hand through his thick blonde hair, ruffling the style just a bit. He shook his head at you, then continued. "You didn't need me…you've never needed anyone. And that is what makes you dangerous, (Y/n). When I met your whore of a mother-" "-Don't talk about her like that!" You cut his words off, barking yours back at him. He rose his hands in the air, palms facing you to signify he'd restrain his insults. Flashing his green eyes at you, he opened his mouth again. "When I met your…'dear mother'…I could feel you in my loins, I could taste the power we would share! And now that you're of age, a woman, we can reclaim our rightful place-" "-In Hell?" You were blinking back tears as your said the words. This wasn't going the way you'd hoped… You quickly raked the tears away, remembering literally everyone you cared about was watching you right now; you didn't want to be weak…again. Your Father nodded at you, a devilish grin splaying out on his lips. "Yes darling, Hell. It's ours for the taking…" He glanced at Crowley, who shrank back, then returned his cold eyes to you. "You know, when I heard you were seen with Crowley, I was hopeful for you; not that he would be my top pick for you…I mean being a woman with your power, you could have any man or woman you wanted. In Hell, that is." He paused, earning a disgusted look from just about everyone in the room, not including Crowley- who glanced at you just long enough to send you a perverted wink. 'Ohhh gross.' Asmodeus looked at Castiel and Sam briefly, then to Dean, eyeing him up and down as he ground his teeth. "But, as rumors prove true, you've chosen the Winchesters! Over everyone else in the world…you found them." His eyes narrowed on Dean, who wasn't frightened in the least- he ate scumbags like him for breakfast. And that's how you saw your own father now…a scumbag. Dean rose his hand, pouting his lips with sarcasm as if asking to speak. "Actually, uh, we found her. Yeah, we rescued her from the demons you ordered to torture her." He finished with a smug smile, puffing his chest out a bit. He placed his hand on the small of your back to show support. Asmodeus glowered at Dean, his upper lip curling angrily. "No, you deflowered her, Winchester!" 'Fuck.' You half-expected Dean to pull away from you then, but instead he stood his ground. The room fell silent for a moment, except for the crackling of the fire and flames feeding on the Holy Oil. Dean tightened his grip around the back of your waist. "Yeah, well…I love her. And she loves me too. Besides, you weren't exactly around for me to ask your permission…" Your heart fluttered hearing Dean say that out loud, not only to your father, but in front of everyone else. You stood taller, showing affirmation to Dean's words. Asmodeus lifted his chin threateningly. "Boy, I will skin you alive where you stand-" You roared at him, taking a step closer to the flames. "Stop! Please, Dad- Asmodeus, whatever the hell I'm supposed to call you- I'm not going with you. I have a life here, people I love. And if you ever cared about me at all, you'll let me be." Cocking his head to one side, he looked like he was weighing your statement in his head. "I made you, doll. You belong to me. You're the 'Hammer to my Thor', (Y/n)! You're alive for one purpose; you…are…a…weapon." Your pulse quickened, and your chest rose and fell heavily with rage. "Fuck you." Asmodeus rolled his eyes with amusement, mocking you. "(Y/n)…you have a throne waiting for you! Armies upon armies of Demons and monsters at your fingertips…and you'll throw it all way… for this? For them?..." He grew angrier, taking a step closer to the flames. "...For a hunter with a rotting liver? The best he has to offer you is a weak, unfulfilled life. Maybe you'll have a couple of brats along the way; but you will perish, dear. You'll be stashed away in this bunker for the rest of your life." Your Father's words stung, taking your breath away as he spat them in your face. 'Looks like I don't need to worry about Father's Day after all.' "I'll make this easy for you- come with me, and I'll let your friends and your boy toy live. If you don't… I'll kill every last one of them; starting with the Witch, then the Angel…and I'll finish with you." You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling Dean's arm on you tighten further. "So what's it gonna be…your Father, or them?" He questioned. Glancing up to Dean, you saw the sternness on his face, but his eyes were begging you to stand your ground. He made you promise him before all this, that you wouldn't take a deal from him if things went awry; that you'd stand up for yourself, for both of you. You reminded yourself of the warding and holy fire surrounding Asmodeus; he can't hurt you here, not right now at least. You met your father's hard, calculating gaze, and answered him. "I don't have a Father." The Prince of Hell ran his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head furiously; he looked like he was going to implode. He stared you down one more time, clenching and unclenching his fists insidiously. "So be it." Asmodeus's words had just left his lips when you all braced for whatever was about to happen. Drawing in an enormous breath, he rose his right hand in the air, fingers expertly poised… SNAP. With a snap of his fingers, the Holy Fire surrounding him extinguished all at once. Utterly pleased with himself, he surveyed the flameless ground around him, then looked up to you with sinister enthusiasm. "What…no applause?" He grinned at you all, advancing toward you with a couple of steps. Every one of your stayed quiet and frozen in place; you had no backup plan, nothing. You looked at Dean out of the corner of your eye, his jaw clenched, ready to attack. He swept in front of you, holding you back behind him with his right arm. Beside you, Rowena caught your eye. Her expression was dismal, but she gave you a sad smile, as if she was saying 'We tried our best' in defeat. Castiel and Sam stood on the other side of Rowena, wearing the same 'we're shit out of luck' expressions as she was. "Well, this has been fun…but I have promises to keep." Asmodeus spoke, focusing his attention to Rowena. She stood firm against his intimidation. As you realized what he was about to do, your heart jumped in your throat. You tried to move, but Dean held you behind him. "No!" Asmodeus rose his arm again quickly and flicked his wrist, snapping Rowena's neck instantaneously with a resounding 'crack', sending her limp body to the floor. You closed your eyes, knowing she was dead. 'What have I done?!' "Please stop! I'll go! I'll go!!" You scream at him, shoving Dean as hard as you could toward Sam and Cas. You weren't about to see all of the people you cared about slaughtered because of you. You'd find some other way. Asmodeus chuckled, standing feet from you now. "Sweet, sweet child of mine…the time for bargaining is over." His expression fell solemn, turning to the wards and sigils on the walls. "Those can't hold me, just to let you know…now, where's the Angel…?" You couldn't catch your breath, stammering, your thoughts running wild. You closed your eyes quickly, trying to regain the focus you needed to use your inner strength. You imagined what you did to the punching bag; only replacing it with the son of a bitch about to kill your friends. Opening your eyes, you knew they were yellow by the way your father looked at you. First he was surprised, then he seemed impressed. "You can try, dear-" Your right arm lashed out, hurling him to the back of the room and colliding with the wall. Your head was spinning…it took a lot out of you. You keeled over, leaning on your knees for support as Dean rushed to your side to help you straighten. Your Father was eliciting groans and curses under his breath as he stood again, stomping toward you with fury. Trying to push Dean away, he didn't budge. "Go!! Get them out of here!" You ordered, gesturing to Sam and Cas standing several feet away. Dean only looked at you with purpose, and said 'No'. Sam and Cas replied by keeping their feet planted where they were; none of them were leaving you to face this mad man alone. Crowley was plastering himself against the wall like a coward, attempting not to be noticed by Asmodeus. You grimaced as you realized they weren't going to leave you. He was feet from you now, as you tried to recover yourself from the dizziness. Seizing your arm out at your father a second time, he flinched- but then sneered at you. Withdrawing your arm and blinking, your eyes returned to (y/e/c), and you looked at Dean in defeat. "You're outta juice for now, doll…you're new at this, aren't you?" He taunted you, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Just for that little stunt, you're Angel and your boyfriend are next." Your screams filled the room as he swept his arm through the air, slamming Dean and Castiel against the wall, completely immobilized. Sam charged him, lunging with everything he had- and with another sweep of his arm, Sam was thrust against the floor with a cry of pain as he collided with the concrete. As your Father's focus was swayed to Sam, he quickly returned his attention back to Cas and Dean. Castiel's eyes widened, and let out an echoing cry, as he mustered everything he could to grab onto Dean's arm; and in a flash, he and Dean were gone. You blinked rapidly, your eyes darting over the wall with confusion. Then, it dawned on you what had just happened. "Ha! Your boyfriends just left you!!!" Asmodeus whirled around on his heels in laughter to face you. "The Angel just 'whooshed' 'em both outta here…just like that!" His laughter at you utter loss for words bounced off the walls, teasing you. 'They left me.' You could sense Crowley still behind you aways, most likely still trying his damnedest to blend in with the walls. Sam had picked himself up and stood, knees bent, ready to fight. His nostrils were flaring, a pained look plaguing his face while he tried to catch his breath. You didn't try to beg, or get him to stop; he wasn't going to, and you knew that now. Asmodeus was at arm's length with you now, just chuckling and hee-hawing at your misery like the bastard he was. "Ya know, let's play a game…it'll make this more fun- for me, not for you obviously…" He was still chortling, hand on his stomach to calm himself. "Let's play…cat and mouse. I like that one." He winked at you. You ground your teeth, giving him your best bitch face yet. When you didn't reply he moved closer to you, the laughter leaving him altogether. "If you don't play along nicely, I'll kill Sam right here, right now." He muttered in annoyance. Your Father exhaled slowly, and you could almost feel his hot breath on your face. Looking at him, you could see he wasn't joking. His eerie expression sent chills through you, and he spoke again, low and threatening. "Run." For a brief moment you were frozen, unwilling to believe what was happening. Crowley scuttled out the door before you could blink; his handcuffs clanging together as he went. Sam darted over to you in just a few steps and snatched up your hand, hauling you out of the dungeon behind him. Just before he could drag you past the doorway, you whipped your head around to catch one more glimpse of your Father. His eyes were vicious when they probed yours, wearing a wicked smile that betrayed all innocence. In that fleeting moment, you thought to yourself, 'Sometimes, the monsters win…' *************** Hand in hand, you and Sam raced toward the door out of the bunker; Crowley trotting behind you struggling to keep up. At last, you both were nearly sliding around the corner, the landing and stairs in sight. "C'mon!" Sam yelled back to you, yanking on your arm as he sprinted even faster. 'Almost there. Almost there…' Your legs were burning with the adrenaline, closing in on the stairway that lead to safety. You dared to glance behind you, ensuring Crowley was the only monster there; but he didn't seem all that monstrous anymore. Finally, the three of you were tearing past the giant table you loved so much, freedom in sight; when suddenly and without warning, a distant and mysterious humming sounded throughout the bunker. The lights flickered once, then everything around you fell. It was a maddening, sinister darkness that was something out of a nightmare. You, Sam and Crowley came to a screeching halt, plowing into each other. Sam was jerking you behind him every which way as he turned about in a circle trying to see. You could hear his shaky voice saying, 'No, no no…' over and over. The pitch-black darkness lasted briefly before dozens of red lights illuminated with an astounding flash; a shrill winding sound of a generator powering up with it. Joining in the ominous melody, low-toned alarms buzzed loudly from every direction. Pulling away, you saw Sam's face in the red glow. His eyes were hopeless and despondent as he looked down at you, his lips turned downward in despair. "We're locked in…he cut the power." His pulse was so rapid that you could hear his heart beating. "If we go now to turn it back on, he'll be waiting for us…you guys need to hide. I'll go." He said beneath his breath. "No!" You scolded him in a whisper, grasping onto his forearm. "Dean and Cas left, don't you leave too-" He cut you off, grabbing your face with both of his hands, his hazel eyes piercing yours urgently. "Don't. They'll be back. Cas wouldn't leave unless he had a plan." Sam let go of your face, seeing the fear in your eyes. "Okay. We all hide." He released a breath he'd been holding this entire time, collecting your hand again, ready to lead the way. You nodded, looking to Crowley as he agreed dismally. Sam quietly fished a set of keys out of his pocket, passing them to Crowley with a look of disapproval. Seeing they were the keys to the handcuffs, you knew it was the right thing for him to do. You couldn't leave him defenseless, whether you hated him or not; and either way, he was certainly the lesser evil at this point. 'An enemy of my enemy is a friend…' You thought. Sam pointed, ordering Crowley to take the kitchen. He rolled his eyes, but quickly padded off in that direction. The two of you headed back to the hallway you'd come galloping through moments before. Sam steered you right this time, and that was when you heard Asmodeus's voice echoing in the distance behind you. He was toying with you, calling out to you like a psychopath at the climax of a horror film; and you'd be damned if you didn't cringe with terror. "Oh, (Y/n)! I thought I'd make things even more interesting… Dammit, the looks on your faces when the lights went out were priceless!!" Your father's voice sung out over the buzzing alarms, teasing you with carelessness. Both of you kept going. As the red glow flashed overhead, you could see his jaw clenching just like Dean's when he was angry. Sam led you around a corner and down the hallway that would eventually take you back to the dungeon. "Sweetheart…come out, come out, wherever you are…" Asmodeus chided with a hint of eagerness, making your blood boil. "You know, I've got all the time in the world down here with you!! We could catch up, get to know each other…" His voice trailed off, falling further behind you to your relief. "…or I could rip you apart, limb from limb…" Sam pulled you further down the hallway, knowing too that the dungeon was the safest place at the moment… if you could get there in time. You heard your father's voice again, drifting eerily through the air, and sounding frighteningly closer. "…You know, I love the Rolling Stones…don't you, Dear…?" He called. Your brows furrowed, thinking to yourself that he truly was a mad man. You turned another corner, both of your feet stalking as quickly as they could without making too much sound; and just then, you heard him singing. "…*Time is on my side…yes it is…Time is on my side…yes it is…*" The Prince's voice flowed flawlessly, bouncing off the walls and echoing toward you. His haunting song prevailed, and the only thing you could do was to keep moving. "*…Now you always say…that you want to be free…But you'll come running…you'll come running back to me…*" "…*Go ahead, go ahead and light up the town…remember, I'll always be around……time is on my side…yes it is…*" Holding back tears, you were steps away from the dungeon door at last. It was left open still, and Sam glanced back at you, quickly ushering you in first. Once you made it in, Sam stayed put just outside the door way. His head turned from side to side on the look out for Asmodeus, then he looked at you. "I'm gonna try to get the power on, okay? Stay. Here." He ordered in a whisper. You shook your head in protest, moving forward to stop him when he held his hand up at you. "(Y/n), I'll be fine-" Sam's words ended abruptly, when out of nowhere a dagger was plunged into his side. Asmodeus. The outward thrust of the dagger sent his blood spattering onto your face as Sam fell forward; revealing Asmodeus leering behind him, wielding the weapon. Your blood-curdling screams filled the dungeon, not caring if you too were about to be slaughtered. You threw yourself down next to Sam, crying out his name. "I told you this would happen, (Y/n)…" Your father said to you, wiping the dagger off on his suit-jacket's sleeve wickedly. Sam crashed down to his right side, gasping for breath between cries of pain. You ignored Asmodeus, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your attention. Out of instinct you threw your black t-shirt over your head, leaving you in your tank top, and bundled it up against Sam's wound. "Sam, stay with me! Stay with me, you're okay! Breathe…just breathe!!" Tears were flooding down your cheeks, watching your friends face contort and wince in agony. You looked up to the villain onlooking your living nightmare with sheer pleasure, who jeered down at you with insulting green eyes. Hearing heavy footsteps treading quickly outside the door, Asmodeus turned at the sound. In that exact moment, you watched as Crowley hurled himself into him arduously- the sound of bodies crashing to the floor resounding before you. Freezing where you were for a moment kneeling next to Sam on the floor, you heard Crowley and your father struggling outside the door. "Sam, c'mon we gotta go, but I can't carry you-" Your fearful voice trembled as you did your best to sit him up, holding onto your shirt against the bleeding gape in his side. At your words Sam moved, like he'd been trained for this moment his whole life. You groaned as you helped heave the giant to his feet, draping one arm over your shoulder to sustain him. "You with me?" You asked him, ready to move past the doorway; still hearing the punches and curses from the onslaught on the other side. Sam tried to nod in reply, and you stepped through the doorway. You turned your head to the left; you saw an exerted Crowley to his back with you facing your father, who was splayed on the floor and bloodied. He was the only thing standing in between him and you, but it looked as if he was drained already from the fight. A demon going against a Prince of Hell, no matter how powerful, wouldn't last long. As Crowley sensed you behind him, Asmodeus disappeared before your eyes. The King of Hell let out a growl at the empty floor where your father had just been. You would be glad he was gone if you'd known where fuck he went off to…being taken by surprise again couldn't be an option. "I'll find the bastard…take Moose and run!" Crowley tilted his head in your direction and commanded you with red eyes; and you moved your asses as fast as you could. *********** "(Y/n) slow down…I can't-" Sam tried to speak through clenched teeth. You could still hear the ongoing assault in the bunker, a better distance from you now. You were passing the table, heading for the library. It was the only other place you could think of where you wouldn't be trapped rats, seeing as how it had two exits. He was leaning on you harder now, and your muscles burnt terribly trying to hold him up. 'Cas, Dean, where are you?!' You screamed internally. "Shh- don't try to talk, we're almost there." You pressed Sam to keep going, because you knew there was no way in hell you could carry him. Dragging your feet and barely there, you were finally in the library. You didn't bother closing the doors behind you, mostly because you couldn't; you needed to help your friend first. The two of you made it as far as the third table before Sam collapsed. You toppled down to the floor along with him as the immense weight of him nearly crushed you. You righted yourself, moving first to apply pressure to the wound. The lights were still flashing, red death glows screaming 'war' blinking at you, reminding you of the impending doom with every flare. Your gaze darted from his wound to his face, his eyes were closed now after collapsing, and his breathing was rigid. "Sam!! No no no!!!" You reached out, tapping his cheeks with your palms in attempt to wake him…but he didn't. 'No, no no!!!' ***************** You wished to god you knew how to turn the power back on…you could leave him to find the utility room, get him to a hospital- but if you were killed along the way, Sam would be left unprotected. Something snapped in you then. Your chest tightened, your throat felt like it was closing…and you couldn't control it. The rage, the agony at watching one of your best friends dying, seeing Rowena die…from a call you made to summon a god damn Prince of Hell into the bunker. You didn't care anymore if he found you; you'd kill him when he did. But the tiny voice in your head was telling you that you weren't strong enough, taunting you… 'Locked in. We're locked in.' "Sam!!" You could barely hear your own screams over the ear-piercing alarms resonating through the bunker. Your hands shook furiously while you gripped your t-shirt you'd made into a makeshift bandage, and put as much pressure on his wound as you possibly could. You felt hot tears surging down your face, the bright and eery red lights still blinking with rage. 'Check his pulse…' You shifted your weight to your left hand to free your right one. Your hand, trembling and blood-stained, felt around his neck feverishly for a pulse; it was faint, but it was there. "Sam!! Dammit, say something! S-Stay with me, please!" You felt knives in your windpipe, while you implored an unconscious Sam through uncontrollable sobs. You returned your attention to his wounded side, and exerted more pressure to it again. Your eyes widened at the sight of the younger Winchester's blood, as it soaked through his shirt and rose between your fingers, trickling down the backs of your hands. Looking up, you whipped your head from side to side trying to see through blurred vision. The library re-illuminated, flooded with a red glow as the lights above you flashed again. "Crowley!!!" Your hoarse voice roared out at the top of your lungs- you needed him. Needed to know at least he was alive. More broken sobs escaped your throat, your teary eyes returning to Sam's near-lifeless body on the floor next to you. Still holding your body's weight into his wound, you cried his name out again. "Sam!! Please- no no no no…" Then, you heard a noise. 'Running…someone's running toward me…' You tried to decide whether or not you should hide, but then it dawned on you that it didn't matter- dead or alive, you weren't leaving Sam. "(Y/n)? Is Moose…?" Crowley's british accent sliced through the air, and you breathed an enormous sigh of somewhat relief. "Crowley, help him!" You begged, new and old tears mixing with the dried blood spatter on your face as they fell. He stood before you now and crouched to his knees. "You know I can't love…the bastard took everything I had. He could be back at anytime..." You watched as his features were lit by the red lights, and you saw the King of Hell was as sad, desperate, and afraid as you were. You gasped as the shirt you were holding to Sam's side slipped, dripping with crimson. You cried out, replacing it as quickly as you could. You knew there was no use, but you weren't giving up. Not yet. "Anything from Cas yet? Or Dean? Where's my Dad?" Your horrified eyes searched Crowley's, your face contorting in pain when you could see they held no good news. "Couldn't find him…and nothing from the dynamic duo." You bit down hard on your lip. It took you by surprise when Crowley hung his head. 'Pulse!!! Check his pulse!' You shook yourself, pulling it together- you felt around Sam's neck again for his pulse, and it was weaker. You closed your eyes. 'This is all my fault.' You couldn't even cry anymore; your breath hitched and your entire body shook as you fell back to your heels. Crowley's hand was on your shoulder in an instant. "You should've listened to me, love." ===>PRESENT TIME You ignored Crowley's harshness, even though his words sounded kind. "You can fix this, (Y/n). You can." He said, leaning down trying to catch your eye. You shook your head with a huff. "How the hell do I do that?" You replied. "You can heal him, you just have to focus. If I could show you, you know I would, but…you have to want it. And I know you do…so just try. Couldn't hurt." Crowley spoke in a hushed tone, gripping your forearm to guide your hand back to Sam's wound. Shooting him an uneasy look, you followed his direction. "Remember (y/n), just see it in your mind- want it. Make it happen." He urged you on, releasing his hand from your arm to let you try. Inhaling then releasing your unsure breath, you closed your eyes and pressed your hand into Sam's wound. You imagined healing him in your mind, thinking of what you thought it'd look like; his insides healed, his skin merging back together, and waking up. God, what you'd give to see him open his eyes. You not only wanted it, you needed it. You loved him, because he was your friend, and Dean's brother…and you knew how much Dean needed him. Your thoughts were wandering to Dean, as if you wanted to save his brother not for yourself, but for Dean…and because it wasn't Sam's time. Death couldn't have him yet. "(Y/n)…" Crowley's small but stern voice broke your train of thought, and you opened your eyes. Disbelief flooded your face, and for a second you couldn't breathe. The most beautiful golden glow was fading; leaving Sam's wound, and traveling back into the palm of your hand, where it disappeared. Your eyes darted to Crowley's. He was wearing the proudest grin a King of Hell could wear, and you smiled warily; wondering if you'd really done it, when Sam's eyes fluttered open. "(Y/n)? What the hell happened?" Sam looked at you, hoisting himself up to rest on his elbows. Holding a finger to your lips to tell him to be quiet, you slowly removed the t-shirt that was soaked in his blood covering his injury. And there it was, you'd done it. The gaping stab wound was gone, the blood on his skin the only reminder of it remaining. "I'll be damned…I didn't think you could do it." Crowley said sarcastically, shooting you a wink. Sam lifted his shirt, the events that took place dawning on him suddenly. His eyes widened as he looked up at you. "Did-Did you heal me?" He asked, his brows furrowed in question. You nodded vigorously as more tears, joyful tears, sprung from your eyes. You crashed down into him with a bear hug, trying to contain your happy sobs. 'I did it…I really fucking did it. He's alright…' You thought. A new voice sounded in the library's doorway, and your joy was torn from you instantly. "Isn't this cute?" Asmodeus stood, looming there like he was getting off on destroying your small win. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, and you all rose from the floor to face him. The three of you soaked in the scene before you, Sam towering behind you and Crowley at your side. And every single one of you smiled enormous grins, and you laughed out loud softly. There stood your Father in the doorway...you should've been frightened, or at least angry- but you weren't. Because unbeknownst to him, Dean and Castiel were standing behind him. Asmodeus chuckled, shifting his hands to his hips in disregard. "What's so funny to you…your imminent deaths?" He scoffed, his devilish eyes searching yours. "No, I'm smiling because…" You said, sauntering toward him with a stride. "My boyfriend is behind you."

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oopsjustafewthingsiforgottoabout · 5 years

Text

Grayson Adam Mitchell

Basics

FC: Justin Hartley

Known as: Mr. G, Mr. M, Mitch Perfect, GM, or just Grayson Age: 32 Birthday: January 29, Sign: Aquarius Sexual Orientation: Straight Weight: 207 lbs. Body: Muscular Height: 6′2″ Eyes: Brown Hair: Blonde Accent/Sounds Like: Justin Hartley, slight country accent from time to time Species: Human Race/Ethnicity: White

During his senior year of high school, a military recruiter came to speak to his class. Without even hesitating, he knew this was what he needed to do. He joined the military to help support his mother and help her get out a debt. Once he graduated at age 18, he joined the Marines.

After his third tour in the Middle East, he was honorably discharged after nearly dying in an attack. Even though he was discharged, the Marines put it down that he was in 10 years (even though it was technically 9). He came home, he was diagnosed with PTSD and was told that despite the surgeons’ best efforts because of some damage he suffered, he wasn’t going to be able to walk again.

Tired of feeling sorry for himself, he went enrolled in college and went to physical therapy. They said it might take up to a year to be able to walk again. Miraculously, he was able to walk again in just 4 months, making him able to walk his mother down the aisle when she got remarried.

Born: Chattanooga, TN Raised: Chattooga, TN until he left for the military. Currently Located: TBD Occupation: Works as counselor a on-profit organization is called Lean on Me Recreation and Help Center (LOMRC) that is backed by some very wealthy investors. Grayson usually deals with troubled and depressed teens, adults with depression and PTSD, and those who are grieving from a loss of a family member or friend.

Not only does the center offer therapy and counseling, there is also a gym, a pool, dance classes, a spa, a playground, a few classes, …all types of stuff. Counseling is free but the recreation services can be as low as $5 to use. Former Occupation: He worked as at a skating rink and a movie theater while he was in high school. Was a sergeant in the military.

Grayson is a fun, easy-going and caring guy. His love and need to take care of people stemmed from his mother, but grew when he noticed a lot of his fellow soldiers dealing with their own struggles. He offered to listen to them when they needed a friend and often went out of his way to get them the help they needed. He helped three women get justice for sexual harassment while not being seen as a traitor.

Grayson tries to always do the right thing while also struggling with his own issues. He will go out of his way to be helpful. People shouldn’t take his kindness for weakness, though. He isn’t afraid to punch or threaten someone. Being in the Marines has taught him to be a hero, but has made him angry about so many things.

Relationship Status: Single, divorced (Main Verse) School/Education: Graduated high school, earned BA in Psychology while in military. When he got out, worked on his Masters in Psychology. Style: Very casual, usually a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. He will wear button-up for special occasions and will dress up when he needs to.

Habits: When he’s angry or anxious he paces, drinking, smokes hookah sometimes, working out, knee-bounding, cracking his knuckles , sometimes he punches holes in walls or gets into fights

Personality

Positive Traits: warm, charismatic, personable, easy-going, outdoorsy, athletic, sympathetic, confident but humble, flirty, passionate, good sense of humor, helpful

Negative Traits: hard-headed, quick to anger, stubborn, over-worked, too confident at times, confrontational, cocky, over-compensating (as far as help goes)

Likes: helping others, working out, movies, being outdoors, camping, riding on his motorcycles, his mother, his grandparents, grilling, barbecue food, competitions, sports, warm weather, the beach, surfing, pizza, singing karaoke (guilty pleasure), live music, boats

Dislikes: group dates of three couples or more, remembering who he was when he was in physical therapy, kiwis, people who only take pictures of trendy salads but don’t eat them, people who take pictures in the gym but don’t actually work out, passive-aggressive people, losing his temper (even though he does), parents who take their children out of therapy/rec groups,

Favorite Places: Work at The Center, the gym

Grayson owns two motorcycles and a normal car.

Family & Relationships

Relationship with family: very close with his mother and both sets of grandparents. Likes his stepdad because he treats his mother very well. Mother: Olivia Christine Mitchell Bernard (Maiden name is Schafer) -- Works as salon manager, doing hair from time to time. She said she could never be a stay-at-home wife because she’s been working her entire life. -- Never got rid of her late-husband’s surname because she said he would always be a part of her life Father: Tucker Grayson Mitchell JR. (DECEASED) Stepfather: Fredrick Derek Bernard

Grayson was raised by his single mother, Olivia, when his father died suddenly when he was six years old. Despite growing up poor, Olivia did whatever she could to keep her son clean, fed, and in school. He was also very close to both maternal and paternal grandparents.His maternal grandparents, Jerry and Linda, live in Alabama. His pathernal grandparents, Betty and Sid, live nearby. They helped out with Grayson whenever Olivia would let them. They got along, she was just too prideful to be seen as the desperate widow who needed hand-outs.

Her pride lead to getting into some debt, since for most of Grayson’s life she worked as both a waitress and a hairdresser. Grayson found out about this debt while in school and wanted to help out as soon as he could. He got a job a local skating rink and then at a movie theater.

Olivia helped out those around her, even when she was struggling herself. When her son left for the military, she was heartbroken, but saw it as a great opportunity for him. During his last two years in the military, she met a man. She felt guilty, but was glad her son approved. When Grayson and his unit were attacked, Olivia thought her life was over. She was there for her son during the toughest time in his life, even though he wasn’t easy. He had come back depressed and angry. She was about to put off her wedding until Grayson swore to be able to walk her down the aisle. She was blown away when after 4 months of hard work, he was able to walk again.

Partners: Grayson had a few high school girlfriends. He had a few girlfriends and flings while in the military. He was married twice (once for 2 years another for 1) while in the military.

TWs: PTSD, paraplegia, anger issues, divorce, death of a parent

#grayson #tw: ptsd #tw: paraplegia #tw: anger issues #tw: divorce #tw: death #tw: death in family #bios

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victuuriwriters · 7 years

Photo

Welcome to the VWC’s Weekly Bulletin, where we feature what’s new and exciting in Victuuri fanfic every week. Look here to get a glimpse at new works that have been posted in the fandom, updated WIP fics, works from our Collective authors, and what the admins have been reading this week.

New Works

Fields of Gold by Haro: The story in which Yuuri Katsuki wins everything there is to win and retires as Japan's living legend, because he's incredible and beautiful and he deserves it. Aka 'Yuuri wins all the gold', the fic.

Meet Me by the River by c0rnfl0wer: Every Kupala Night has come and gone without his attending, but now that Viktor Nikiforov is getting older and taking over the position as leader of his village, he has to start taking his life in a different direction. He wasn't sure whether he expected anything at all in this way. But when Yuuri catches his wreath, he finds the path he had always longed for.

Historical/Mythology AU based on Slavic mythology and traditions, specifically Kupala Night - a midsummer celebration involving merrymaking in a few different ways.

Bound to Please by paxton1976: By a small twist of Fate, Viktor and Yuuri meet in the Katsuki's secondhand bookstore 'Bound to Please'. Friendship comes fast as they offer something the other has never experienced before. As they strengthen and grow individually, they realize the other holds the pieces to make them whole.

Canoe-dling: Not Prohibited by primavitya: Yuuri is a seasoned counselor at Camp Okenoko who thought he was in for just another run of the mill, shenanigan filled summer with his friends. But he could not have been more wrong as he’s inevitably blindsided by the newest arrival.Enter one Viktor Nikiforov, who’s got the charms and good looks to woo whomever he pleases, and who’s interest is instantly peaked by none other than, Yuuri Katsuki.

Dawn in St. Petersburg by Multiple_Universes: To some people it’s just another morning, but for two skaters it’s much more than that.

WIP Updates

Like a Fairytale by lucycamui: In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his 'Cinderella' Yuuri. (And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he's doing).

Fatum ad Momentum by maydei: These are the moments that were lost in the rush for the Gold, and the things that were built within them. A re-evaluation of everything, from day one, the real day one. From, "Be my coach, Victor!!" And how trust, friendship, and love were built from there. Through Victor's eyes, the story unfolds—the journey and experience of knowing Yuuri.

Doveglion by reginar: Yuuri Katsuki would describe himself as a dime-a-dozen poet with a degree in comparative literature from Todai and only a couple of publications due to luck. By some miracle, he’d received an Asian Culture Council grant and a Bright scholarship to help him pursue MFA Creative Writing in America. He’d been so excited because he would be in the same country as his literary hero, V. Nikiforov, writer of countless, innovative poems.

Impostor Syndrome by renaissance: At some point, most people with a childhood crush will imagine meeting their idol, and might even pretend that they're dating. This is the story of how Yuuri Katsuki meets his childhood crush, and how they pretend that they're dating.

counterclockwise by viktyuuri (Empress_Arisu): Life after retirement, Yuuri thinks, is quite a nice change of pace. Although, not so much when he finds himself thrust back into the past.

In which married husbands Viktor and Yuuri somehow end up 5 years in the past without knowing how or why.

Or: Yuuri and Viktor try and fail to keep their relationship on the lie low. (Yuuri tries for a while, but having a clingy husband makes things 10x harder.)

Everyone's suspicious, and really, Yuuri just wants to go back and have some semblance of peace back in his life, damn it.

New in #victuuriwriters

Icicles Melt in Summer (WIP) by dystopiansushi: Victor Nikiforov. Oddly, no matter how many times Yuuri repeats the name to himself, it still sounds beautiful, the r rolling off his tongue and the v melting on the tips of his lips like a mint. But more to the point, Victor Nikiforov, model for the Agape shoe and accessory line and face of Stammi Vicino Menswear, is sitting in one of his chairs.

Or, the one where model Victor Nikiforov is searching for his raison d'être in Brooklyn, New York, and finds much more than that in a small, jasmine-scented hair salon.

and once upon a song (WIP) by missmichellebelle: A popular high school ice hockey star and a shy, academically gifted transfer student discover they share a secret passion for singing. When they end up accidentally auditioning for the lead roles in the school musical, it threatens East High's rigid social order and sends their peers into an uproar.

Between the Lines by nikiforovs: Victor doesn't have a problem.In fact, he has the exact opposite of a problem if he's being entirely honest with himself. (He's not.) The cashier of that hole-in-the-wall bookstore was cute, but he wasn't the only reason Victor returned to Sweetest Reads early the following week.

Or: Bookstore AU where Victor keeps buying more books than necessary just so he can continue to see the cute cashier again.

Rock, Paper, Scissors by nerdlife4eva: Victor and Yuuri discover the only chore they both dislike is vacuuming and decide to rock, paper, scissors (RPS) each time the chore needs to be completed. Yuuri is an ace at RPS and Chris sends them personalized charts to track their successes. All adorable Victuuri hell breaks loose! (These two have no chill, in basically anything!)

Some Might Call it Fate by Chessala: The Katsuki family moves to Russia after they had to close their Hot Springs temporarily. Little Yuuri (3) has to go to a new Kindergarten where he doesn't know anyone. He sees a picture of an ice skater on the wall of his new Kindergarten and is instantly fascinated. He loved ice skating so maybe he can be friends with the person that drew this picture. But how can he talk to them?

Admin Picks

Of Bright Stars and Burning Hearts (WIP) by Reiya: Viktor doesn’t remember the first time he met Yuuri Katsuki. This however, is what Viktor does remember…Part 2 of the Rivals series and companion fic to ‘Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches’. One small change alters the course of both Viktor and Yuuri’s entire lives, throwing them into a bitter rivalry that spans across many years and creates a world where they both tell a very different side to the story.

so I’m pretty sure all of you have read Reiya’s fic Until my Feet Bleed and my Heart Aches and the sequel is finally here!! This fic, man. If you’re down for hella Victor angst in the form of pining, this is for you. (Although you should def read UMFBAMHA first)

urgent need of gravity (WIP) by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus): AU in which Yuuri is a make-up artist working in a small salon when he's suddenly invited to work for big time fashion brand Stammi Vicino right alongside its top male model, Viktor Nikiforov, and love isn't all glitter and perfectly-winged eyeliner.

Model Victor crushing on his makeup artist, Yuuri in badass makeup doing glorious things to a certain model’s face (sadly not kissing. yet.), fluff of epic proportions, need I go on?

rubato (WIP) by indianchai: Yuri is a psychology major (who happens to play the cello) that moves to Detroit in his sophomore year of college to escape his ice skating past. Through his roommate Phichit, who is in their college’s orchestra, he encounters infamous pianist of the school– an overconfident senior named Victor who refuses to be an accompanist to anyone (until, that is, he hears Yuri play).

Am I obsessed with musician aus? hell yes. I could honestly wax lyrical about this au for a while, but...spoilers. Just, just read this okay.

Russian for Dummies by cutthroatpixie: “Are you a beginner? ”Viktor was not a beginner. Viktor was the TA supposedly in charge of this study session. Viktor spoke Russian. Viktor was Russian. “Sure!”

Need a cute fic to get you through the day? This one is it! Russian for Dummies is truly a fun and engaging fic that will take you five seconds to read, but will make your day 100% better.

and I feel life (for the very first time) by smudgesofink: “What do you have in mind for the next season?” A reporter asks him during the press conference and Victor shoots them a smile, trying to buy himself some time. I don’t know, he wants to say. To be honest, after winning gold once more, Victor feels lost more than anything. What does one do after finally fulfilling a longtime promise?

In which Victor helps Yuuri with his skating, but Yuuri helps Victor find himself again.

A truly beautiful fic about picking up the pieces after a tragedy. Victor finding hope and love in Yuuri is wonderfully portrayed in this fic, and the writing is beautiful to match. A truly inspiring and gorgeous piece of work that everyone in this fandom needs to read.

#weekly bulletin #victuuri #victuuriwriters

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johnchiarello · 7 years

Text

Thursday

THURSDAY 5-18-17 [all videos and writing done today- you might want to check out the top news link at the bottom- I just added it before posting- comments below]-

https://www.usnews.com/news/best-states/texas/articles/2017-05-17/city-judge-suspended-when-its-learned-shes-not-us-citizen

Genesis 3:24

So he drove out the man; and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life.

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Dead man walking- https://youtu.be/YFdBk6GfiQQ

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-Ax

.Trump

.G.W. bridge

.Demon possessed?

.My sources tell me…

.Special counsel

.Russia

.Classified info

.FBI- Flynn- Comey…

.Israel

.Syria

.Jim Clapper

.Wiki- leaks

.Media bias

Habakkuk 1:5 Behold ye among the heathen, and regard, and wonder marvelously: for I will work a work in your days which ye will not believe, though it be told you.

Harbor bridge https://youtu.be/pdtaHEy9w3I

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-Ay

. Real windy- I’ll post it anyway- you get a good view of walking over the harbor bridge

25 He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.

Claire n Crow- https://youtu.be/3vtoZekvb8Y

http://wp.me/a4V5qQ-Az

.3 Hebrew kids

.Pence next?

.Will Trump resign?

.Angel with a flaming sword

.My kids o.k.- still in NYC

.Syrian army troops threatened U.S. troops today- for the first time since the conflict- we killed them [trouble on the horizon]

http://www.militarytimes.com/articles/russia-us-led-strike-killed-62-syrian-troops [More news links and verses below]

NEW- I mentioned the news of the day and a few other things. One of the news stories was someone ran over a bunch of people in Times Square [NYC].

I wasn't sure if my daughter and son in law were still in the NYC area. I got a text from my daughter telling me they were Ok- They were actually on the ferry on the way over to Times Square- right when it happened.

I also taught some from Acts 13 and Kings 6- studies that will go up in the next few weeks.

Just a few hints-

Why is there an angel with a flaming sword- keeping people out of the garden after the fall of man?

The sword is a warning that after man sinned- he could no longer have access to God’s presence in the garden- while still alive.

What about us today- who believe?

The only ones who can ‘get back to the Garden’ are those who are already dead- see?

Galatians 2:20 [Full Chapter]

I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.

How did we die? What killed us?

Ephesians 6:17

And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God:

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

Hebrews 4:12

For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

In Context | Full Chapter | Other Translations

A ‘flaming’ sword.

NOTE- On the videos I talked about the validity of some of the investigations into Trump- and the stupidity of others.

I do realize the media has the ability to put a ‘spell’ on us.

But the whole media frenzy on ‘Trump leaked classified info to the Russians’.

It’s hard to explain how stupid this is- but I'll try.

Trump told the Russians about a threat from ISIS- this was Intel we got from Israel.

The threat came from a city where ISIS might try and bomb a plane [Russian or U.S.] with a laptop bomb.

Ok- We are indeed working with Russia in Syria- and particularly about going after ISIS in Syria.

This agreement was made under the Obama administration.

Though Russia is not quote ‘an ally’ - we do indeed have some coordination with Russia.

Now- for Trump- or any president- to tip off an ‘ally’ about the possibility of ISIS bombing a Civilian plane- which they already did- with Russia- is perfectly fine.

Yet- this was leaked to the media- and they were the ones that leaked it to the world- like Trump ‘released classified info’.

Any president- talking to another world leader- has the right to do something like this.

When Obama was having Nuke talks with Iran- sure enough someone leaked details about it [Probably Israel].

When some of that leaked to the press- no one said ‘Hey- Obama is leaking classified info’ [which the details of the accord were indeed classified at that time]

Of course the media did not report it like that- that would be stupid.

Obliviously Obama- or any other president has the details of classified info- and talks about it when having meetings with world leaders.

This is just one example.

I could go on- but why?

VERSES-

Daniel 3

King James Version (KJV)

3 Nebuchadnezzar the king made an image of gold, whose height was threescore cubits, and the breadth thereof six cubits: he set it up in the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon.

2 Then Nebuchadnezzar the king sent to gather together the princes, the governors, and the captains, the judges, the treasurers, the counsellors, the sheriffs, and all the rulers of the provinces, to come to the dedication of the image which Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up.

3 Then the princes, the governors, and captains, the judges, the treasurers, the counsellors, the sheriffs, and all the rulers of the provinces, were gathered together unto the dedication of the image that Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up; and they stood before the image that Nebuchadnezzar had set up.

4 Then an herald cried aloud, To you it is commanded, O people, nations, and languages,

5 That at what time ye hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of musick, ye fall down and worship the golden image that Nebuchadnezzar the king hath set up:

6 And whoso falleth not down and worshippeth shall the same hour be cast into the midst of a burning fiery furnace.

7 Therefore at that time, when all the people heard the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and all kinds of musick, all the people, the nations, and the languages, fell down and worshipped the golden image that Nebuchadnezzar the king had set up.

8 Wherefore at that time certain Chaldeans came near, and accused the Jews.

9 They spake and said to the king Nebuchadnezzar, O king, live for ever.

10 Thou, O king, hast made a decree, that every man that shall hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer, and all kinds of musick, shall fall down and worship the golden image:

11 And whoso falleth not down and worshippeth, that he should be cast into the midst of a burning fiery furnace.

12 There are certain Jews whom thou hast set over the affairs of the province of Babylon, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego; these men, O king, have not regarded thee: they serve not thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.

13 Then Nebuchadnezzar in his rage and fury commanded to bring Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Then they brought these men before the king.

14 Nebuchadnezzar spake and said unto them, Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, do not ye serve my gods, nor worship the golden image which I have set up?

15 Now if ye be ready that at what time ye hear the sound of the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, and dulcimer, and all kinds of musick, ye fall down and worship the image which I have made; well: but if ye worship not, ye shall be cast the same hour into the midst of a burning fiery furnace; and who is that God that shall deliver you out of my hands?

16 Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, answered and said to the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter.

17 If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.

18 But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.

19 Then was Nebuchadnezzar full of fury, and the form of his visage was changed against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego: therefore he spake, and commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heated.

20 And he commanded the most mighty men that were in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace.

21 Then these men were bound in their coats, their hosen, and their hats, and their other garments, and were cast into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.

22 Therefore because the king's commandment was urgent, and the furnace exceeding hot, the flames of the fire slew those men that took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

23 And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, fell down bound into the midst of the burning fiery furnace.

24 Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the king, True, O king.

25 He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.

26 Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the mouth of the burning fiery furnace, and spake, and said, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, ye servants of the most high God, come forth, and come hither. Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, came forth of the midst of the fire.

27 And the princes, governors, and captains, and the king's counsellors, being gathered together, saw these men, upon whose bodies the fire had no power, nor was an hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.

28 Then Nebuchadnezzar spake, and said, Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who hath sent his angel, and delivered his servants that trusted in him, and have changed the king's word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god, except their own God.

29 Therefore I make a decree, That every people, nation, and language, which speak any thing amiss against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, shall be cut in pieces, and their houses shall be made a dunghill: because there is no other God that can deliver after this sort.

30 Then the king promoted Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, in the province of Babylon.

NEWS- https://www.usnews.com/news/best-states/texas/articles/2017-05-17/city-judge-suspended-when-its-learned-shes-not-us-citizen [I added this link right before posting- we had [have?] a judge in Corpus who made legal rulings- on U.S. citizens- though she herself is not a U.S. citizen. I saw the story earlier today- and assumed being she was placed on ‘leave’ it meant Corpus realized the mistake- and remover her. I just read in the local media that she has been placed on leave- for 90 days- so she can obtain her citizenship- and go back to the bench- and the article I read contests that all her legal rulings- while not a citizen- still stand- unbelievable - only in Corpus.]

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/17/us/politics/robert-mueller-special-counsel-russia-investigation.html?_r=0

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4518872/Fox-News-learned-Roger-Ailes-death-Drudge.html

http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2017/05/18/several-pedestrians-struck-by-car-times-square/

http://www.theamericanmirror.com/washpost-reporters-cheer-trump-russia-leak-story-just-like-obama-09-visit/

http://www.fox5dc.com/news/local-news/254852337-story

http://www.zerohedge.com/news/2017-05-16/murdered-dnc-staffer-seth-rich-shared-44000-emails-wikileaks

http://www.wnd.com/2017/05/chilling-similarities-between-seth-rich-murder-and-clinton-body-count-victims/

http://www.cnn.com/2017/05/18/politics/mike-pence-michael-flynn-trump-russia/index.html

www.corpuschristioutreachministries.blogspot.com

https://www.facebook.com/john.chiarello.5?ref=bookmarks

https://ccoutreach87.wordpress.com/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZ4GsqTEVWRm0HxQTLsifvg

https://twitter.com/ccoutreach87

https://plus.google.com/108013627259688810902/posts

https://vimeo.com/user37400385

https://www.pinterest.com/ccoutreach87/

https://www.linkedin.com/home?trk=hb_logo

http://johnchiarello.tumblr.com/

https://medium.com/@johnchiarello

http://ccoutreach.over-blog.com/

Note- Please do me a favor, those who read/like the posts- re-post them on other sites as well as the site you read them on- Thanks- John.#

#bible #NYC

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